7. Ivy
7
IVY
I sit in the living room, flipping through a magazine as I count his footsteps. Julian has just left to go to his office, and I wait as he goes down the hall. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three- The heavy oak door clicks shut.
I've taken the time to learn the layout of the apartment. I can't let this guy keep me locked up here - even if my traitorous body doesn't get why. I've been eating up all his attention, all his praise, the way he lays claim to his body.
But the moments that I'm alone, I remind myself that I cannot just stay here. I'm trapped. A prisoner. I have a life outside of this and while I might be enjoying the Christmas wonderland I've been trapped in, it's not real. Julian is dangerous, and I have to remember that.
I have to get out of here.
The service entrance beckons from the end of the hallway, a siren song of freedom. My heels are already in my hand, stockinged feet silent against the marble floors as I creep toward my escape route.
Sweat beads at my temples. The security panel by the door glows an eerie green, taunting me. I punch in the code I memorized from watching the staff—2-4-7-9. The light flashes red.
"Shit." My hands shake as I try again. Red. Again. Red.
"The code changes every morning at six." Julian's voice slides over me like ice water. "But you already knew that, didn't you, Ivy?"
I freeze, unable to turn around. Unable to face him. His presence fills the narrow hallway, crushing the air from my lungs.
"Look at me."
My body betrays me, pivoting before my brain can protest. Julian leans against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His expression is blank—terrifyingly blank—but disappointment radiates from him in waves that make my knees weak.
"I had such high hopes for you." He pushes off the wall, each deliberate step toward me echoing in my bones. "I thought you wanted to please me. To be the girl I expect."
"I-" The word catches in my throat as he crosses to where I stand and towers over me, close enough that his cologne floods my senses.
"Do you know what happens to people who disappoint me, sweet girl?"
His finger traces my jawline, the touch so gentle it makes me shiver. But his eyes - those impossible ice-blue eyes - they promise something else entirely. Something that makes my heart slam against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
I should have known better. Should have realized he'd be three steps ahead. The service entrance was too obvious, too easy. And now I'm trapped between the devil and his locked door, with nothing but my thundering pulse and the weight of his disappointment pressing down on me like a physical thing.
Julian's finger lingers on my jaw, his touch feather-light but searing. "Disobedience has consequences, Ivy." His voice is low, even. A statement of fact, not a threat. "And I always punish those who disappoint me."
I swallow hard, my heart pounding against my ribs. His eyes hold mine captive, those icy blues darkening like a storm rolling in. He steps closer, his hand sliding down to encircle my throat. Not squeezing, just...claiming.
"Julian-" My voice is barely a whisper. I'm not sure what I'm asking for. Mercy? Or…for what his eyes are promising?
Maybe a chance to make it up to him because his disappointment slices through me like a physical pain.
His grip tightens slightly, cutting off my words. "You wanted to run. Now, you'll face the consequences."
His other hand dives into my hair, gripping tight and tugging my head back. His mouth descends on mine, harsh and demanding. I gasp, and he takes advantage, his tongue invading, plundering. I can't breathe, can't think. All I can do is feel.
Suddenly, he spins me around, my back to his front. His arm wraps around my waist, lifting me off the ground as he carries me into the living room. He deposits me on the plush rug, his body covering mine instantly.
"Julian, please-" I try again, but his fingers are already sliding up my thigh, pushing aside the lingerie I'm wearing. It's the only thing he lets me wear, lacy things that give him plenty of access. His fingers delve into my folds, finding me wet despite my fear.
"You see, Ivy," he murmurs against my ear, his fingers circling my clit. "Your body knows who it belongs to. Even if your mind hasn't caught up yet."
He thrusts two fingers inside me, hard and deep. I arch off the floor, crying out. But he doesn't relent. His fingers pump in and out, his thumb rubbing tight circles on my clit. Pleasure builds, sharp and intense. And then it crashes over me, my body convulsing as I come.
"You said you would give me everything. And I intend on taking it." I groan as his hand keeps moving.
But he doesn't stop. His fingers keep moving, wringing another orgasm from me, his mouth joining in a mix of pain and pleasure. He sucks and bites until I'm overwhelmed and somehow coming again.
And again. And again. Until it's too much. Too intense. I'm writhing, begging him to stop. Begging him for more. Confusion and desire war within me, tears streaming down my cheeks.
He licks them away, his tongue hot against my skin. "That's it, sweet girl," he growls. "Cry for me. Let it out."
He forces another orgasm from me, his fingers relentless. I'm sobbing now, my body shaking uncontrollably. It's too much pleasure. Too much pain. I can't take it anymore.
"Please, Julian," I beg, my voice hoarse. "Please stop."
His fingers slow, his touch gentling. He strokes me softly, coaxing me down from the edge. His mouth finds mine again, kissing me gently this time. Tasting my tears, my pleasure, my pain.
He shifts me so that I'm not longer bent before him, instead cradled in his arms. I curl against his chest, trembling, as my breathing slowly steadies. His fingers trace gentle patterns on my back, a stark contrast to his earlier intensity.
"You took your punishment so well, sweet girl." His voice rumbles through his chest where my head rests. "I'm so proud of how you handled that."
The words sink into me like honey, warm and sweet. I hate how much I need to hear them, how my chest swells with pride at his approval. It's wrong. All of this is wrong. But I can't stop the flutter in my stomach when he strokes my hair.
"And now that you have been punished, I need to hear you say it, Ivy." His fingers tilt my chin up, forcing me to meet those ice-blue eyes. "Ask for my forgiveness."
I swallow hard. "I'm sorry for trying to leave. Please forgive me."
"Good girl." He presses a kiss to my forehead. "I'll always forgive you, sweet girl. But don't disobey me again. You understand?"
I nod weakly against his chest, a small whimper escaping my lips. The world spins as he lifts me into his arms, cradling me against him as he carries me toward his bedroom.
"Let's get you cleaned up," he murmurs, his footsteps echoing through the hallway.
The master bath is all marble and chrome, clinical in its luxury. He sets me on the counter while he runs a warm bath, adding oils that fill the air with lavender.
My eyes drift closed as he tends to me with careful hands, his touch impossibly gentle now. Water laps at my skin as he lowers me into the tub, and I try not to think about how natural this feels - how right - when it should feel anything but.
I didn't realize how exhausted I was until Julian's arms slide beneath me, lifting me from the cooling bath water. I had almost fallen asleep in the tub.
Droplets cascade down my skin as he wraps me in a plush towel, dabbing me dry with methodical care. His touch is reverent, possessive - so different from the punishing grip of earlier.
He carries me to our bed - his bed, I correct myself, though the distinction feels hollow now. The sheets whisper against my skin as he tucks me in, the Egyptian cotton soft as silk. He's dressed me in one of his shirts, the fabric drowning my small frame, saturated with his scent.
"Sleep now, sweet girl." His fingers card through my damp hair, and I don't even have it in me to internally protest how much I love the touch.
I watch through heavy lids as he moves around the room, dimming lights and drawing curtains. The mattress dips as he settles beside me, pulling me against his chest. His heartbeat thrums steady and strong against my cheek.
My body melts into his warmth even as my mind races. The way he touched me earlier - both punishment and pleasure - replays in vivid detail. Heat pools low in my belly at the memory, warring with the cold fear that grips my chest when I remember that I was punished for trying to leave. That my freedom has been smothered again.
His fingers trace idle patterns on my shoulder, and I struggle to keep my breathing even. Every touch sets my nerve endings on fire, making me crave more even as I try to remind myself what he is - what he's capable of.
But as sleep tugs at the edges of my consciousness, I can't tell which terrifies me more - the dangerous man who holds me captive, or the way my body and heart seem to be surrendering to him piece by piece. The line between fear and desire blurs until I can't separate them anymore, both emotions twisting together in my chest as I drift off in his arms.