Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen - Ivy
The pop of the champagne cork echoed louder than it should have in the studio.
It startled a laugh out of Giulietta that was wholly unguarded, and Ivy could’ve bottled that sound more eagerly than the Dom Pérignon itself.
There was something about that moment, Giulietta barefoot on the concrete floor, curls messily pinned back, sleeves rolled to the elbow, and cheeks flushed not from wine but from ease.
Ivy handed her the glass and clinked it softly with her own, the stemware catching in the low studio light. Their eyes met over the rim, and for once, Giulietta didn’t look away first.
Laughter came easily then, like breath, like music, low and thick and warm.
They danced through the space without music, only the rustle of clothing and the soft pad of bare feet on concrete, fingertips grazing hips and collarbones in between stolen sips.
Ivy watched Giulietta sip the champagne and close her eyes as she swallowed, and something in her pulsed.
“I forgot how to be like this,” Giulietta said.
Ivy stepped behind her, arms circling around her waist, breath grazing the side of her neck. “Like what?”
Giulietta leaned back into her without thinking. “Light.”
And that was all it took, just that one word, shaped like confession. Ivy turned her, slow and certain, and kissed her without demand.
They didn’t make it to the bed. The floor was cool, the rug soft beneath their knees, the night wrapped around them like silk.
Giulietta tasted of champagne and unspoken promises, and Ivy touched her like the world wasn’t watching anymore, like every scar on her skin was holy, like this woman, this guarded, brilliant, impossible woman, had given her something sacred.
And she had.
Because in that moment, as Giulietta’s laughter dissolved into sighs and her body arched in trust rather than tension, Ivy realized this wasn’t about celebration anymore.
It was about freedom.
The lace was soft, black, and frayed just slightly at the edges from years of being kept in the back of a drawer for occasions that never felt right. Until now. Ivy ran the fabric through her fingers slowly.
Giulietta didn’t ask what it was for. She only looked up with eyes already half-lidded, her breath steady, her arms loose at her sides.
“Close your eyes,” Ivy whispered, her voice a low hum that vibrated in the narrow space between them. And Giulietta did.
The lace went over her eyes, a veil of shadow and softness. The moment the blindfold settled, Giulietta exhaled. Her mouth parted slightly. Her fingers curled against the rug. And Ivy saw it then, how surrender wasn’t weakness. It was bravery in its purest, most unarmored form.
She didn’t rush.
Ivy took silk ties and tied Giulietta’s wrists, binding them to the headboard.
“Let me love you,” she whispered in Giulietta’s ear and she leant down with her mouth, moving over every part of Giulietta’s body tenderly with her lips and tongue. Giulietta shivered under her touch, her whole body alive and alert to every touch.
Ivy moved between Giulietta’s legs and ran her tongue down the crease of her groin, first one side, then the other, enjoying watching Giulietta shiver with desire.
“Please..” Giulietta gasped raising her hips, and Ivy put a hand on her belly to steady her.
“I’m getting there, baby,” Ivy said. “Be patient and I promise you it will be worth it.”
Ivy lowered her head once again, her mouth putting little butterfly kisses over Giulietta’s pubic mound, the dark curly hair tickling Ivy’s nose. Ivy could hear Giulietta’s breathing becoming quicker as she breathed purposefully against Giulietta’s clitoris.
She kissed Giulietta’s clitoris, then her labia, slow deep kisses now. Kissing with intent, she moved down, enjoying the taste of her and the feel of her as she took each and every part of Giulietta’s vulva into her mouth bit by bit.
There was something about fucking or indeed making love to Giulietta that was endlessly satisfying for Ivy.
And make no mistake, right now she was making love, not fucking.
Ivy took Giulietta’s clitoris into her mouth and sucked gently, before releasing it and moving her tongue down pressing long slow laps into Giulietta’s entrance.
She pushed her tongue inside and could taste the intensity of Giulietta’s desire right there.
She felt Giulietta’s body begin to move in rhythm with her mouth, her hips moving of their own accord to find the exact pressure her pussy would enjoy, and Ivy happily let her seek out her own pleasure on her tongue.
She could feel Giulietta getting closer to release and she welcomed it. Giulietta needed orgasms more than anyone she had ever met. She needed a way of calming and putting down her stress and sex seemed to Ivy as good a way as any.
She felt Giulietta press her pussy tighter into Ivy’s mouth and Ivy pressed her face forward in return allowing Giulietta to grind against her face.
When Giulietta came, she did so in near silence, lips parted, head thrown back, body trembling beneath Ivy’s hands. And afterward, she didn’t flinch.
She simply stayed.
Ivy held her there, moving upwards to lie herself neatly over Giulietta’s body putting her lips to Giulietta’s ear, whispering one thing over and over like a promise only they could hear:
“You are not broken.”
The lace slipped from her eyes, revealing eyes that were heavy-lidded, pupils still blown wide from pleasure.
Ivy reached up to release Giulietta’s hands from their bindings.
Ivy brushed a fingertip over Giulietta’s temple, tracing the damp strands of hair that clung to her skin, and felt the tremble that still lived beneath her surface, not from exhaustion, but from something older, deeper, a kind of emotional ache that came not from being touched, but from being allowed to feel safe in it.
Giulietta wrapped both arms around Ivy, and pulled her in. And then she kissed her.
It was slow and deep, a kiss that tasted like rain on hot pavement, like something long overdue but finally finding its place.
Her mouth moved with a softness Ivy hadn’t felt before, not even in their most vulnerable moments, and though no words were spoken, something passed between them in that kiss.
When they pulled apart, Giulietta didn’t look away. She held Ivy’s gaze, her eyes glassy but unguarded, and in that fragile stillness, wrapped in the faint scent of jasmine oil and sex and silk, there was no mention of Evelyn, no looming Harrington shadow, no past to dodge or name to deny.
There was just this moment.
Two women. A tangle of sheets. And a truth neither of them needed to define just yet.
Because love, Ivy had come to understand, wasn’t always a declaration.
Sometimes it was just staying in the quiet.
Sometimes it was letting someone see you without armor and not flinching when they didn’t run.
Sometimes it was a kiss at the end of the world and the breathless decision not to walk away after.
And Giulietta, folded into her arms, wasn’t ready to say the words.
But Ivy, steady and sure, had already decided to believe them anyway.