7. Relief
CHAPTER SEVEN
Relief
Sever and his pink fetish.
As she glossed her smirking lips in the back seat of his Rolls, Ivy envisioned his reaction to the bubblegum-hued bikini she wore under her casual tank dress. Was it strictly for eye candy, like her gown at the art benefit, or would he be tearing it from her body with his teeth? Granted, if she’d been game, he probably would have done that at the art benefit...
It was funny, how drastically their relationship had changed in just two months. Of her own accord, she’d gone to her salon and got the Sever Special: highlights, mani/pedi in his favorite shade... and she didn’t feel at all like a robo-doll. She felt powerful. Sensational. And really, really sexy.
If she was any kind of doll, she was Daddy’s little fuck dolly.
...Were they there yet?
Her phone buzzed, and she tensed. Thankfully, it was an app notification, not Jason. They’d had exactly three conversations since he’d told her about Kara the night before: “Is there any hot water left”; “Huey slept on the Driscoll file”; “I’m gonna stay at a friend’s for a couple days.”
He tried opening a dialog with her then, but she said, “We’ll talk when I get back, okay? I just need some time.”
She wasn’t punishing him for his transgression by giving him the silent treatment, like he may have thought—she wouldn’t do that even if she were innocent.
She needed time to pretend she wasn’t a bad person.
Ivy eyed a freeway billboard that asked if she had earthquake anxiety. Of the literal kind, no. Of the large-scale metaphorical kind, loads. But she wasn’t going to dwell on what ifs. She was going to dwell on riding Sever like a pony, all day long.
If her morality hadn’t already left the building, it was exiting now. And setting the building on fire. And making her gush all over immorality’s tongue.
They arrived at the marina.
The partition rolled down, and Terrell paused an audiobook to say, “Last boat on the left.”
“No security needed on a boat, huh?” Which she was infinitely glad about. This would be a fuckfest.
“Not unless you plan on throwing him overboard.”
She gasped. “You do have a sense of humor!”
“I’m off the clock as of now.” His eyes meeting hers in the rearview mirror, he said, “Headed back East to my sister’s for a week.”
“For fun, I hope?”
“Family reunion cookout. Fun and food.”
“I like you off the clock,” she said, stepping out of the car. “Enjoy the fun and food.”
It was the longest conversation they’d ever had. He even said goodbye.
Sever’s boat, A Moveable Feast, was surprisingly modest. Far from the giant, obnoxious yacht she pictured when he said “sailboat”, it was a mid-size catamaran with neither bells nor whistles, however there were several open-air nooks ideal for sunset sexing. Her extreme horniness approved.
To her surprise, Vikram popped up from behind the engine hatch door. “Ah, you’re here! Welcome aboard.”
“Oh. Hi,” she said, taking his hand as he helped her board the stern. “You’re... also here.”
Sever hopped down from the stairway that led to the top deck.
Vik was saying something, but Ivy was busy trying not to come all over herself at the sight of Sever in casual basics.
She did catch the tail end: “Sever isn’t much of a sailor.”
“Oi, appearances, mate.” Chewing on a mint stick, Sever cuffed Vik’s shoulder. “Keep them up.”
Sever was a walking aphrodisiac. His sparky blue eyes, his windswept hair, his Long Hot Summer Paul Newman vibe: toothpick and white tee, beige pants of the perfect fit and oh, cute loafers with no socks... All of these things incited in Ivy a very clear vision of taking a running leap, tackling him to the floor and sniffing his neck like it was sprinkled with cocaine.
“Mr. Mark excels at everything,” Vikram deadpanned in his Hindi-Brit lilt. “He requires no assistance. I’m here only to make him look excessively wealthy.”
“That’s better. Look at you .” Sever got very, very close to her, but didn’t touch her. He smelled just as good as she thought he would, but the addition of freshly laundered cotton was almost too much to bear.
“Your hair’s blonder,” he said.
Ivy nodded.
He stopped chewing, tossed his mint stick aside. “I like your earrings and things.”
He sounded like a rebel teenager who didn’t understand girls yet. God, she wanted him.
He took in her pink lacquered toes and pink sandals, and squinted. “You do this all for me?”
Chest heaving, skin thrumming, she gazed into his eyes and touched his arm.
He tilted his head, fanned his long lashes down her body ...and up. His nostrils flared. One end of his mouth quirked. “Vik?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Go away.”
“Gone, sir.”
Sever’s eyes never moved from hers. The second Vikram left, he pinched the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head, flung it on the nearby table and threw her sunglasses on top.
Standing before him in the pale pink bikini, she threaded her hands behind her as he surveyed the ensemble. The lack of oxygen going to her brain left her with one singular thought: Does he like it?
He growled on exhale and said in his bedroom voice, “You are the perfect girl. D’you know that?”
Yay , she thought, but she could only quiver and try not to pass out.
Reverently, he ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders. Hooked his finger under the spaghetti strap of her bikini top and ran it down toward her nipples, asking, “Did you miss me?”
As if he couldn’t tell from the uncontrollable trembling. She tried to nod.
He put his forehead on hers, whispered, “How much?”
She gasped as he roved a hand into her bikini bottoms.
He parted her pussy lips and found the fountain welling there. “What’s all this, baby?”
Biting her lip, she grasped his forearms and agitated against him.
“Right,” he said, getting the picture. “There’s a table behind you. Sit down.”
Was that an order? She hoped so.
He nudged her toward it. When she sat, he murmured at her ear, “Count down from ten for me.”
“Uh?” He wanted participation? How did he expect her to comprehend words and numbers when his hand was moving and his clothes were soft and his neck smelled like Paris?
“Start counting, love.” He raised her knee and rested it against his hip. “Ten...”
“Tah... ten,” she tried, a little shaky.
The boat’s outboard engine started, adding vibration to the mix.
Sever slipped his middle finger up and into her, closed his hand. After she let out a long, grateful moan, he said, “Go on.”
“Mmmnnine...”
“That’s it.” He massaged her, slow and deep, inside and out. “Keep counting. Little faster. Like seconds.”
“Eight.” She wiggled her hips, panting. “Se-seven.”
He upped the pace and the intensity with each diminishing number.
“... Sihhx ...,” he was so good, so good at this, “Five, Four...”
The boat began to move. She could hear the wet slap of her flesh against his, his amped breath in her ear. “Don’t stop now.”
“Three...” Grinding on his palm, she shut her eyes, held her breath, heart pounding, “Two- ooh...”
It felt like the second before a bass drop. Everything stopped, all she could do was wait. And then he moved his free hand to her lower back.
Lightly running his thumbnail across it, he said, “One.”
Blast off. Literally. At zero, she squirted—not gushed, but squirted —into his cupped palm while somewhere, someone was wailing in a crescendo of raw, unleashed satisfaction—and oh, that someone was her.
“Oooh,” he breathed as she soaked his hand. “Get it all out, tigresse ...”
As she trembled and spasmed in his arms, he kissed her neck. “That’s my girl,” he said, “Can’t resist a countdown.”
In any other mental state she may have argued with that, but all she could do was make a slightly defiant mew. Also, he was right.
He eased his hand out of her and sucked on a finger. “Mmm, lemony.”
She nuzzled into his t-shirt, and he held her close again, not letting go until she moved. How did he always know exactly what she needed? When she could form words again, she breathed, “What did you just do to me?”
“You were all pent up. Be a crime to keep you in that state.”
”Aren’t you pent up, too?”
“Well, yeah, but...” He raised and dropped an impish brow. “Thought about you in the shower this morning.”
She gasped and teased, “Stéphane. Je suis choqué!” I’m shocked!
He gave her a wolf grin, then cocked his head. “Don’t you ever...?”
“I... Yeah. Just not since I saw you last.” Before he could make conclusions, she said, “It’s been a crazy busy week.”
He did seem to assess that for a moment, but let it go. “Well, that won’t do. I’ll just have to see you more often.”
“It’s clearly the only solution,” she said.
He sighed, bewitched. “I love the way your lips move when you flirt.”
Cheeks hot, she looked away.
Sever turned her chin toward his, said, “Good morning, beautiful,” and kissed her, soft and tender.