CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 12
Carter
She’s been in spreadsheet mode all afternoon, laser-focused and tucked into that damn laptop. A knock on the door saves me from begging for her attention.
What is it about this woman? I’ve traveled all over the world, and I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve never had a problem getting laid. But with Ivy, it’s different. I love that she hasn’t asked me about my company or focused on how much money I have or anything like that. She’s genuinely into me for me.
No pressure to be anything more than Carter. I don’t know if it’s all the stress I’ve been dealing with lately, and with this lawsuit and threats of blasting me on the news, but Ivy helps calm me. She makes me feel like a regular guy. Just a man. Not a CEO, and certainly doesn’t treat me like I’m the boss. If anything, she’s the boss in this bungalow. I haven’t felt this light in years, and I know I have Ivy to thank for that.
“Room service,” the attendant chirps. I get up and open the door. He wheels in the cart—steak, lobster, a mountain of chocolate cake, and two bottles of wine. I sign and tip, then turn to Ivy who’s peeking out of the bedroom door. “Dinner’s here,” I say, setting plates on the table. “Lobster and steak, on the house. Only the perks of natural disaster tourism.”
She laughs. It’s a soft sound that does unholy things to me. I pour her a glass of wine and hand it over.
“You’ve been in robot mode all day,” I tell her. “Time to reboot.”
She doesn’t fight me on it, just smiles and takes the glass. That smile is lethal. We eat at the table since the living room is still drenched. I drag her chair right next to me so she’s seated beside me.
Dinner’s decent. But having Ivy there to keep me company has really elevated this trip for me.
It feels… dangerous. The comfort. Like slipping into something you never realized you needed until you had it.
After dinner, her head is on my shoulder, her hand resting lightly on my chest. I don’t move. Don’t breathe too deeply. Like if I do, she’ll vanish.
Then her phone buzzes on the table. She sighs.
“Don’t look at it,” I say, kissing her hair. “The world can wait.”
She nods. For a moment.
But when I get up to grab the second wine bottle, I catch her glancing at the screen. I see the way her face shifts—just a flicker, but it’s there. Her shoulders tense.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She looks up too quickly, her smile a half-second too late. “Yeah. Just… deadline stuff. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”
I nod.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I check it and feel my entire body soften.
“My daughter,” I say. “Mind if I…?”
She shakes her head. I sit down beside her and answer. My daughter’s voice hits me like sunlight through a storm cloud.
“Hi, sweet pea… Yeah, I miss you too. What’d you build today? A fort? No way, better than Daddy’s? I bet it was.”
I catch Ivy watching me. There’s something in her eyes—tender and wide, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
I hold the phone out. “Want to say hi to Daddy’s special friend?”
Ivy blinks. Then smiles. “Hi, Laura!”
I smiled. She remembered her name. Of course she did. Because Ivy is fucking perfect.
“Hi!” my daughter chirps back.
Then the FaceTime screen pops up. “Daddy, I want to see,” Laura insists.
So I do. A huge grin is on her face when she sees me. “Daddy, I want to see your friend.”
I look at Ivy to get the okay and she takes the phone from me.
“Hi, Laura! Ooh, I love your bows,” she says.
“I have a lot of bows. Want to see them?” Laura asks excitedly.
“I would love to see them,” Ivy says with her eyes wide and too much enthusiasm.
My heart warms. I don’t know why I mentioned Ivy. I have never introduced Laura to a woman I’ve dated. I guess I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a while.
Ivy gets up to show Laura some headbands she brought with her and just like that, I’m completely booted out of the conversation.
They talk for at least ten minutes about bows and headbands. I didn’t even realize there was that much to say about them but I can’t help but enjoy watching her with Laura. Then her nanny check’s in and we disconnect the call.
“It’s been a short time,” I say quietly. “But I’ve never let her talk to anyone before. I don’t know what it is about you… but it’s something.”
Her lips part like she’s going to say something profound—maybe even dangerous—but I close the distance before she can speak. I pull her into my lap and I kiss her like I’ve never kissed anyone before.
This is hunger, possession, fire—our mouths crashing together like we’ve both been starving for years and just realized it. She grips my jaw, sliding her tongue over mine, grinding her hips into me like she already knows how hard I am for her.
I spin her around, settle her astride me in the chair at the dining table. That hand-carved masterpiece groans under the weight of what we’re doing—what we’re about to do. Her knees press tight against my thighs, and I reach up to pull her shirt over her head in one clean sweep.
I cup her breasts, dragging my thumbs over her nipples until she gasps, then lean in to suck one into my mouth. Her fingers claw at my shoulders. She’s already panting.
“Carter,” she whispers, her voice low. “Please, I have to tell you something.”
I unfasten her shorts and shove them down along with her panties, baring her heat. She’s soaked. Dripping. My fingers slide between her thighs, and she gasps again, head falling back, completely undone already.
“Shhh,” I say, putting a wet finger in her mouth. “I love how you get so fucking wet for me. You want it here?”
She bites her lip, eyes wild and glassy. “Yes.”
I slide into her in one thick, hungry thrust, and her moan breaks the air between us like thunder. She rocks against me, desperate and needy, and I grip her ass with both hands, guiding her rhythm, owning it.
Her hips grind harder, riding me like she was made for this. My name slips from her lips.
And then—when I feel her clench around me, when her cries break into something feral—I don’t stop.
I stand.
She gasps, arms flying around my shoulders as I lift her without breaking contact. Still inside her. Still pulsing. I can feel every inch of my cock inside of her tight pussy. I’m trying my best not to release inside of her right fucking now as my face is buried in her breasts and she’s trying not to scream. Her legs wrap around my waist as I carry her down the hallway, lips brushing my neck between whimpers.
I lay her on the bed gently, but before I can move, she’s shifting.
Sliding down my body.
Taking control.
She drops to her knees at the edge of the bed, her eyes locked with mine, and her hands curl around my length like she’s claiming it. Then her mouth follows—hot, wet, sinful.
“Fuck,” I breathe, my head falling back.
She works me slowly at first, tongue teasing the tip, mouth hollowing as she takes me deeper, her eyes fluttering shut in pure focus. One hand at the base, stroking in time, her other hand braced on my thigh. Her lips glide over me like silk and fire.
Every groan that leaves my chest is hers.
I bury a hand in her hair, watching her take me over and over, her mouth so slick, so perfect. When she moans around me, I almost lose it.
“Ivy,” I grit. “Get up here. Now.”
She licks her lips, wicked and flushed, and climbs back onto the bed.
I roll her onto her back and drive into her in one thrust that has her gasping—legs wide, arms pulling me closer like she never wants to let go. And I give her everything. Every inch, every thrust, every ragged breath I have left.
She claws at the sheets. I bite her shoulder.
The headboard slams the wall.
She falls apart for me again, shaking beneath me, crying my name. I come seconds later, buried deep, gripping her.
When we finally collapse, tangled and slick with sweat, all I can do is pull her close and press my lips to her temple.
Our bodies are a tangle of limbs and sweat-damp sheets. Her head rests on my chest, her fingers tracing slow, aimless shapes over my ribs like she’s sketching something only she can see. My arms are around her, holding her close—not because I have to, but because I don’t want to let go.
Not yet. Maybe not ever.
The silence stretches. It’s the kind that holds things—unspoken thoughts, maybe feelings. Things we haven’t dared admit yet.
Her voice is barely above a whisper. “You okay?”
I nod, but she doesn’t move. She keeps tracing. Circling.
“Seems like something is bothering you,” she says. “You just went quiet.”
I exhale slowly, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah. I’m just… not used to this.”
“To what?”
“This,” I say, motioning between us. “The quiet. The… peace, I guess.”
She lifts her head just enough to look at me. “Is that what this feels like to you?”
I meet her gaze. “Yeah. You?”
“Same.”
There’s a pause. I don’t know what makes me say it, but I do.
“When I was a kid, my father used to disappear for days at a time. Business trips, supposedly. But he’d leave in the middle of the night without warning. No goodbye. No timeline. Just… gone.”
Her expression shifts—softens, like I’ve cracked something open in her.
“That’s… awful,” she says gently.
I shrug, though it still echoes in my bones. “After a while, I stopped expecting him to come back. I’d just sit by the window—not because I believed he would return, but because I wanted to be the one who noticed if he did.”
Her hand slides across my chest, still listening.
“It started with little things,” I continue. “Getting perfect grades so maybe my teachers would mention me to him. Being on my best behavior so my mom would bring me up in conversation. And when I got older, I went straight into the family company, thinking if I worked hard enough, made enough of a name for myself, he’d finally see me.”
I pause, staring at the ceiling, at the dim glow the storm throws across the walls. “He built the company my grandfather started into this massive empire. I admired that. I wanted to be a part of it. I wanted to prove I could carry it even further.”
Another beat. Then my voice drops. “But lately… I’ve found out some things. About how he really runs things. What he hides behind the paperwork and boardroom doors. It’s been screwing with my head. Making me question everything I thought I respected.”
She says nothing, just shifts closer, resting her chin against my chest.
“But having you here,” I murmur, fingers brushing her spine, “this past week… it’s been like a breath of fresh air. Like I can finally exhale.”
She’s quiet, but her hand moves—tracing a path up my chest, to my jaw. Her thumb brushes gently across my cheek.
“I’ve never told anyone that,” I whisper.
She looks up at me and nods, her voice soft. “Thank you for trusting me with it.”
I glance down at her. “Why does it feel so easy with you?”
“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “Maybe because we’re both a little cracked. Or maybe because this place, this storm… it’s sealed us off from the world just long enough to feel safe in each other.”
I wrap my arm around her and pull her closer to me. “I don’t want this to end,” I say honestly.
She rests her head against my chest. “Me either.”
And for a while, we just lie there—no pressure, no expectations. Only skin on skin, the steady rhythm of shared breath, and the soft hum of rain against glass.
I don’t know what happens after this.
But for once, I don’t feel the need to figure it all out.