Chapter Nine
Anticipation thrummed through Ivan as he thoroughly soaped his body from head to toe, then repeated the process.
He didn’t linger on his crotch too long because he didn’t need more stimulation in that department.
Ivan had felt like a walking live wire since he’d seen Rory carrying a purple canvas bag with Hope’s logo on it.
Had he headed straight to the original homestead with it, Ivan would’ve followed without regard for who saw him.
That’s how amped up and ready to fuck he was.
He debated rubbing one out in the shower and had nearly convinced himself Rory would be better off for it.
Ivan would last longer and draw out Rory’s pleasure, but those just sounded like easy excuses to jerk off instead of tempering his lust.
He’d been too curious about the contents of the bag to give his queen the full attention she deserved.
Ivan had kept one eye out the window for signs of Rory and the other on her temporary hive.
She was a magnificent queen and deserved better, and he vowed to show up with renewed vigor in the morning.
Ivan just needed one night with Rory. He wasn’t foolish enough to think a few rounds of sex would get Rory out of his system, but he thought it might lessen the ache so he could concentrate.
He didn’t even have a name for his new lady yet.
And that was something he usually came up with soon after observing her interaction with the drones in her shipping box.
Thinking about his bees got his mind off his balls, so Ivan snapped off the water and toweled off with vigor.
Wiping the steam off the mirror, he unpacked the hair shit from his previous week’s barber trip and tried his best to style his hair like Danielle had.
Dylan kept a round brush and hairdryer in the vanity drawer, so Ivan figured he’d give it a whirl.
He’d always considered himself to be a well-coordinated man until he was trying to hold the hairdryer with one hand and the brush with the other.
At one point, he got the bristles tangled in his hair and had to set the dryer down to pull his hair loose from the brush.
He got the hang of the brush and the wrist action required first, then added the heat.
After two more false starts, Ivan had a better grasp on the process.
He set the tools on the vanity when he finished and admired his handiwork with a satisfied nod.
He hadn’t mastered Danielle’s skill, but his first attempt was downright respectable.
Ivan continued to study his face, trying to figure out what Rory saw when he looked at him.
He’d always thought of himself as ordinary if not borderline homely.
His sexual conquests were with guys who were sober enough and consenting, but their beer goggles elevated his hotness to a ten.
Ivan prided himself on pleasing his partners and would rock their worlds and move on before they realized he was actually a two.
But Rory made Ivan feel sexy and virile, and just thinking about Rory made him straighten his posture and jut out his square jaw.
There was a sparkle in his amber eyes he’d never noticed before, and it had nothing to do with the new bulbs he’d installed in the bathroom light fixture.
It was the Rory Effect. That’s what Rory had named his YouTube channel.
His intentions to conserve and preserve were obvious, but Rory’s influence on his life after just a week felt substantial.
Ivan waited for alarm bells to sound, but they remained silent.
He blew out a breath and reached for the hair goop that was supposed to finish the look.
“Painter’s putty,” Ivan grumbled. The tin looked tiny in his hands, but most things did.
He brought it to his nose and cautiously sniffed the contents.
It smelled woodsy and smoky, and he vowed to give it his best shot.
Danielle had told him to start with a small amount, work it with his fingers for a few moments to warm the product up, and then apply it to his hair.
He raised his hands toward his hair a few times but stopped, reworked the product a little more, then finally dove in.
Danielle assured him it was foolproof. If he put too much in his hair or got too close to the roots, he just had to go over the sections again with the hair dryer to loosen the product up again.
It took Ivan three attempts and twenty minutes before he didn’t look like he’d smeared jizz in the front of his hair. At one point, he placed the dryer too close to his head, and it smelled like his hair was on fire.
“Fuck me. Looking pretty is hard work,” Ivan said to his reflection.
But he looked damn good. He imagined the pleasure on Rory’s face when he realized the lengths Ivan had gone to for their sexy times.
Speaking of length, Ivan dropped his gaze toward his crotch and decided he could use a trim down below.
He loved how smooth and bare Rory was, but that wasn’t his style.
Ivan retrieved his beard trimmer and attachments from under the sink and made sure his bush was tight and trim.
He wrapped the towel around his waist and picked up his discarded clothes from the floor.
Ivan opened the door and stepped into the hallway, hoping to find Rory waiting for him.
He’d drag him down the hallway and work through the insane energy buzzing through him before everyone arrived.
But Rory wasn’t there, and in fact, he still hadn’t returned from the main house when Ivan went downstairs.
He retrieved his phone to order pizza when he saw a text from Harry that told him she and Rory had dinner covered for poker night and not to worry about ordering food.
That was fine with him. Anything Harry made would be better than Giovanni’s.
He was curious about Rory’s cooking skills, but then again, he was curious about everything when it came to Rory.
“Guess I’ll get to taste a few of his skills tonight,” Ivan said as he pulled the pitcher of water from the refrigerator.
He poured himself a tall glass and had knocked back half of it when he caught movement in his periphery.
Ivan turned and saw Rory sauntering across the barnyard with the purple canvas bag in one hand and a plastic storage container in the other.
He was so glad to see Rory’s swagger had returned that Ivan’s first instinct was to meet him at the door.
He wanted to play it cool, though, so he smothered the urge with both hands.
Ivan leaned back against the counter and sipped his water with the urgency of a sloth.
And that’s where Rory found him when he entered the house.
Arctic eyes devoured Ivan from head to toe before meeting his gaze. “Hi,” Rory said, his voice a husky promise of things to come. “Nice hair.”
“Thanks.”
Ivan set the empty glass down on the counter and crossed the room.
He cupped Rory’s neck and brushed his thumb over the angry red marks on his skin.
Then he planted a hard kiss on Rory’s lips.
So much for playing it cool. Rory gasped softly and parted his mouth, inviting Ivan inside.
He’d meant it to be a quick exchange to assure Rory—but mostly himself—that they were really okay.
His reaction at breakfast had left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Figuratively, of course, or Rory wouldn’t have moaned and leaned deeper into the kiss, sucking Ivan’s tongue into his mouth just as he’d done that morning.
Ivan pulled back, breathing harder than the exchange warranted. But arousal had held him in its grip for hours and now hummed beneath his skin louder than a colony of his beloved bees. “What’s in the bag?”
Before Rory could respond, he shifted his gaze to the window, and his beautiful eyes widened. Ivan had sneakily watched enough horror films in his youth to recognize that Rory’s expression spelled imminent doom.
Ivan groaned, and the hair on his arms stood up. “Just tell me. I’m brave and strong.”
Rory darted a quick glance at him and licked his lips nervously. “Were you supposed to say that last part out loud? It sounded more like a private pep talk you’d give yourself before facing a horde of zombies or a swarm of ranch hands that want to stick their nose in your business.”
Ivan relaxed and chuckled. “Only you get to stick your nose in my business.”
Rory gave Ivan his full attention, and his icy gaze grew impossibly hotter. “Wasn’t referring to your junk, but okay.”
It took little imagination to picture Rory on his knees, getting up close and personal with his cock and balls.
But that did nothing to dispel the need gathering strength inside him.
If he wasn’t careful, lust would seep into his marrow and rattle his bones.
He tore his gaze off Rory and turned to see just how many people were descending toward them.
Zombie horde indeed. But instead of brains, these assholes were ravenous for gossip.
“Christ,” Ivan groused. “Did you and Harry count on the extra people when planning the food?” There was no way in hell he was missing out on the grub.
The people who rarely or never came to poker night had to get in the back of the line.
And hell yes, Ivan would use his clout to insist. There was a tiny part of him that said he’d give them a show if that’s what they wanted, but it was just a teeny voice that his growling stomach drowned out.
“Yes, we did, and here.” Rory stepped forward and extended a cookie that was nearly the size of his hand—Rory’s, not Ivan’s. “This will stave off the hanger for a bit.”
“What other goodies do you have?” he asked.
“We don’t have time to discuss it.” Rory stepped back into the hallway. “I’m going to put my stuff away and take a quick shower so I can help Harry set up the food.”