2. Ivy
2
IVY
The guy starts toward me, animosity squinting his features.
I’m tempted to scratch his eyes out but not before I dump these drinks in his face and give him a quick spritz of pepper spray. It wouldn’t be out of character. I can hold my own.
Problem is, I can’t make a scene. Not in a club with criminal ties. I’m also in no mood to go back to the bar and order a fresh round of drinks.
So I give the asshole a glare and bite my tongue as I stalk away.
“ Ivy .” Allison’s excited shriek hits my ears a second before I notice her bounding toward me from the dance floor, cheeks flushed, breaths panted. She grabs one of the glasses in my hands, oblivious to how I was just about to commit homicide, and takes a gulp of her drink like a woman dying of dehydration. “You’re the absolute best.”
I shoot a glance over my shoulder to make sure Subway guy isn’t still gunning for me. He’s gone. Smart move.
“This tastes so good.” Allison downs half the beverage in a few gulps.
“Slow down, girlfriend. It’s still early.” I scan the crowd in search of the third member of our posse while Allison continues to bounce on her toes.
“I can’t. I’m in a good mood. It’s nice to see Liv having fun for once.”
“Where is the party girl?” I do another visual sweep of the dancing revelers.
“Far side.” Allison points across the room. “A group of guys started talking to her, and she was all for it.”
I gape at the large expanse of gyrating bodies. “Liv was all for conversation with strangers?”
“Apparently you’re not a stranger if flamboyantly gay.”
I snort. “Take me to her. I need to see this.”
I’m led through the throng of sweaty club patrons to Liv, who’s cackling her way through a Dirty Dancing remake with a man dressed in a skin-tight, fishnet tank top, with equally tight baby-pink shorts.
Her smile is contagious. Her glow, infectious.
It feels incredible to see her enjoying herself… It hurts too though, because tomorrow will come, her dad will still be sick, and Liv will fall victim to concern and melancholy again.
I hand over her drink with a sly grin and force myself to forget the negativity. The cancer. Subway psycho. Even hot suit-clad guy because delectable carnality isn’t on tonight’s menu either.
We sing. We dance. We drink our Bay Breezes while more people pour into the club.
Once our tumblers are empty Liv gets Mojitos. Next up, Allison punishes us with Manhattans.
The descent into buzzing inebriation is effortless and I swear I’ve burned a million calories dancing and whittled my toes down to nubs by the time Liv pulls her cell from her clutch to read whatever’s on her screen.
She doesn’t have a lot of people in her life to text her. I’m pretty sure technology advancement left her elderly neighbor in the dust back in the early 2000s. And I doubt our latest salivation-inducing employee, Wesley, has started reaching out after hours because despite my obvious attraction to all his dreamy goodness, Liv hasn’t been the slightest bit positive about him joining our team after Hugo was fired.
So her dad must be the one who blows up her phone for a good ten minutes as she continues to dance with her fishnet-wearing friend. And whatever Carlo has to say seems to be increasing her vibe if her building smile is any indication.
“Listen up, ladies and gents,” the DJ announces over the speakers. “We’re about to have a dance competition, so if you want free drinks, get your ass on the dance floor.”
I wince as the club erupts in an explosion of screams and cheers that threaten to burst my eardrums.
An influx of people stampedes toward us. It’s wild—all chaotic energy and drunken enthusiasm. I backtrack to the outskirts of the growing crowd, not interested in competing for alcohol when I’ve already got a free ride thanks to my VIP status.
I lose sight of Allison and Liv in the escalating hype, but one of my favorite songs cuts in over the speakers and I get lost grooving to lyrics about a man who takes control with a love that’s like a rodeo.
I sweat. I pant. I drown in euphoria.
“Where’s Liv?” Allison grabs my arm, breaking me out of the heavenly dancing trance.
I glance around, unable to spy the red silken slip dress Liv had on. “Bathroom maybe?”
“Maybe.” Concern mars Allison’s brow, at least until a blonde female comes up behind her and wraps slender arms around my friend’s waist.
The beautiful woman kisses Al on the cheek, the chaste greeting quickly escalating into soft porn territory when my bestie turns to reciprocate the welcome.
I watch them make out for longer than I should. It’s probably only a few seconds at most, but the envy it creates has been building for a damn long time.
I’d kill for that sort of easy intimacy.
To enjoy someone with familiarity.
“I’ll get us another round,” I announce to myself, not waiting for the PDA enthusiasts to acknowledge me before leaving the dance floor and escaping into the VIP area.
I claim a vacant booth this time, scan the QR code stuck to the table, and order plain vodka, lime, and sodas, and give my aching feet a necessary breather.
While I wait for more alcohol I seriously don’t need, I scroll Instagram, my finger ceasing the incessant swiping as soon as my cousin Camilla’s face enters my feed.
It’s an old photo—one of her and her dad.
They’re close. Shoulder to shoulder. Happy expressions matching.
They look so much alike—the earthy tanned skin, the dark eyes, the thick hair.
A pang squeezes my stomach and I’m unsure if it’s born from sadness, resentment, or guilt. Maybe it’s a mix of all three, with the liquor in my veins only endeavoring to increase the severity.
My uncle went missing months ago, devastating Camilla enough to reach out to me after a long bout of radio silence. I should’ve gone to see her. At least sent a card to offer my condolence. But I closed the door to my family a long time ago and refuse to reopen it again. At least not for this.
“Your order, ma’am.”
I lock my cell and glance up at the woman standing beside my booth holding a tray adorned with a trio of filled martini glasses.
I frown. “Sorry, but those aren’t mine. I’m waiting on three skinny bitches.”
“Yes.” She nods. “The bartender received your order but he was advised to send these French martinis instead.”
Whatever saddened resentment I felt during my Insta scroll evaporates and a long-forgotten tingle takes its place. “He was advised by who?”
The woman’s light blue eyes turn playful. “An admirer. I’ve been instructed to follow you to the dance floor if that’s where you and your friends would prefer to enjoy your drinks.”
I’m tempted to grill her about said admirer. To find out who he is. Where he is. But girls’ night, girls’ night, girls’ night. Instead, I slide from the booth. “The dance floor would be perfect, thank you.”
I force myself not to search for pin-down guy as I lead the way out of the VIP area, the skin on the back of my nape tingling. Obviously, he has good game, and that’s a dangerous threat to my pristine girl-code status when I’m craving male attention.
I meet up with Allison on the outskirts of the dance floor, her female companion shimmying to the beat beside her.
“Still no Liv?” I yell over the music.
“Nope.” Allison eyes the waitress with curiosity.
“Should I check the restrooms?” I grab two of the martinis and hand them to Al and her friend. “She might have had too much to drink.”
“We did. There’s no sign of her.”
I grab the last martini and mouth a silent thank you to the waitress before she nods and walks away.
“I can’t see her dance partner either,” Allison continues. “My guess is that they’re together somewhere giggling about whatever has had them in hysterics for the last half hour.”
Given how out of character Liv has been tonight, Allison is probably right.
“Thanks for the drink,” her friend announces over the music. “We haven’t formally met yet. I’m Lucia.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ivy.”
We exchange a quick hug, the brush of her gentle fingers over my bare back igniting tingles along my skin before I pull away.
I seriously need to get laid.
“I suggest we give Liv five more minutes, then mount a full-scale search.” I direct the intent to Allison. “I don’t like the thought of her walking around on her own.”
“I’m sure she’s fine but?—”
My cell vibrates in my clutch, and given Allison’s abrupt stop mid-sentence I assume hers does too.
I glance at my buzzing watch to read the synched message.
Liv
Sorry. I had to leave. Dad stuff. Will speak to you tomorrow.
My stomach drops.
This is so fucking unfair.
Liv couldn’t even get one night without heartache. And her dad… God, I hope Carlo is okay.
“I guess that explains it.” Allison raises her martini, throwing back the entirety of the contents.
I continue staring at my watch, the deep bass thumping around me, the thought of a Carlo health complication curdling the liquor in my gut.
“What do you want to do?” Lucia wraps an arm around Allison’s waist.
“Maybe we should go.” I gulp an unladylike mouthful of my martini, the delicious liquid coating my tongue while my imagination runs rings around the dad stuff Liv had to urgently attend to.
“Maybe. But I don’t think that’s what Carlo would want when he must’ve put in a lot of effort to organize VIP bands. I’m sure he’d prefer if we stayed.” Allison grabs my wrist with an encouraging squeeze. “Why don’t we stick around for a little while and see if we can salvage the night?”
I take another sip, unconvinced.
What if Carlo is really sick? What if Liv needs us?
“If it was anything serious she would’ve said, right?” Allison’s eyes beg. “Come on, Ive. There’s no point going home this early when all we’ll do is sit alone, worrying.”
She’s got a point, but it’s clear the saucy little minx is also just as hungry as I am to get laid.
“Okay.” I nod. “I’ll stay a little longer.”
She releases my arm with a smile, then turns to dive mouth-first into Lucia.
While the thrumming music continues the two of them make out as if tonsil hockey is a high-stakes competition, and they’re both vying for a championship title.
I chuckle to myself and pivot to the crowd, my laughter switching to a moan as my aching feet protest the possibility of more dancing.
Unless something epically fantastic happens within the next few minutes, there’ll be no reclaiming my buzz. It’s best if I tap out early. Third-wheeling isn’t my forte, and Allison doesn’t need me cramping her style.
I’m still talking myself up to leave two minutes later when Subway guy enters my line of vision, his creepy America’s Most Wanted face staring directly at me as he approaches.
Shit.
He stops a few feet in front of me, chest puffed. “ You know there’s specific clubs for people like them ,” he yells far louder than necessary as he glowers at Allison and Lucia. “ Why don’t you all fuck off and stop ruining normal people spaces? ”
I stiffen while Allison breaks her tongue-lock with Lucia, their faces slackened in mortification.
No he fucking didn’t.
It’s one thing to attempt to slut shame someone who gives no fucks about a man’s opinion, but it’s quite another to tear down a woman who has fought for years to feel comfortable expressing her pansexuality.
“What did you just say?” I step forward, daring him to repeat his stupidity.
“Are you deaf or just dumb?” he asks.
“I’m neither, but you’re on the fast-track to being castrated if you don’t get the hell away from us.”
He scoffs and shoves me— He. Actually. Shoves. Me— two palms to my shoulders, sending me stumbling backward.
Allison gasps. I should see if she’s okay but my rage no longer matches the dictionary description. It’s morphed. Evolved. The toxicity scorching my veins has created enough dark energy to decimate galaxies.
“Do you have a death wish?” I find my feet, square my shoulders, and storm toward him, handing my drink to a random woman that passes by.
He grins. “You want more of this, bitch?”
I match his expression, my curve of lips vindictive. He has no idea who he’s messing with. Or the type of people who’ve previously messed with me and left behind a psycho switch.
I step up to him, toe to toe, and launch my palm at his crotch, hitting his mediocre bulge with enough force to earn a choked cry.
He jerks. Freezes.
“Apologize.” I dig my manicured fingernails into his package.
He’s lucky he wore ugly-ass cargo shorts with heavy-weight material, otherwise he’d already have lost his ability to procreate.
He hunches, dropping his beer to the polished concrete floor, the pint glass smashing on impact.
People stop and stare, eying us as if we’re the latest Hollywood scandal. Some raise phone cameras in our direction.
Shit. I need to cut and run, but I’m too goddamn angry.
“Come on, sweetie.” I hold the asshole’s gaze and claw my grip. “Speak up.”
“Fuck you,” he grates.
“You won’t be fucking much of anything for a damn long time unless you use your big boy words and make amends.”
Allison steps closer. “Ive, I think we should go.”
No. He doesn’t get to take a sledgehammer to her confidence without consequence just because he’s bigger and stronger.
“Apologize before I do permanent damage.” I keep my tone calm. Level.
The gathering crowd parts and a hulking security guard approaches with a waitress carrying a dustpan and mop.
“Is there a problem?” the hulk asks while the woman makes quick work of cleaning up the broken glass.
“Nope.” My claws remain fully engaged as I flash a killer smile. “No problem here. This misinformed piece of trash just mistook me for someone who would let him get away with blatant homophobia.”
“Ivy…” Allison steps up to me, gaze pleading, but her attention quickly shifts to something behind me.
Someone .
I straighten as a presence enters my personal space, settling in close at my back.
“We meet again,” a familiar voice says near my ear, sending a wave of tingling energy down my spine. It’s the pin-down, French martini, cocky-suit-guy from the bar. “I should’ve guessed a pretty face like yours was hiding a mean streak.”
I take a much-needed breath as he retreats an inch.
“You heard the lady,” he demands of the asshole. “Apologize.”
I blink, poised to announce I don’t need a savior, but my feminism’s too busy swooning over the gallantry to voice a protest.
The homophobe’s eyes dart between me and my masculine shadow, his posture remaining rigid.
“Do I look like a patient man?” suit guy asks.
“I assure you I’m not.” The security guard steps closer. “Give the woman what she wants before I’m forced to take over.”
“I’m fucking sorry,” the piece of shit snarls.
I’d give him a one out of five for both delivery and tone. But I’m well aware the crowd around us is growing, staff are now involved, and this is the last place on earth I want to earn a name for turning men into spineless vermin.
“I think you can do better than that,” suit guy announces.
My victim studies the man behind me, sizing him up for the briefest of seconds before obviously finding himself lacking if his defeated expression is any indication.
“I’m sorry ,” he enunciates the apology like a sullen child. “I take back what I fucking said. Okay?”
“Aww. Such a good boy.” I release his package. “Now I know it’s exciting to be out in the big ol’ world and fantasizing about someone other than your sister, but next time, keep it classy.”
He snarls as he cups his balls.
I hold my breath, prepared for retaliation, only for him to slink away.
Some of the gathered audience laugh and whistle, their jubilation making me all kinds of proud while Allison stares at me in disbelief. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
I want to tell her I had no choice. To explain that I lacked the Herculean strength needed to control my moral outrage. Instead, I settle on, “Of course I should’ve.” And not just for her sake. I’ve kept my mouth shut too many times when women needed my help. I won’t remain silent again if I’m in a position to be loud. “Men don’t get to run around unchecked.”
She shoots a glance to the guy still standing close at my back before reclaiming my gaze. “You could’ve made your point with something that involved punctuation, not public indecency.”
I shrug. “What can I say? I’m a big believer in interactive demonstrations.”
Suit guy snickers behind me. Right behind me, his warm breath repeating that tantalizing brush across my ear.
Allison blinks at him, mouth slightly gaping.
I assume he’s stunning. If my bestie’s expression wasn’t enough confirmation, Lucia’s wide-eyed stare is a blatant indicator.
“Do you two know each other?” Allison asks.
“Not exactly,” the guy answers before I get a chance. “But we will.”
I raise a brow, caught off-guard at yet another display of toxic arrogance that lights a spark under my libido.
“Right…” Allison grins, all shy and giddy, her concern suddenly shelved. How hot can this guy be? “We might, um…” She waves a flagrant hand over her shoulder, her mischievous eyes skewering me.
“Get more drinks,” Lucia finishes for her. “We’ll be back.”
The two of them take off, giggling.
I roll my eyes, not entirely convinced I should indulge the prospect of company.
Okay, obviously that’s a lie. I’m practically weak-kneed for the opportunity to wave this guy’s red flag but I don’t want him to know that.
“I should’ve guessed you were bad news.” His firm hand slides over my hip, having an embarrassing effect on my pulse.
“I don’t like to make it obvious.” I glide my palm over his, delicate and sweet before digging my nails into his knuckles in a subtle show of dominance.
“Why not? It’s a fucking turn-on.”
I bite my teeth into my lower lip, hating how everything about him has gained security clearance to my lust. Even the way his aftershave infiltrates my lungs, all masculine and utterly addictive. “Emasculation turns you on?”
“No.” His thighs move flush with the back of my legs. “Powerful women do.”
I tingle. Everywhere.
This guy not only owns the playbook, he probably wrote it. How else would he know exactly what buttons to press? What triggers to flick?
He leans his chest into me, the lapels of his suit brushing my exposed shoulder blades. “What did he do to gain your wrath?”
I melt into him, succumbing just a little. “He disrespected my friend.”
“And you have no tolerance for disrespect?”
I shake my head slightly. “None at all.”
His nose nuzzles the side of my neck, trailing to that delicious spot below my ear. “That’s a shame.”
A shame?
I fight a moan as my pulse thunders, the arduous beat rampant between my thighs.
“Because I can’t stop thinking about how I’d like to disrespect you in the most carnal of ways.” His teeth graze my skin and— holy fuck— I’ve never been so instantaneously turned on in my life.
His words.
His confidence.
His goddamn audacity.
“Maybe the risk is worth the reward.” I tilt my chin, giving him better access to the sensitive skin along my neck. “Who knows? You might get lucky.”
“Or I could get neutered.” The deep, dark smile in his voice makes me shudder. “Either way, I think you’d enjoy my disrespect.”
Am I that obvious?
“Even though you continue to play hard to get…” His palm marks a sinfully slow path along my stomach. “You haven’t even looked at me. Why is that?”
“Would you prefer brutal honesty or a placating lie?”
“I’ve never shied away from brutality.”
Be still, my beating heart. “I’ll admit I’ve been doing some thinking of my own. My imagination has built you up to be somewhat of a fantasy and unfortunately there’s no way to measure up.”
“Harsh.”
“Honest,” I counter.
“I can appreciate that.” He nuzzles my neck. “Let’s find someplace quiet to put your concerns to rest.” His hand retreats toward my hip.
“No.” I need more time to gain my equilibrium. At the moment he has my ovaries in a two-fisted grip and after being simp-ed over by a long line of men for years, I have no interest in playing the role of puppy on a leash even though that’s my body’s current setting. “I want to stay here and dance instead.” I sway my hips in a slow glide, my ass subtly brushing his crotch.
“I don’t dance.” His tone brooks no argument, the vibrating syllables tickling my neck.
There’s something about him. Something infused with crack and sprinkled with irresistible pheromones. I can’t ruin it with something as simple as eye contact.
“Are you sure?” I keep swaying, the second sweep of my ass brushing against an adamant bulge at his crotch. “Not even if it will lead to us both eventually getting what we want?”
His palm quits the retreating path and instead travels up my stomach, lightly skimming over my aching breasts before harsh calluses brush my sternum. I hold my breath as those delicious fingers encircle my throat and his lips press to my cheek as he says, “Not even if it means I’d get to watch you come all over my dick.”
I whimper.
I can’t help it. The needy sound sings from me.
It takes a few loose screws to be turned on by someone who’s willing to walk away from a sure thing, but I’ve never had this before—a man with unrivaled confidence. One who’s toxic self-assurance sinks under my skin to wreak havoc on my common sense.
I’m used to men who make me cringe in second-hand embarrassment at how quickly they fold to my will.
Not this guy though.
I bet he’d be remarkable in bed. That there’d be no manners, or kindness, or stuttered questions about consent.
“Are you seeing someone?” He scrapes his teeth along my jaw.
I raise a brow, surprised that he’d care. “Do you mean like a hallucination, a therapist, or a lover?”
He nips at my jaw. “A lover.”
“No.” I shake my head because I’m sure my lust-drunk voice no longer contains the octaves to produce sound.
“Good. Because you’re mine.”
Ick. Ick. Ick … That’s how I should react, right?
So why am I all gooey inside and smiling from ear to ear?
That idiotic expression is still firmly glued in place as Allison and Lucia return, my best friend’s gaze narrowing on the man’s grip around my throat.
His hold loosens a second later, the dreamy grasp moving to a more socially acceptable position on my hip.
“Vodka soda.” She hands me a full tumbler, her smile barely contained as she sips on her drink.
“Thanks, Allie.” I shoot her a questioning look and raise my free hand discreetly in front of my waist, giving her a thumbs-up, before switching to thumbs down in a universal question of—is he a worthy conquest?
She rolls her lips together as if fighting an uncontainable grin.
I watch for long heartbeats as she wages war with her composure, her eyes dazzling in the dim light, her cheeks pink with excitement.
Dear Lord. This guy must be super-hot. Top tier. Platinum grade.
I whimper, the sound drowned out by the music thumping through the club. But it’s not as if I need to see the guy to know he’s got killer energy.
The chemistry between us is off the charts.
“Did you get the approval you were looking for?” He nuzzles my neck. “Follow me to the VIP area.”
Damn him and his exquisite cockiness.
There’s no denying I want to let this man run through me. Multiple times. But I don’t want to go somewhere to talk. Right here I have his hands on me, his scent in my lungs, his body warm against mine.
There’s still a risk that this height of epic fantasy will be ruined with a visual. Allison and I have different taste. She prefers pretty boys while I gravitate toward the dark and dangerous. Thank you, childhood trauma.
What I need is for him to seal the perfection with a kiss. To prove that mouth can work me up in ways other than his sinful verbal onslaught.
“I don’t want to leave my friend.” I turn into him, keeping my head bowed so as not to catch a glimpse and break the spell. “Stay with me.” I close my eyes and graze my cheek over the hint of stubble along his jaw, my free hand skimming up the deliciously hard plains of his chest to fist the soft fabric of his button-down. “Please?”
“Say it again.” His voice is a growl. “Beg for me, troublemaker.”
I don’t beg.
Sweet Jesus, I swear I don’t. Yet this man stirs my desperation, bringing all the crazy razzle-dazzle to the forefront.
I clench my thighs.
Do not simp.
Do not simp.
Do. Not. Fucking. Simp.
His hand finds my loose hair, his fingers raking over my nape and gaining a fistful of my long strands, the dominant hold exquisite.
Damn you.
“Please.” I dig my nails into his chest. What the hell am I doing? I don’t even know his name.
“Such an obedient little provocateur.” He nuzzles my cheek, his mouth moving toward mine.
I keep my eyes glued shut, my drink trembling in the hand at my side, my heart wildly fluttering with unbridled adrenaline.
I breathe in his exhales, his whiskey-sweetened breath a thrill of temptation as it brushes gently across my lips. His grip in my hair is a wanted shackle, his all-consuming proximity a magnetic force I can’t drag myself away from.
I lean farther into him, my hips against his, my aching breasts pressing into his chest.
“Ask for what you want.” He speaks against my mouth, temptingly close.
I don’t usually have to ask. Typically, men take my cues and run with them. Everything is implied. My wishes are granted on thought alone. Yet this man stings my pride by making me verbalize my desires, forcing me to plead for them, and the unsettling discomfort is addictive.
“Kiss me.” My words come out breathy. Barely audible.
“Louder.” He tugs on my hair, tilting my face upward, making our lips graze with the slightest of friction.
I clench my teeth, loathing and loving in the same breath. “Please.” I cringe at the neediness in my voice. “Kiss me.”
“There’s my good girl.” His mouth whispers over mine in an exquisite glide, far more gently than I’d anticipated.
I groan into the contact as he grips my hair tighter, his other hand possessively digging into my hip. The contrast is mind-numbing. Sweet kiss. Callous touch.
It’s not enough.
I dig my nails into his chest and lean my hips harder against him, delighting in the adamant bulge of his crotch.
“More,” I pant. “Please.”
His hand on my hip drags me closer and one muscled leg pushes between mine, raising the hem of my dress, the friction creating a storm at the apex of my thighs.
“Are you sure, troublemaker?”
I nod. Obsessed. Mindless.
The grip on my hair disappears. His touch moves to claim my jaw. Roughened fingers press into the hollows of my cheeks, demanding my lips to part for a split second of bated breath before his mouth swoops in for a punishing kiss.
This is what I expected.
Harsh.
Rough.
Demanding.
His tongue decimates mine in wild lashes. His leg grinds against my mound.
I can’t feel my feet. My legs. My body.
My coherence has been eroded to nothing more than the heat between my thighs and the needy moans threatening to escape my throat.
I cling to him.
Drown in him.
Without notice he pulls back an inch, the kiss abruptly ending as I pant into the space between us, his grip on my hip and jaw the only things stopping me from dissolving into a puddle at his feet.
I’ve never been kissed like that before.
Never, from any of the men I’ve indulged in.
Not once.
“Now have I earned a mere glance?” he growls.
My breath shudders from my lips.
I believe him. Believe that he’s crazy enough to have seduced me just to earn bare eye contact. That even though I’m sure he enjoyed that kiss as much as I did, what he actually craved was my attention.
I swallow, nervous that the spell is about to be broken. Then open my eyes to see his midnight stare full of lust peering back at me. To glimpse the strong chiseled jaw. The olive complexion. The pure unadulterated perfection of his handsome face.
I stop breathing.
Start panicking.
I shove his arms away and lurch backward, singed, stung, and in so much fucking trouble, because the man before me is not only God’s gift to women, he’s also a soldier in the devil’s army.