Chapter 31
IVY
The Next Day
The morning starts off like most others have in Ravelle so far. Except for the part where Soren seems preoccupied. He frowns a lot, and something is clearly on his mind.
Finally, after coffee is done and breakfast has been cleaned up, he approaches me at the kitchen counter and leans toward me, his elbows resting on the gleaming quartz. “I need to talk with you about something.”
My stomach clenches, the ghosts of Adrian and his many ‘talks’ haunting me with little placards that say ‘Heal’. I’m one art gallery opening away from a complete mental breakdown.
I take a deep breath, expunging the ghosts and reminding myself that Soren is not Adrian.
He’s nothing like him.
“O—kay?” I try to keep my voice neutral, but the squeak at the end of the two syllables gives me away.
As much as I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, no good conversation has ever started by announcing a talk is necessary. I would be foolish not to be wary.
He swallows, his gaze never leaving mine. “Has anything been going on that you haven’t shared with me, Ivy?”
I stare at him, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Anything you’ve chosen not to share with me.”
My mind races. I don’t know what he’s talking about. I tell him literally everything from the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep.
At least, I think I do. “No-no. I don’t think so. We talk about everything.”
A shadow passes over his face. “I really thought I could trust you, Ivy,” he says. “That you tell me what’s going on in your life.” He frowns. “And now your dishonesty is devastating. After everything.” His voice raises, for what might be the first time I’ve ever heard.
And it’s terrifying.
A vein pulses in his forehead and I flinch. “You’ve been receiving messages, Ivy. And you didn’t tell me!”
My face burns crimson, my gut churning as realization hits me. “You mean… the messages on my phone?”
“Yes, Ivy. The messages some type of stalker has been sending you.” He shakes his head, his mouth a sneer.
“That you somehow thought not to tell me about, even though you just about send me an inventory count of the number of grains in your cereal bowl.” He pauses, glaring at me so hard my whole body tenses. “I find it a curious omission.”
“I—I don’t know who they’re from.”
“Isn’t that even more reason to tell me?” He leans forward, squinting at me. “So I can help you figure out who’s tormenting you?”
I look down, heat creeping up my cheeks.
When he puts it that way…
“I’m sorry, Soren. I just thought it might be a wrong number or something. I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“Ivy!” His voice rises again. He’s shaking now, almost imperceptible but a distinct departure from his usual poise. “Whoever this is says they’ve been watching you! That’s grounds for me to end them. Not something you should keep quiet and worry about by yourself.”
“I—I didn’t think of it that way!” My own voice rises now, my head spinning. “I preferred to push it out of my mind.”
“That’s how things fester, Ivy.” His tone lowers, as if he realizes he’s escalating my panic. “How am I supposed to take care of you if I don’t know everything?”
He circles the counter and places his hands on my upper arms, gripping firmly. “Do you understand, Ivy? Do you understand how much I need to know everything about you and your life?”
His intensity is overwhelming.
It’s hard to make eye contact with him like this, but I try, and my eyes squint involuntarily. “Yeah, I get it,” I sigh. “Again, I’m sorry.”
His eyes narrow as if he’s deciding whether my words mean anything. “I need to make sure you understand.”
“Wha—.” My words trail off as I’m hoisted from the barstool and over his shoulder, and he carries me to the living room where he places me on the couch, sitting down beside me.
Without fanfare, he grabs me again and pulls me over his lap.
Roughly, he yanks my shorts down, swiftly followed by my panties.
“Wha—.” I don’t finish the thought.
Is he really doing what I think he is?
I twist my body to stare up at him, eyes wide. I’m in shock, being manhandled in this way.
But at the same time, my body betrays me, a coil of anticipation streaking through my core.
“I need to correct this,” he says, his firm hand gripping a cheek, hard.
I flinch preemptively, clenching.
His palm cracks against my cheek, and I cry out at the sharp sting. I squirm on top of him, feeling exposed, afraid of his strength and the anger behind it.
“Will you ever keep anything a secret from me again?” He spanks me again, harder this time.
“No! No. I won’t!”
He raises his hand and pauses, palm hovering, like he’s deciding if I’ve earned the next one. “Do you promise, Ivy? Or do you need me to keep showing you how serious I am?”
Tears pinch the corner of my eyes. My ass is on fire, and I can feel the welts forming. They tingle, and I’m sure they’ll morph into bruises over the next couple of days. “I promise! Please!”
“You fucking do what I say, Ivy. You understand?”
“Ye—yes.” My body rages against itself, a heady mix of fear and desire competing with each other.
He flips me over, grabs my hips and dives between my legs.
He bites my clit and I scream, my voice echoing against the living room walls.
He’s being so rough, but it feels good at the same time.
And there was no asking here. Just taking, claiming. Punishing me for something I didn’t even know was wrong.
And then—just as quickly as this all started—he pulls away.
“Sit here and think about what you’ve done,” he says. “Think about the lesson you just learned.”
Then he stalks off, down the hallway to a door I hadn’t really noticed before.
He enters, without looking back, and closes the door firmly behind him.
SOREN
I want to fuck the lesson into her.
But I can’t.
I need her to sit with the realization of what she did and the consequences of keeping things from me.
I nearly gave in—nearly licked her pussy until she came over my face. Nearly plowed my cock into her with a ferocity to match how I felt inside.
But that would reward her for keeping things from me.
And we can’t have that.
So instead, I left her there, alone, stinging no doubt, to think about what she did. To think about what she omitted doing, which was sharing everything with me.
Out of all the things that she kept from me, she chose the one thing that signals any type of real danger in her present-day life.
She’ll tell me every care from her past, every banal detail of her day-to-day existence, but she won’t mention she has a potential stalker? Someone electronically harassing her?
She makes me want to throttle the living shit out of her some days.
And now, I’m left here with a rock-hard cock.
That’s why I excused myself. Because I was too tempted by her pussy which was starting to drip with arousal as I spanked her.
Dirty little poison enjoying her punishment.
She doesn’t know I have a little library of names for her. She’s too complex for just one. And while stray is cute and fitting for someone who’s so scrappy—who’s spent life surviving on the margins—it’s almost too sympathetic on its own. It doesn’t do her justice.
Because Ivy is addictive. Like her namesake, she’s small and delicate, but deadly. Now that I think about it, she really does remind me of my other girls… my black widows. She’s underestimated—a small but ruthless fighter. Persistent. Probably hard to get rid of—not that I would ever want to.
And there’s something else about the name that fits her. Something I can’t quite put my finger on just yet. But I sense it, hiding beneath the surface, an affliction that can be felt but never seen.
I’ll let her know about this one when the timing is right.
I can’t help but smirk. Even though I know most things about her, she still surprises me in the best ways.
Like just before, when she gave herself away.
By her mouth that opened in a silent scream, and then her yelps which made me want to silence her by shoving my cock between her full lips.
I yank down my pants, my cock springing free, and I grip it so hard I groan.
She didn’t notice me grab her panties when I stood up, and they’re still bunched in my hand, the silky fabric rubbing against my shaft.
I bring them to my nose just for a moment, inhaling her sweet scent, imagining she’s here with me—a weak substitute, but I can’t let her feel like she’s being rewarded for bad behavior.
Dangerous behavior.
Then I use them to wipe away the generous drop of pre-cum pooling at my tip in anticipation.
I stroke my length as I think about her, still gripping her panties tightly in my palm. The way she squirmed at my touch. I grunt as I recall the way the spanks rang out and bounced off the living room walls. How her flesh vibrated against the torque of my palm.
I wasn’t gentle, and she took it well.
What a good girl she can be when she knows what’s good for her.
My pace increases, sliding my palm and her underwear up and down my length—jerking fast and forceful, my forearms taking heed of the frenetic pace with which I’m abusing my cock.
I picture my hand being replaced by her sweet cunt, and it’s enough to undo me.
I groan as I come hard, cum shooting from me and splashing my abdomen, wishing I was coming inside her beautiful body. I don’t care if it’s her pussy, her mouth, her ass. I just want to be in her, covering her in me.
The pulsing subsides and I sink back into my chair, spent.
I tuck the panties into my desk drawer. I love that they’re coated in her pussy and my cum, like some erotic artwork that represents both of us.
I glance around, suddenly super aware of my office and grateful I didn’t schedule any meetings for today.
This is the problem with Ivy. She distracts me. Pulls me away from everything else that matters.
Because she’s all I can think about.
She undoes me.
I can’t stand the way she changes me into something different. Something I’ve worked so hard to avoid becoming.
Soft.
Forgetful.
Useless.
One-hundred percent hers.
IVY
Later, in the living room, Soren pulls me to him.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he says. “I didn’t want to have to do that, but you gave me no choice.” His gaze locks on me. “I want to be here for you, but I can only do that if you’re one hundred percent honest. Do you understand?”
I nod, sniffling slightly. I grimace at the ongoing sting.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt?”
I shift uncomfortably. “Just a bit.”
“Let me take care of you,” he says, standing up and heading toward the kitchen.
I hear him rummaging around, and he returns with a bowl and something wrapped in a small towel.
He lays me across his lap again, and my stomach flips, my body flinching until I realize it’s not going to be a repeat of earlier.
Instead, icy cold presses against my cheeks, easing what he caused, and I suck in a sharp breath.
“This will make you feel better,” he says, as if he didn’t cause it in the first place. “I just want you to remember how important it is to tell me everything.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just stay silent as he continues his ministrations.
The ice soothes the sting.
I feel vulnerable, laying across him this way again, my cheeks bared.
But I also feel cared for this time.
“I’m going to look after you now, okay? I always will.” He caresses my lower back, and traces the ice over the curve of my ass. “And that situation? With the messages? I’m working on it. You don’t have to worry about it anymore.”