17. Ivy #2
After we hung up, I helped get the kids dried off and into their pajamas, their earlier fever completely forgotten in the excitement of bath time.
Elena chose her favorite nightgown with the unicorns, Chrissy picked out matching elephant pajamas, and Sammy insisted on the superhero set even though the pants were getting too short.
We went through our bedtime routine—teeth brushed, stories read, prayers said.
By eight o'clock, they were tucked into their respective beds in the room they shared, Chrissy with her elephant, Elena with the book she insisted on keeping under her pillow, and Sammy with his collection of toy cars lined up precisely on his nightstand.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to their quiet breathing and the soft sounds of them settling in for the night.
The baby monitor crackled softly in my hand, and I knew I had maybe an hour before one of them would inevitably need water or a bathroom trip or reassurance about a bad dream.
Lauren's words echoed in my head as I pulled out my phone to text him. What I needed was to blow off steam, to talk to someone about Mom's worsening condition. I knew it would ease up enough emotional headspace that I could handle the mounting pressure inside my brain. So I texted Duncan.
Ivy: 8:23 PM: Are you free to talk? Could you come by?
The response came quickly, as if he'd been waiting.
Duncan: 8:25 PM: Everything okay?
Ivy: 8:26 PM: Just need to see you.
Duncan: 8:27 PM: On my way.
I grabbed the baby monitor and crept downstairs. Dad was shut away in his study, and I could hear the low murmur of what sounded like a business call. The house felt too quiet, too full of unspoken tensions and secrets that were getting harder to keep.
Twenty minutes later, I saw headlights turn into the alley behind our house. Duncan parked between the garage and the fence, tucked out of sight from the main street. When I slipped outside, he was already retrieving a thick wool blanket from his trunk.
"Thought we might need this," he said, his voice low in the darkness. "It's getting cold."
We climbed into the backseat of his car, and he spread the blanket over both of us. The space felt intimate and separate from all the chaos inside the house, a bubble where we could exist without the weight of everything else pressing down.
"How was your day?" he asked, settling beside me. His presence was immediately calming—solid and warm and reassuringly real.
"Complicated." I leaned back against the leather seat, suddenly exhausted. "Mom's white blood cell count dropped significantly. They're switching her to a more aggressive chemo protocol."
His hand found mine in the darkness, fingers intertwining automatically. "I'm sorry. That must be terrifying for all of you."
"She wants me to help her shave off what's left of her hair before the new treatment makes it fall out. But I couldn't even go see her today because of this fever I've been fighting." My voice cracked despite my efforts to keep it steady. "And Dad's being so moody lately…"
Duncan's thumb traced gentle circles on the back of my hand. "For what it's worth, you're an incredibly strong woman. I've watched you at the office juggling your schedule while trying to balance life at home. You don't give yourself enough credit, Ivy."
The sincerity in his voice made my chest ache. He was so close I could smell his cologne, feel the warmth radiating from his body under the shared blanket. In the dim light filtering through the car windows, his eyes looked almost black instead of their usual sharp blue.
"Duncan…"
He turned toward me, and suddenly the space between us evaporated. His lips found mine, gentle at first, questioning, then deeper as I responded without hesitation. All the stress and fear of the day melted away as his hands framed my face, his kiss patient and thorough and exactly what I needed.
I let myself sink into him, into this moment where nothing existed except the two of us and the connection that had been building.
His mouth moved against mine with a hunger that matched my own, and when his hands slipped under my sweater, I didn't stop him.
I needed this—needed him—needed to feel wanted and alive and present instead of constantly afraid of the future.
His hands roamed higher, skimming over the fabric of my bra, and I arched into his touch. The ache between my legs intensified, an aching need I'd been ignoring all day. It had been so long since I'd felt this way, desired this much.
Duncan groaned against my mouth, his hands moving lower to cup my breast, kneading the heavy mound through my shirt. Heat pooled between my thighs, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd felt this alive.
"I kinda want you," I breathed against his lips before claiming them again in a searing kiss. My hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his bare skin against mine.
He kissed me harder, and we fumbled together into the back seat, breath tangled and limbs bumping in the tight space.
The leather squeaked under us as I straddled him, my knees braced on either side of his thighs.
His jacket was already off. My hands skated over his chest, the warmth of his skin, the hard muscle beneath my fingertips; everything about him was so solid, so real.
I pressed closer, craving more contact, more friction, anything to anchor myself in the way he touched me.
His hands were everywhere—my back, my hips, under my sweater again. I leaned into the pressure, desperate for more. Every inch of me was buzzing, keyed up from a day of pretending I was fine.
“Ivy…” His voice was low, ragged. “We don’t have to?—”
“I want to.” I kissed him again, harder this time. “I need this.”
I reached down, unbuttoned my jeans, and shimmied out of them as best I could in the cramped space.
He helped, tugging them past my knees, dragging his hands along my bare thighs as I kicked the denim away.
The cool air hit my skin, but I didn’t care.
I was already pulsing with heat, already wet.
Duncan’s hand slid between my legs, cupping me core, and I gasped.
“God,” he muttered, eyes dark, lips parted. “You’re soaked.” His fingers parted my folds and danced through the moisture.
I grinned against his hand, needing more, needing him. “Don’t tease.”
He didn’t. He slid two fingers through the slick mess of me, his touch confident, unhurried. I moaned, clutching his shoulders as I rocked into his hand and settled over him fully again, this time reaching for his belt and the fly of his slacks.
He kissed my neck, my jaw, the corner of my mouth, all while keeping that steady rhythm between my thighs. Every nerve in my body sparked to life and my legs trembled.
I managed to unzip his fly and reached inside, wrapping my hand around his dick.
He was hard, hot in my palm, and I stroked him in time with his fingers inside me.
His breath hitched, and he groaned my name against my neck.
“Jesus, Ivy.” His hips flexed up into my hand, the movement shallow, restrained. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I smiled against his cheek, lips brushing his skin. “That’s not the plan.”
He slid his fingers deeper, curling them just right, and I gasped, my whole body jerking.
My hand tightened around him, and his breath caught again.
For a moment, we moved in sync—his fingers working me open, my palm stroking him with slow, desperate pressure.
The windows fogged around us, the car thick with heat and sweat and need.
I was so lost, everything else forgotten, especially the shameful, guilt-riddled parts I hated. When I was like this with him, it was all I wanted. It was all-consuming. It was freeing.
I kissed him again, open-mouthed and clumsy, dragging my hand through his hair as I rocked harder into his touch. My thighs trembled with every stroke. I was close—too close—and I wanted more.
He pulled his fingers from me, slick and shaking, and reached down to grab himself. He lined us up, breath coming rough against my throat.
“God let me have you…” he panted, voice wrecked.
“Yes,” I said, already pushing my hips down.
The first stretch made me shudder, the fullness sharp and grounding all at once. I clutched his shoulders, sinking inch by inch until I had all of him. For a second, neither of us moved. Then he groaned, head tipping back, fingers digging into my hips.
“You feel…” He couldn’t finish.
I started to move—slow rolls of my hips, every motion sending sparks up my spine. My sweater clung to my skin, damp from sweat, riding high around my ribs. His open shirt brushed my thighs as I rode him, the pace building with each breathless grind.
“Ivy,” he growled, grabbing my hips tighter. “You’re driving me crazy.”
I leaned in, bracing my hands on his chest, the position rough and tight in the cramped space but perfect. He thrust up to meet me, and I gasped, eyes squeezing shut as the pressure built faster.
“I’m close,” I panted. “Don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” he said, voice frayed and broken. “Come for me.”
It hit hard—white heat curling low in my belly, then exploding outward as I came around him, shaking and breathless.
I clung to him, riding it out, my moans muffled against his neck.
Duncan held on, swearing under his breath as I tightened around him.
Then his movements turned frantic, every muscle taut.
He grunted once, deep and raw, and came with a force that rocked us both.
He stayed buried inside me, his arms locked around my back, his face pressed against my shoulder. Our bodies trembled together, caught in the aftershocks.
We stayed locked together, his chest rising against mine, his hands still gripping my hips like he couldn’t let go.
I felt him start to soften inside me, the slow trickle of his release slipping down the seam of my thighs.
My muscles ached, but I didn’t move. Neither did he.
His nose brushed my temple, his breath still ragged.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“Yeah,” I whispered, dazed. “You?”
He kissed my jaw. “I wish we could do this every night, Ivy… I mean that.” He pressed a kiss to my cheekbone, then whispered, “I think I’m falling for you hard.”
A sharp cough crackled through the baby monitor clipped to the visor. My head snapped up. I sat up instantly, my body shifting into mom mode before my brain fully processed what I'd heard. "I have to go."
"Is everything okay?" Duncan's voice was husky, confused by my sudden urgency.
"Yes, I—" He grunted as I slid off his lap fast and grabbed for the monitor to silence it but not before the kids made more noise. Another cough sounded, followed by Elena's sleepy voice as she started crying upstairs. "I have to get inside."
I reached for my pants on the car floor, and started dressing quickly. Duncan watched me with growing concern.
"Are you babysitting tonight?" he asked as I fumbled for my shoes.
The question stabbed me in the chest. My throat closed completely, panic flooding my system as I realized how close I'd come to revealing everything. "Something like that, yes."
The words tumbled out before I could think of a better response, vague and evasive and completely inadequate. I needed to get out of this car before he asked follow-up questions, before I said anything that would expose the truth I wasn't ready to share.
"Ivy, wait—" Duncan reached for me, but I was already opening the car door, cold air rushing in to break the intimate cocoon we'd created.
"I'll see you Monday," I managed to say, then fled toward the house, leaving him sitting there in the darkness with questions I couldn't answer and guilt swelling in my chest at the same rate as the tears welling up in my eyes.