Chapter 13You gotta teach him, Ivy.
THIRTEEN
You gotta teach him, Ivy.
Ivy
My gloved hand connects with his stubbled jaw, but all I get is a grumble.
“Hey,” I partially shout, slapping Trace’s face again.
His eyes open, but I can’t tell if he’s there or not.
“You’re naked at Ink Time, dummy,” I tell him, narrowing my eyes, inspecting him.
He mumbles something. Maybe Ink Time, maybe not. But his eyes fall closed again. I peer over at the door. Deuce will be down here in no time. He called a moment ago, telling me the security company called them. Said we never turned the alarm on and I explained what had happened.
I’m not sure if he’s coming down here to help with Trace or to lock up, or both, but he’s on his way.
My time is limited.
“I’m locking you up. If you don’t wake up now, you’re going in the cage,” I tell Trace as I tug down on the blue sheet draped over his body.
It’s not my first time seeing him naked and if that fact doesn’t embody Trace Calhoun, I don’t know what does. He stirs just slightly but his eyes stay closed. Standing mid-torso at his side, I slap his cheek again… but nothing.
“Okay,” I tell him, “here we go. Last chance.”
I’d feel like I was violating him if he wasn’t naked in my workplace. If I barged in on him at home and locked him up there, that would be wrong.
But when you invite hooker thieves into your workplace and drunkenly pass out without clothes like an insane person, you get locked up.
Fair’s fair.
I set the cage on his belly, knotted with muscle even when he’s nodded off in a blissful haze. I’ve got to flex to make my abs pop and he just has them, lying there in a stupor. Men’s metabolisms are a real fucking crime.
Carefully, I slide one hand beneath his sack, lifting his entire package just slightly. His soft cock falls onto his stomach, leaving just his balls in one hand. He’s impressive in size even when he’s not aroused, and there’s something hot about that. Irrational, yes. But hot? Also yes.
Before he senses a woman is touching him, I take the cage from his stomach and align it with his head. Taking his shaft in one hand, I begin easing him inside, finally using a key to twist the device closed at the ringed base.
I stare down at his manhood trapped in the chastity cage, the gold lock contrasting the silver metal all around him. A smile curls the edge of my mouth knowing that while I have the key and he’s in that, he can’t do a damn thing.
Snapping off the gloves, I unlock the necklace I wear under my clothes. It’s a silver necklace with nothing on it anymore. Years ago I thought it would be the necklace where I wore my engagement stone, but that didn’t happen, and I didn’t have the heart to take it off.
Now it serves a better purpose.
I slide the key onto the chain and put it back on my neck, immediately working Trace’s pants up his body when I’m done. As soon as his belt is buckled, Deuce enters through the back door, his own big boots crowding down the hall.
He stops at the opening between the artists’ stations, hands on hips, blinking at a passed out and now—thanks to me—clothed Trace. “What the fuck?” he says, then adds, “Not you, Ivy. Thanks for being here.” Sweeping his hand down his face he lets out a heavy sigh. “What happened?”
I nod to the receptionist station where the iPad is pulled out and the footage is queued since Dash and Keanu just viewed it. “Watch the footage while I get his shoes back on,” I say, finagling a heavy boot onto Trace’s foot. The socks were easy but the boots are a pain.
“You’re welcome,” I tell him, dragging the words out even though he’s been sawing logs for the last forty minutes.
After his boots are on and laced, I shimmy his shirt down, feeding his arms through one at a time before yanking it over his head. “Fuck, I’m sweating,” I tell a still passed-out Trace as I wipe the back of my head with the end of his hoodie.
Deuce comes to my side, outstretching his hand across his body. I slip mine into his as he says, “Thank you, Ivy. You did good.”
I chew the inside of my mouth, absorbing his praise. “Thank you.”
We both stare at a snoring Trace before I quietly ask, “Did you watch all of the footage?”
I feel his eyes on me, and I look up at him. “What are you asking?”
I look back at Trace, making sure he’s still passed out. Of course he is, but asking this definitely lets the cat out of the bag. I smooth my finger over the black nail polish on my thumb
“Did he hook up with any of those women?”
Deuce doesn’t reply until I’m brave enough to look him in the eye. When I finally do, he puts me at ease. “No, he didn’t.” He looks over at Trace. “He just drank that entire fifth in forty minutes.”
“Idiot.”
Deuce nods. “You drive his car behind me? I’ll take him in my pickup in case he gets sick.”
“You’re a good friend,” I tell him, grabbing Trace’s keys, wallet and phone from the drawer next to the table. “I’d make him puke in his own car.”
Deuce smirks. “I don’t want to be seen driving that ridiculous thing, even if it’s at night.”
At that, I snort, because Trace’s car is ridiculous for a tiny town in the sticks. “You know, it doesn’t really even suit him,” I admit.
“You’re right. It doesn’t.” Deuce bends, dragging Trace to the edge of the bench, curling his large body over his shoulder. Standing, he groans. “Not anymore anyway.”
I follow behind Deuce, inputting the code on the security system that he tells me since his hands are occupied holding Trace’s body over his. I help him get Trace in the passenger side, then slip into his little sports car, surprised to find the tank full and the radio off. The sports car definitely gave me “ leave it on E with the radio blaring 80s rock ” vibes, but I’m so glad to be wrong.
I follow behind Deuce until we arrive at his house. For a second, I almost forgot that Trace is living in the house next door now. I stay behind the wheel as Deuce gets Trace awake enough to stand, and guides him to the porch. He stumbles the entire way, but Deuce keeps a palm pressed to his stomach and his arm around his shoulders, helping him the whole way.
That’s when I get out and run up, helping to flick on the lights and guide Trace inside.
We lower him to a couch, one that already has a pillow and blanket on it. “His bed is being delivered this week, so this will be fine,” Deuce says, watching me eye the small home.
There’s not much, and I can tell right away that Trace didn’t bring any of the furnishings I spotted in the apartment that night, months back. What’s here is new.
“He’s starting fresh,” Deuce says, and sometimes it’s eerie how well he reads my mind.
“Is there, like… a puke bowl or something?” I ask, looking around the space again. But really, there’s not much. A few pairs of boots lined up neatly against the wall, a case of water sitting on the kitchen countertop, a TV on a stand on the floor, some pillows strewn about, and boxes. Lots of boxes stacked along the wall in the hallway. None of them are labeled, but I’m assuming since he’s just moved it’s all of his shit. Or whatever it is he wanted to take.
“Nah,” Deuce says, grabbing a few bottles from the pack on the counter. He tosses them, and we watch as they roll near the couch, next to Trace’s limp hand. “Unfortunately, I’ve seen him drink more and not get sick. He’ll be hurtin’ for sure but he’s okay.”
I swallow hard as I watch Trace’s chest rise and fall, his lips parted and his eyes fluttering. “He was doing good. From what I could see, he was doing good.”
“He’s still doing good,” Deuce says, surprising me. I pull my hair off my face, sliding the elastic from my wrist to make a ponytail. Deuce smiles, watching me, and says, “It’s a small setback.”
I nod, bending down to unlace my boots.
“You’re staying?” he asks, sounding surprised.
“Yeah,” I reply cooly, “I know you said he’ll be okay but…” The key hanging around my neck suddenly feels heavy, and I’m hit with the urge to lie down on the floor and rest, and watch Trace sleep. “I’m gonna stay a few hours. Just to make sure those women don’t come here, or, I don’t know.”
Deuce’s smirk fills me with uncomfortable, self-consciousness. He’s onto me. I know he is. “Uh-huh.” He nods. “Got that knife in your boot?”
I glance down at the shining handle sticking out of my boot. “Yep.”
He scratches his head as he moves to the front door, resting his hand on the knob. “It was you going out with Jeremy,” he finally says, and my mouth opens reactively so damn fast it makes Deuce chuckle. He lifts a hand to silence what he knows will be an angry defense.
“No, no—I’m not saying it’s your fault.” His wide eyes hold mine with clarity. “I’m saying, the idea of you with another man drove him back to his comfort vices.”
My heart races uncontrollably as I tug on a sweater, feeding my hands through the sleeves, keeping them tucked at my sides as I nod. “I know,” I admit. “Or, I mean, I put that together after I said yes.”
“You gotta teach him, Ivy. You’re the only one who gets through to him.”
I laugh at Deuce as he pulls open the front door, letting in a steam of cool air. Smells like horseshit and grass, but I love the smell of Bluebell. “I get through to him?” I look at Trace, whose body is now fully slipping from the couch.
Deuce grips the doorframe. “Teach him better ways to get jealous than booze and–”
“Hookers?” I offer with a syrupy sweet smile.
“Right.” He claps his palm against the doorframe to say goodbye. “You two will work it out. Good night Ivy. And thank you for everything.”
“Night, Deuce.”
After he closes the door, I get to work laying out pillows and blankets all over the ground near the couch, so if Trace slips off, he’s as comfortable as he can be.
That stupid asshole .
I have zero plans to spend the night here, but I want to make sure this jerk is safe and comfortable. I feed my fingers through his sweaty hair, hating how soft it feels despite the perspiration. His eyes flicker open for a moment as I slip the pillow behind his head, keeping him propped up in case he gets sick.
“Hi,” he breathes, all smoke and rasp, making my attention leap to him.
“Hi,” I quietly reply.
His eyes search mine. Through the fatigue and fog, he really looks at me. A smile curls his lips, then mine. Then he’s out again.
“God you suck,” I sigh. After pulling off his boots and socks then nearly breaking my back getting off his hoodie and shirt, I leave him to sleep, tugging the old blanket up over his body.
The cabinets in his kitchen are so sadly bare that I almost feel bad, except I remind myself that he just moved in and he’s got more money than everyone in my family combined, so his lack of a stocked kitchen speaks more to his lifestyle than anything.
Still, I dig around the one cupboard with miscellaneous items until I find a bottle of Advil. Leaving three pills near the bottles of water, I push his hair off his face and touch the key swinging at my throat.
“See you tomorrow, dummy,” I whisper, before taking his car keys, locking his front door, and driving his sports car home.
He’ll hate that I took his car.
But that won’t seem like much compared to the fact that I have his dick, too.