5. Ivy
IVY
I don’t know what came over me. As I lie alone in the bed, with satin sheets and lush pillows, I stare at each brick on the wall wondering where the hell I am. I’ve never seen such a place. Not in all my life, in any text…except for those of fantasies.
What happened? Where am I? And why can’t I wake up?
I never should have acted like that. I never should have touched him like I wanted him. I shouldn’t have looked at him like he could ever be anything to me other than the man who stole me off the street.
There is no pain and hardly any fear here, and I don’t understand.
The man who followed me around Edinburgh. The man who said I wasn’t safe in the city, then stole me away and brought me here, only to keep me in the same room, never allowing me to leave… I kissed him. And I loved it. Something inside of me stirred in a way I can’t understand or justify.
Questions race in my mind and all the while I stare at the luxury around me wondering what drug I’ve taken.
The sheets are the softest I’ve ever felt. The pillows are filled with down, firm but plush at the same time. Even the sheets and blankets that cover me to the waist feel silky, far nicer than any blankets I’ve ever had on my own bed. If I went back to my room now, I’d probably be surprised at how rough those sheets are in comparison.
But they would be my sheets, and it would be my bed, not this stranger’s in this odd place that doesn’t feel real.
I roll over to face the window and sigh.
It can’t be real, can it? This whole place, and the world outside, can’t be real. And yet I touch my chest and can feel my heartbeat. I pinch my skin and feel the sharp pain, and yet I do not wake.
Because the world outside looks like something out of a story. A fairy princess type of story, where a girl is taken out of her life and brought to a magical land, or at least a land she’s never seen before. It’s like something preserved from the past, but not the past of any city I’ve visited. It’s different, and I don’t recognize it. The tower of the castle we’re in must be high because for as far as the eye can see, I see lights and cities. The bright white gates and pillars of onyx and amethyst. Roads of gold and pristine pyrite. It’s all unreal. A mist and smog of fire covers a place in the distance, and I vaguely remember myths of the underworld.
I slide my hand under the cool pillow and let my eyes blur the world outside. There’s no point in looking. I can’t get out. The door to this room is locked. I’ve tried it three times, and it never opens.
I should say—it only opens when he comes in. It’s like he’s read my mind, because the door swings open almost silently as I think of him. I hear the whoosh as he steps inside because there’s no other sound in this place.
Chills run over my skin like they did before, and yet it’s different. It’s nearly like foreplay. What has he done to me?
“My heaven,” he murmurs and then says my name clearly. “Ivy?” I pick myself up, pulling the sheet with me to cover myself and meet his eyes.
He appears in my line of sight with something in his hand.
A necklace.
I still feel naked when he looks at me, his eyes slipping from my face to the curves of my body, and I look back at him, pretending my heart isn’t racing.
With the necklace in one hand, he offers the other to me.
I resist a moment, a blush rising to my cheeks. “I’m not decent.”
Without a word he opens a cupboard and my jaw nearly drops, it’s filled with beautiful dresses. Simple and floor length, almost like nightgowns but far too luxurious. He chooses one and again without a word he helps me slip it on. It fits perfectly, hugging my waist and hanging so beautifully. The deep burgundy is beautiful against my pale skin.
“Now?” he questions and holds out his hand again.
I take it and let him help me out of the bed. No point in fighting.
“Where are we going?”
He doesn’t answer. He just leads me across the room to a large, ornate mirror leaning on the opposite wall. The mirror is so tall that he can see all of himself in it.
I look small next to him. This beast of a man. He’s beautiful. His eyes especially. They say you can see someone’s soul in their eyes and I swear I can in his. And when I look at him, tears prick my eyes although I don’t know why.
I rip my gaze away before the feeling turns too heavy.
He positions me in front of him and places the necklace around my neck, letting the jewel at its center settle into the dip in my throat. His eyes rake over me in the mirror while his fingers work carefully at the clasp, trailing over my dress like he can see underneath it.
“This will stay on you always,” he says, his voice low and commanding. “So they know.”
“So who knows?” I wish his voice didn’t have any effect on me.
“And,” he continues, as if I haven’t spoken, “I’ll always know where you are.”
“It will track me?” I question, hating the idea and feeling more like a prisoner.
“This is a large place, and I don’t want to worry.”
“I’ll be allowed outside?” I ask and he smirks, a huff of a laugh leaving him.
“A bit excited, are you?” he asks just beneath his breath before brushing my hair off my shoulder and kissing my skin in the crook of my neck. Against my conscious will, a moan slips from me and my eyes close.
When I open them, his eyes meet mine in the mirror “So long as you have this on, you will be safe and if you are lost, they will be able to help you get back home.”
He touches the jewel in the center, circling it with his fingertip. My nipples harden thinking of his touch.
“Who is they ?” I ask, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He drops his hand away from the necklace, bringing his grip to my waist. Possessively. And it makes no sense at all that I would love it as I do.
“That’s none of your concern for the moment.” He straightens behind me, staying close enough for me to feel the heat of his body. “Now that you’ve taken what you wanted, you can…”
My hand flies to the necklace. “ You gave this to me. I took nothing.”
He smirks at me in the mirror as if I’ve said something amusing, but the delight on his face doesn’t last. His face darkens, and he leans down to drag the tip of his nose along my neck.
Goosebumps race down my body. I want him so badly, and it’s like being lit on fire. These touches are hardly anything, but I’m hot under my dress.
I inhale more heat and more conflicted emotion, too. I shouldn’t want this man at all. I can only justify it by convincing myself that none of this is real. It’s certainly not a reality I’ve ever lived before.
His lips brush my jaw and he groans roughly. “I need you again.”
The sound that comes out of my mouth is almost a moan. I meant to say no , but the truth is that I want him to touch me. I want him to take me.
So I press myself harder against him and lift my dress to my hips, bunching the fabric in my fingers. I give in to the idea of pleasure with him. To the thought of seeing more of this place. And more of him.
His hands roam over my thighs, and I use one hand to keep my dress in front of me so I can balance on the mirror.
It’s a sight like none other to watch his large hands skim over my skin, touching me like I’m delicate and irreplaceable. His hands skim lightly over my hip bones and down to my thighs. I spread my legs for him the moment he touches me there.
It’s shameful, but I want his fingers on my clit again. He knew just how to play me. Another moan escapes me as he circles, gathering heat between my legs.
“That’s it,” he says in my ear. “Aren’t you beautiful? Gorgeous. I could look at you forever.”
The sensations he brings alive in me are too intoxicating to ignore. I have to have more of them. He’s addictive.
The slightest added pressure on my clit makes me melt against him. Makes me spread my thighs wider and moan. I lean my head against his shoulder, needing the contact.
Fuck, what does this man have over me?
He grips my hip and encourages me to bend backward until he can grind against my naked skin. The fabric covering his cock meeting my most sensitive parts steals my breath. He’s hard underneath his clothes.
Wanting me. He acts as if he’s desperate for me. I’ve never felt so pulled to another person before. So desired.
I desire him just the same.
He plays me like a well-used toy, stroking my nipples, plucking at them until I let out a whine. Then he kisses my earlobe.
“There is magic here,” he says, his voice husky and rough as if he’d spent hours thinking about me. “I can give you pleasure like you’ve never known.”
I keep my eyes closed, barely hearing him. Magic. This place is magic. And he’s a magician of pleasure.
He brings the pad of his thumb back to my nipple and teases it until it’s full and hard. I’m so desperate for sensation that I arch against him, rolling my hips as he strokes my clit.
I close my eyes and give in to it. Why does it have to be so good? Why does it have to take over every part of me? It makes me lightheaded. It almost makes me forget where I am and how I got here.
“Will you let me go?” I gasp.
He goes still, his fingers hovering over my clit. When I open my eyes, he’s looking into mine in the mirror, his eyes dark.
“You already know.” His tone isn’t as demanding as I anticipated, more sympathetic than anything. Before I can respond he kisses me, and it’s just like forgetting. Like silencing thoughts that feel like they don’t belong here anymore.
He moves his fingers again, sending pleasure through my core, and nudges his cock between my legs. He keeps playing with my clit as he sinks into me inch by inch. I spread my legs to give him more room, although something in me says I don’t need to. He’ll move me the way he wants.
I drop my dress so I can brace myself on the mirror. My body rocks with his hips, moving back and forth as he thrusts in and bottoms out and strokes again. My thighs tremble. Our reflection a sinful decadence that stares back at me every time I dare to open my eyes.
“I don’t ,” I manage to reply. It’s hard to get words out when all my body wants to concentrate on is him.
“You were mine in a previous life.” My gaze meets his in the reflection and my heart hammers.
Still buried in me, he reaches for a box behind the mirror. Old, wooden, and carved.
At first I pull back, uncertain, but he kisses my neck. “It’s for you,” he murmurs. With one hand caressing my body, his lips leave kisses in a trail down my neck while his other hand opens the box.
Inside is a small iron dish, two tall spindle candles, one black and one white twined together and bathed in what looks like herbs of jasmine and what smells like clove. A few small crystals, rose quartz, and the box is filled with rose petals that have long dried.
“You were mine in a previous life,” he repeats, “and I want you to remember.”
His eyes stay on mine in the mirror. Nothing in his expression says that he’s lying. He believes it’s true.
He looks at himself, then a spark is in his eyes that should be familiar. I should know where I’ve seen it before, but when I try to search my memory, there’s nothing there.
“I don’t remember that,” I say. “I don’t remember anything.”
Why do I wish I remembered?
“Light it with me,” he murmurs, and with both of his hands he stands the candles on the plate, placing the items around them, and lights a match. With the flame, he ignites the black candle and then hands me the match.
With my back to his chest and his cock still inside of me, I take the match and without thinking, I do it. I light the white candle and barely get to blow the match out before he devours me.
“I’ll help you remember.” His voice breaks as he thrusts in deep, pulling a gasp out of me as well. He fucks me like a savage, rough and raw. I cry out and my hands fall forward onto the mirror. The flames lick and burn to the right of the mirror.
His arm comes between my breasts, bracing me to him as he fucks me. Pulling pleasure from deep within me. We’re locked together in the mirror, my breath beginning to fog the glass as we come together. Pleasure ignites from deep in my core.
He doesn't stop and I can barely take any more. From the corner of my eyes, I barely get a glimpse of the candles as they light on fire, burning to nothing more than a pool of wax that covers the rocks and petals on the plate. The deed is done so quickly it cannot be taken back.
He drops his lips onto my shoulder and with a low grunt, spills the last of his release, his arms locking tight around me.
He pulls out slowly, like he doesn’t want to, then lets my dress fall back to the floor. It only takes a few seconds for him to put himself back together, straightening his clothes and tucking himself away. All the while I’m breathless and ravaged, barely able to sit upright.