Chapter Three
Ivy
You’d think a town this small would make a little noise when they see a young girl on a grown man’s shoulders as she’s hauled down Main Street during late afternoon.
Nope!
Everyone seems to think I like it here. One woman laughed, another smiled, and an old man made a comment about how he used to drag his daughter home from boys’ houses just like this.
Do these people think I look young enough to be this man’s daughter? Gross!
Ryker slides me into his truck and glances toward me with the same sort of look he had on his face back at my apartment. It’s a weird, feral kind of stare that makes me feel seen, claimed, and angry all at once.
It’s a lot like that weird kiss thing that happened a few minutes ago… or whatever that was when his lips got really close to mine and I could feel his breath on my skin.
What was that, and why did I like it?
Ivy, you liked it because he’s a big, rough, masculine giant. Any woman with a pulse would have liked that!
My pep talk only serves to conjure more questions, the biggest and most pressing surrounding Ryker’s possible interest in me.
I thought maybe I noticed his cock getting hard when he saw me naked, but I don’t know.
Maybe he had something in his pocket. He’s been known to carry some pretty big bottle openers.
Plus, why would he want me? I’m young, inexperienced, and I come with a load of trouble.
Clearly, I’m misinterpreting this whole situation.
“Where are we going?” I roll my head to the side as he climbs up in the driver’s seat, landing his big hands on ten and two. “You know I could open this door and run off whenever I want?”
“You didn’t though.”
“Because I know you’ll catch me and I’m trying to conserve energy,” I lie, knowing full well I’m desperate to see where this goes.
“We’re going back to my cabin.”
I laugh one loud, short laugh. “Do you have handcuffs already or are you planning to use rope? ‘Cause if you don’t have a plan, I’ll get bored, and I’m really annoying when I’m bored.”
“You won’t be bored.” He shifts the truck into gear and pulls out into the street. “You’ll be too busy following directions.”
My clit throbs and I press my hips against the seat of his truck in an attempt to calm the ache.
Why does the thought of him giving me direction cause that reaction?
I hate taking directions. I hate feeling controlled.
In fact, I’ve been trying to stop him from controlling me for as long as I can remember.
I scoff as we pull onto a long, winding mountain road lined with tall pine and cedar. “You and I both know I don’t do well taking orders.”
He shakes his head like he knows better. “You pretend not to like it, but I know you better than that.”
The thought of him knowing me well enough to have absorbed something so subtle is an intimacy I’ve never felt before with any other human being… ever. My clit throbs the same way it did when he had his rough hand on the back of my neck at my apartment.
God, what’s happening, and does he mean these things as sexually as they sound… ‘cause I’m creamy, slippery, and soaking wet right now.
Hand outstretched, he pushes the dial on the radio and turns it to a country station.
I always thought this was a weird attribute about Ryker.
He’s this big, tough, monster of a guy who looks angry all the time, but he loves country ballads.
I think if I met him on the street, I would assume he was more of a metal dude with all the tattoos, muscles, and dark features.
Metal or maybe old rock. I’d have guessed any kind of music over this country ballad about lost love and dirt.
“You want a gummy bear?” I reach into my purse and pull out a package of cinnamon bears, desperate for a distraction.
“You were bringing cinnamon gummy bears to your first prostitution?” He holds out his hand as he snarks. “That’s weird.”
“If you’re going to talk like that, I’m not giving you any.”
Ignoring my sass, he reaches his hand in the bag anyway, grabbing a handful without permission.
How very, Ryker of him. Taking things without permission.
“What about my car?” I ask, biting the head off a gummy. “I left it parked in front of the bar. A delivery truck was blocking my parking spot at the pizza shop when I got home last night.”
He palms ten bears into his mouth at once, talking with his mouth full. “It’s a distillery, not a bar, and that car is a death trap. You shouldn’t be driving it, anyway.”
“How could it still be a death trap? You’ve been secretly working on it every time I park.”
“How’d you know that?”
I laugh as I chew on the sugary sweet bear. “You’re like the biggest dude on Earth. The man on the moon saw you fixing my car. Thank you, by the way. The brakes are actually braking now.”
He shakes his head as he feeds his tongue against the inside of his cheek. Even that makes my pussy ache.
Why? What’s happening to me? Two hours ago, I was content with understanding the urges I had for him were ridiculous.
Now, my knees ache, I’m lightheaded, and all I can think about is what he’d feel like pressing inside of me, what his beard would feel like between my legs, what his strong hands would feel like on my throat.
“You like pasta?”
“Pasta?” I repeat with narrowed brows.
“For dinner. I have pasta, and I bought one of those chocolate cake boxes a few weeks ago I thought we could make.”
“Oh, you’re a nice kidnapper. That’s fun. Do you make the chocolate cake for me, or do I make it for you?”
He smirks. “I think it’s only fair that you make it for me.”
“How is that fair?” I snap a playfully sour look in his direction. “This little charade is costing me 50 thousand. The least you could do is make me a cake.”
He pauses as he turns left up the old dirt road that leads to his cabin. “I think you’ll be a good girl and you’ll make the cake.”
Good girl? Did he really just say that?
Okay, now I know he’s being sexual. There’s no way a man says to be a good girl while demanding you make them a chocolate cake because they want to watch Wheel of Fortune together… right?
I stare at him, my pussy clenching in a slow squeeze as I picture how a good girl and cake go together. Does he feed the cake to me? Do I feed it to him? Am I on my knees? Is he commanding me to crawl?
What about Benny? What would he think if he knew his baby sister were on her knees feeding his best friend chocolate cake? He’d kill us both… that’s what.
I need to hold it together!
My heart squeezes as we pull up to the old mill house that overlooks the valley where the wild horses like to congregate. It’s gorgeous but I don’t tell him because I don’t want him to think I’m happy to be here.
I’m not. I had plans. Big plans. Plans that involved losing my virginity for fifty thousand dollars. Ryker pretty much kidnapped me. The fact that I’m curious about what’s going to happen next is merely a side effect of my love for mysteries.
We climb down out of the truck, and I follow him toward the house, tugging down the dress I didn’t have time to change out of.
Damn, this thing is short. Way too short. I’ve never worn anything this short in my life.
“I’m going to get the pasta started.” He gives me a once over and glances toward the house. “You go get some clothes on.”
I glance down at the dress I bought for tonight’s devirginizing. “I have clothes on.”
“Put real clothes on,” he groans as he unlocks the front door. “I’ve got plenty in my dresser.”
If this dress weren’t so insanely uncomfortable, I might fight him, but I’ve been desperate to take it off since I put it on.
I don’t know why anyone would ever want to wear something this tight, or short, or revealing.
That said, tonight was about making money while offering another man his fantasy.
Most men like short and tight. That, and I read that the color red tricks a man into thinking your pretty.
It’s something about how red makes the heart beat faster.
Maybe the dress worked too well on Ryker.
Maybe when I take it off, the spell will be broken.
Yes, that’s exactly what this is. It’s the dress. The color of the dress. I’ve inadvertently seduced him. That’s it. The second this dress is off, everything will go back to normal.
He swings open the front door and we step inside the warmth of the sprawling modern cabin.
I knew he was having the place renovated, but I didn’t expect it to be so beautiful.
Granite counters, a big picture window overlooking the valley, every modern appliance known to man, and expensive looking paintings of the mountain range hung above the sofa.
I’ve never known Ryker as a rich man, but I imagine his parent distillery in the Springs did pretty well for he and his brothers to branch out here.
I’m breathing in the scent of pine and admiring the place when I realize Ryker has gone straight to work on dinner. No formal tour, no history on the antique farm equipment that hangs on the wall, just a cold drop in the center of the cozy cabin’s warmth.
It’s not a huge place so I follow the wide hallway past the bathroom and toward two rooms on opposite sides of the hall.
The one on the left is fairly empty with a bed, a dresser, and a painting of the old mill pre-renovation.
I’ve never been a history buff, but it really makes me appreciate how old this land is and how many lives must have passed through here.
I wonder if any of the women that used to live in this mill were ever dodging a virgin auction while secretly hoping their big, sexy, inked-up, much older, brother’s best friend would make some moves.
Something tells me I’m the first.