Go Home, Ivy

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

I vy had hopped in the shower as soon as she had gotten back to the cottage. With each stroke of soap over her body, she felt phantom reminders of Ross’ hands. Trying to ignore or suppress her peaking nipples and goosebumps as she cleaned herself, she cranked the temperature dial repeatedly. Unfortunately, the heady shortness of breath induced by the steam only stirred memories of the heat between them days ago. How she fought to fill her lungs and slow her pulse when faced with him. Worryingly unsure how far this exercise in fantastic memory would actually go as her loofah swept south, she dragged herself out and into her bedroom.

Hair damp and skincare liberally applied to every accessible inch of her, she stood in front of the small wardrobe that she had scantily filled on arrival. Ivy loved her relaxed, casual island-wear. She spent most of her time here in fleeces and leggings, considering wearing jeans to a meeting ‘dressing up’. But right now, she could’ve done with some Edinburgh options. A Patagonia did not necessarily scream sexy. Though, Ross had certainly looked?—

She cut the thought off before she got derailed. If she was going to be on time, or at least an appropriate level of fashionably late, she had forty minutes before she needed to be out the door. A pair of jeans and a fitted black t-shirt were employed and tossed onto the bed while she dried her hair.

Maybe it was overkill, but once dry, she formed loose curls, pinning each to her head to cool. Her makeup, too, was definitely more than he had ever seen her in, though by her usual date night standards it was nothing. Some foundation and concealer, a generous hand of blush, swipe of mascara and then the lips. She had dithered over her makeup bag with that one. Not having anticipated the need for a full glam, Ivy had three options. Plain lip balm, but where was the fun in that? Then it was a show down between a deep red stain that she loved, or a pretty pink satin finish. As much as the red would have bolstered her, she opted for the pink. Subtlety of transfer having nothing to do with it, obviously.

Releasing the curls and running her hands through them to keep the ‘ oh, I always look like this ’ line alive, Ivy nodded into the mirror. All things considered, this was going well. She even enjoyed the rush of nerves that swept through her every other minute. Hadn’t felt that in a while. The last six months of celibacy aside, Ivy had never minded a first date. Sure Dating, capital D frustrated eye roll and finger quotes included , was a bit of a slog. But she could entertain herself to no end, and the potential was always there. Here there was more than potential, she was already all in. No worrying would she be attracted to him, or bored of him, or going to leave in abject horror. This was going to go well, which made a nice change. Her last first date had been with Chris. Nearly three years ago now. And sure, they had been friends, and he was undeniably attractive, but she hadn’t felt this confident then.

Sliding into trainers by the door, an unwelcome thought wandered by her. Ross’ last first date had been with his wife. And he’d said he was, what, twenty-two when they met? Last date ten years ago with his now dead wife. Dinner was a big deal to Ivy, but she realised it was an even bigger deal to him, for even bigger reasons.

Fuck .

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Was this the wrong thing to be doing? Not even for herself, she could work that answer out later. But he had clearly been through a lot. All of their interactions seemed to catch him in vulnerable moments, now that he’d explained everything. Maybe they shouldn’t do this. She shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t take advantage of him or…

“Fuck,” Ivy whined out loud. Now in her car, she flicked down the mirror. Her darkened eyes and rosy lips now looked presumptuous, and she slammed the flap shut, offended. She needed advice. Really, she should talk about it with Ross. And she would. But if she didn’t want to fly back into his life a complete mess, she needed to ventilate first. Hardly able to ask Kirsty, cancer and family and all, she dialled Anna as she pulled out of the driveway, hoping she’d skipped happy hour today.

“Hey! I was literally about to phone you. Chris said something about you being stranded on a deserted island?!”

“It wasn’t that dramatic.” Ivy breathed out, rolling her shoulders. “We were fine.”

“Oh ‘we’ is it? He mentioned that part too… who’s the mystery man? I?—”

“Anna.” She didn’t mean to be quite so sharp, but there it was.

“Are you okay? God, I don’t know what you get up to when you go up there, but it does not seem safe. Should I?—”

“I need some advice,” Ivy interrupted again, hoping the urgency was only audible on her end of the line.

“Hit me.” Ivy could hear her friend kicking off her shoes and closing her door behind her. She really must have just left drinks.

Summing up the last few days was no mean feat, but Ivy managed, with a full five minutes before she was due to arrive at Ross’ place. Anna had barely gotten a word in during the epic, but now Ivy was done, she didn’t seem in a rush to take her cue.

As Ivy watched her ETA creep down on her map app, she drummed her fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for wisdom. Finally, Anna spoke up.

“No interest in dating for months and then this is how you burst back onto the scene?” She laughed, but there was a tenderness to her voice. She pressed on as Ivy groaned. “Look, he’s a grown man. Ask him whether he thinks the whole thing is a good idea. If he says he’s ready then take his word for it, you clearly like each other.”

“But—”

“Don’t be a wimp, gal.”

“I don’t want to hurt him.”

“You don’t want to hurt yourself.”

Ivy rubbed a finger across her lips. Sometimes it was shit having friends who knew you too well. Taking her silence as an opportunity to go on, Anna continued. “People get hurt, Ives. Their exes get promotions, they get rejected on dates, their fucking wives die. Maybe it’s worth the risk.”

“Do you always have to be right?”

“I am who I am.”

“Well, I am seconds away from his house, so I have to go.”

“Love you. Have fun. Be safe.” Anna squeezed out as Ivy reached for the red button.

Pulling into his driveway, she laughed as her friend’s icon disappeared from the screen. She ran a hand down her face and then looked up.

Ivy had been surprised when he’d texted her the address— well, really the vague directions and whatthreewords code. It was in Lewis, rather than Harris. Admittedly not that far into Lewis, being in South Lochs. But he’d left the family seat and, not that Ivy had thought much on it, was closer to her in town than she would have assumed. Based on the timeline he’d given her on the beach, they must have been twenty-four, maybe twenty-five, when they bought the house, so a Harris price tag may not have been quite as achievable as this one. All that considered, he hadn’t missed out on much else from The Dream House Wish List.

The grey stone house was well dressed on the outside, sure, but was anyone looking at it? His back garden was basically a large loch, the water was so close. If a visitor wasn’t a water baby, they could instead take in the generous supply of hills that embraced the place.

Tearing her eyes from the scenery and looking forward again, Ivy’s eyes wandered along the Edison bulb lit path to the front door. There, Ross leant against the frame, arms folded, watching her. For a second, their gazes lingered and mixed, both on their own side of his threshold.

Her mind became riotous, hundreds of thoughts and feelings bouncing around, trying to drown out the roaring of her heartbeat and ragged breath. She felt everything speeding up, until Ross grinned. Then there was quiet. A warm flush spread through her and she slipped her keys out of the ignition.

“Here we go,” she murmured to herself, a smile threatening her cheeks as she got out, still fixed in his soft stare.

“This is amazing!” She gushed as she arrived by his side, having dithered the whole 10 metre walk here to decide whether Hi or Hey would be more appropriate.

“It is,” he replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

As electricity shot down her neck where his fingers had trailed, she squinted up at him, suppressing a grin.

“I can’t believe you live here.”

“The house is nice too, yeah.” He cocked an eyebrow at her that wanted to be cheeky but was betrayed by the sincerity of his eyes.

Nudging him with her shoulder, Ivy rolled her eyes, hoping the burst of heat in her chest hadn’t reached the parts of her skin he could feel. She stepped past him, into the warm house as he closed the door.

A large sideboard just up the hall held a variety of spoils, presumably from his travels, and a large, framed picture. Ivy hovered in front of it, taking in him in his kilt and fisherman’s jumper beaming at the camera, while a gorgeous bride looked up at him, oblivious to their audience. Ross paused beside her, his hand on her lower back, dragging the heat from her chest downwards. She smiled at him, squeezing his arm. His eyes echoed the smile as she watched him visibly relax, then he walked on down the hall, his fingers trailing across her waist until the last second.

“Wine preference?” He called, ducking into another room.

“Whatever the chef recommends!” Ivy called back, tracking slowly towards his voice, not without assessing the rest of the evidence along the way. Art on the walls, shoes neatly stacked under a coat rack, keys and phone tossed into a bowl alongside gum and a smattering of coins. The person in this house—home— now was alive.

The kitchen was gorgeous. Not as gorgeous as the man occupying it, a tea towel over his shoulder, tending to a cast iron at the cooker, though. Before she could speak, he turned around and set a large glass of red on the island behind him.

“Pairs best with dinner,” he said as she crossed the tiled floor, leaning against the cool granite of the kitchen island.

“What are you making?” she asked, standing on tip toe now that he had turned back to his work and was agitating the pan.

“Steak and—” He turned around. “You ate meat on Sandaigh. Do you— I should’ve checked.”

“I eat meat on this island too.” She watched him over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. His eyes darkened, then he nodded, face stained pink as he spun back around. Ivy bit the inside of her cheek and enjoyed the view quietly while he finished plating.

Conversation flowed more than easily through dinner. At least, it did when Ivy wasn’t moaning into her plate, because God, the man could cook. She was between two minds whether it was going so well in spite of all the subtext swirling around them, or because of it.

“Can I get you another?” Ross nodded towards her now empty glass as she took the last of it.

Setting it down, Ivy began to stand. “No, let me. Here, give me your plate as well.”

She carried both plates into the kitchen, leaving the table clear. It was the first break in conversation they’d had since she arrived at his house, and after setting the dishes by the sink, she took a second to breathe. Every time he caught her gaze across the table, or their fingers brushed, she felt fire burn within her. With each graze, she wanted to fully latch on and drag him to her, so they needed to talk before someone regretted something. Closing her eyes and taking a final breath, she was sufficiently cooled to ask him if he was okay with all this. The bottle of red on the counter was just about half full, so she lifted it, saving one of them a trip back to top up again later.

Ivy turned around to head back to the living room/diner and spun straight into Ross’ chest.

“Miss me?” She smirked up at him, feeling her temperature beginning to climb again.

“A lot of time alone with my thoughts back there.” His eyes darted down to her lips, and she subconsciously wetted them in response.

“Think up anything interesting?” The croak in her voice surprised even her. She stepped forward, their chests almost touching now.

“Nope,” he replied, dipping his head and capturing her mouth.

Ivy sighed into him as his hands found their place on the sides of her neck, tracing along her jaw. Her wine-free hand anchored her to his chest, gripping just below the open neck of his button-down. Honestly, fuck him for wearing this shirt. It had almost killed her when she’d seen it. The fleeces were always great, but God, this shirt . His tongue finally parted her lips and the shock to her groin woke her up.

“Ross, hang on,” she said, tapping on his chest when she was unable to make herself fully extract her face from his. He pulled back, the wild anxiety storming in his eyes, mixed with his flushed cheeks and already slightly swollen lips, tugging at every tender string within her.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she murmured, administering a chaste kiss to relieve the thin line of concern replacing his mouth. “Can we talk?”

He dropped his hands from her face and nodded, taking the bottle from her and leading her to the sofa. When he let go of her to collect the wine glasses from the table across the room, the sudden vacuum around her hand let her know how tightly he’d been gripping on the walk down the hall.

His eyes were slightly too wide, and he fidgeted with the stem of his glass when he finally sat down beside her.

“Are you sure you’re good?”

“I’m so good,” she said, squeezing his hand. “I just think we need to talk about… intentions.” Her voice simultaneously lilted up and trailed off at the end, and she scrunched her nose, unimpressed by herself.

He sat back. “My intentions? Ivy, I—we’ve had a glass of wine, but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. I wasn’t assuming— I have a spare bedroom.”

She stopped him by brushing her lips over his, then dropped her head to his shoulder and groaned. “Why are you so—” Perfect, she finished in her own head . “ I didn’t mean that. I want to be here.” She hoped he was getting the gist. “Like, really want to be here.” God, that whine in her voice was maybe too gist-y. And not helping her think straight. Nor was the way he leant into her, then.

“I want you to be here, too.” His voice was deliciously strained as his breath tickled her lips. His hand fell to her thigh and his eyes didn’t leave her mouth.

Static filled Ivy’s ears as she felt herself tumbling into him again. Their lips had barely met when she snapped back upright.

“I feel like I’m taking advantage of you!”

He was off the couch and on the other side of the room staring down at her before she’d fully heard herself say it.

“I— what ?” He looked baffled as he stood there, a hand clapped over his mouth.

“I just?—”

“Ivy, I’m thirty-two, sober and I invited you here. After I spilled my guts out to you.”

“I know. Fuck. I am messing this up.” She scrunched both hands into the hair at the back of her head. “Can you come here, please?” She held out a hand and felt everything lighten when he took it, despite the suspicious look retained on his face.

“I like you so much, Ross. But you kissed me when we got stranded. And after a fire. And when Kirsty got diagnosed. And after you told me everything about Julia.” Tears pricked at her eyes, and he didn’t miss them.

“Ivy, that wasn’t?—”

“Those were all such vulnerable moments for you. It would be so easy to confuse?—”

“I wasn’t confused.”

“But, I don’t want—” to be left behind if you realise you were. Shit . “I don’t want you to do something you aren’t ready for, just because we did something in those moments.”

“I was ready before I met you, Ivy.”

“Oh.”

The whites of his eyes had never been so visible as he took in her reaction. “No. No, no, no. Now I’m the one fucking this up.” He ran a hand over his face, then placed it on her cheek, his eyes boring into hers. “In order for me to have ended up at Bosta that day, I had to be ready, even if I didn’t fully realise what that meant, Ivy. I’m not saying a bit of adrenaline and a storm didn’t help with a push in your direction, but I have wanted everything we have done and hopefully will do, sober, clear headed and so aware of what it all means.”

“You’re sure?” She inspected him, looking for any trace of doubt, and found none.

“Very sure. Are you?”

“Mm Hmm.” She smirked, scraping her hands up his neck.

“I mean it, Ivy. This is on purpose.”

“Stop going on about it, then,” she teased, their noses touching and breaths mingling.

“You’re unbelievable.” He laughed, melding into her.

“Nope, we are not doing this here,” Ross said as Ivy climbed on top of him and slid her hands down his torso.

The continued urgency of his mouth on her neck and increasingly ragged breathing suggested otherwise.

“Here’s fine.” She tilted her chin up giving him full access to her throat as her hands reached his waistband.

He groaned into her shoulder at the touch, slid his hands under her and then they were standing.

Well, he was standing. Ivy just about managed to get her legs around his waist without tumbling backwards at the sudden movement. Gripping him to keep her balance, her nails were probably leaving marks. They were definitely leaving an impression as his eyes flashed and they stopped halfway along the hall for him to press her against the wall.

“Stop that,” he murmured into her mouth.

“Stop what?” She replied, a dare peeking out from under her heavy lips, as she trailed her nail down the centre of his spine. She watched goosebumps erupt along the forearm braced beside her head, highlighted by a distant lamp.

Ivy slipped from under him, ducking beneath his arm to wrap hers around him, undoing the last buttons standing on his shirt. Allowing it to drop to the floor, she exposed the red lines along his spine and trailed kisses along them.

Ross dropped his forehead to the wall and the hand pressed beside it clenched into a fist.

“Ivy.” His voice was gloriously strained.

She stood back up, dragging the tip of her tongue along the path she’d drawn between the two ridges of muscle.

“Yes?” She wrapped her hands under his arms, cupping his shoulders. He dipped his head to kiss her fingers, and she hoped her squeeze in return conveyed the grin on her face he would’ve seen was his back not to her.

He spun round, holding her waist and dropped a brief kiss on her mouth, tugging on her lower lip when he pulled back.

“Still want this?” He whispered, lips toying with her ear lobe. She nodded hungrily, fingers splayed across the bottom of his abs. Brushing past her, he caught her hand in one slick movement, as if he had done it a thousand times before and led them to his bedroom.

In her peripheries, Ivy caught glimpses of well-placed lamps providing a flattering glow, of expensive looking green sheets, and of a thick rug underfoot. Her peripheral vision shrunk rapidly, though, as they raced each other’s clothes to the floor and was all but vanished when his form clad only in tight black boxer briefs reached the central field of her vision. Everything went silent, except for the sound of their breathing as he kissed her backwards onto the bed.

When her head hit the mattress, she tried to cling to him, but with one knee still anchored between her legs, he leant to the bedside table. Ivy propped herself up on her elbows as he took out a box of condoms and turned back to her, resting a flat palm on her lower stomach.

“They’re open,” she stage-whispered, with a faux gasp.

He scratched the back of his head, fiddling clumsily with the box as if it was on fire now. The bashful look on his face echoed the way a boy had looked at her once when they were both eleven and about to kiss a person they didn’t share DNA with for the first time.

“I opened the box when I got home from the shop. Seemed smoother that way.” The exposing break in his voice was accompanied by a shy shrug.

Ivy’s heart split into a thousand pieces and butterflies erupted through each crack. Swallowing a declaration she worried she might mean, she beamed at him.

“Tesco or Co-op?”

“Co-op.” He visibly relaxed as she knelt up in front of him, wrapping her fingers around the box.

“Self-checkout?”

He let out a breathy laugh, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Obviously.”

“Discreet,” Ivy hummed against his mouth, kissing him again, the box now in her control.

He dropped down, sitting against the headboard and took her into his lap, barely interrupting his tongue’s desperate exploration of her mouth.

Ivy took a foil packet out and then tossed the box to the side, cupping his face while she worked down the angle of his jaw. He lifted a hand to hers, entangling their fingers and squeezing tight with a soft groan.

“Hold that,” Ivy said, slipping the condom into his hand, and freeing her own to drag down his abs and remove his underwear.

She licked along the crease at the top of his thigh, until getting close enough to press a kiss at the base of his shaft. His hips rolled just barely, and she flicked her eyes up to see his head back, eyes closed and forearm draped across his forehead, silver packet still clutched between the fingers.

Grinning, she swirled her tongue around his tip, burying her nails into his inner thighs to draw out a moan from him. Encouraged, she began taking him deeper into her mouth, rubbing up and down his broad thighs as the rocking of his pelvis increased.

“Fuck, Ivy,” he growled, running a hand through her hair. “You’re going to make me come.”

“That’s the point,” she teased on a whisper, smirking up at him.

“But you—” She took him to the back of her throat then, silencing any protests he was about to try.

“Ross,” Ivy said, stroking her hand along him. “Just let something be about you.”

His heady gaze beat down on her for a moment, then he followed orders. His hand fisted in her hair while his head fell back on the headboard again.

Giving oral had never really been all that for Ivy. There were limits to everyone’s generosity. Doing this had always felt like she was giving a gift. Sure, it felt good to make someone else happy, but it didn’t feel exactly the same as getting a gift herself. Different ‘happies’, maybe. Doing this like this , though… right now as he finished, she was almost surprised she hadn’t as well. Her groin heated and her heart pounded. A damp sheen spread across her whole body, and she panted for breath like she had just come hard and well. All because he had.

He dragged her up to him, fusing his mouth to hers as if he was trying to find some of himself in there again. But Ivy was keeping him.

She leaned against his bare chest, and he ran a finger unconsciously from the tip of her shoulder to her ear. Back and forth, sending sparks through her each time.

It was minutes before either’s breathing slowed enough to speak.

“Can I ask you a question?” She continued swirling shapes through his chest hair when he Mm Hmm-ed in response, still catching up to her recovery time.

“You bought those condoms today?”

“I did,” he replied, holding the metallic square over her shoulder, dangled in front of her. She rolled her eyes, smiling, and snatched it from him, then turned, resting her arms on his chest and propping her chin on top of them.

“You bought them today and had been a party of one for a while…” she chewed on her cheek while he looked at her with a curious quirk in his brow.

“Yep.”

“So, the condom you whipped out on Sandaigh…”

His cheeks flushed beetroot almost immediately.

“Ah.”

“You dick!” She laughed, whacking her hand into his chest. She dropped and roughened her voice, mimicking him while his eyes widened, and blush spread. “ I didn’t bring a condom, Ivy, I just had a condom .”

“That was all my brother’s doing.” He caught her wrist on her second attack, using the momentum to flip them both so she lay flat on her back, hair cascading around her and he held himself over her.

“Ally packed condoms in the Mòr hamper?” She deadpanned as he tucked an errant chocolate strand behind her ear.

“It is possible that it may not just have been Kirsty mentioning you from time to time. I might have?—”

“Yearned, lamented.”

He placed a hand over her mouth.

“I might have brought you up once or twice. Or every time I saw you.” He laughed, kissing her forehead and releasing her lips. “Ally tossed them at me as a joke on my way out the door. We didn’t actually think?—”

“That you had it in you?” He put the hand back. Her eyebrows wiggling said plenty anyway.

“Not in my wildest dreams.”

She kissed his palm, and they stayed like that a moment, a million words hanging in the silence. Eventually he folded in behind her, wrapping his arms round her waist as she rolled onto her side.

Ivy was about to fall asleep when he spoke again.

“Hang on a second.” She craned her neck to half look at him. “I was lying there thinking ‘ this is it ’, and all you were focused on was the origins of my condoms?”

Ivy reached over to the head of the bed, grabbing a pillow and thumping him with it. Then she did fall asleep.