21. Ivy
IVY
Ihear Arabella’s door close behind me before I reach the one in front of me, nerves twisting through my body as I gnaw on my bottom lip, considering how bad an idea this might be.
The thumps increase, like there’s a rhythm to it.
It should probably scare me away, but instead, it has me reaching for the doorknob.
My breath lodges in my throat as it twists, the door opening to reveal a steep set of stairs leading up, a soft glow from above offering just enough light to make out each step.
I still as the noise changes. Without the door wedged shut between us, the sound isn’t as muffled.
It sounds like… music.
Glancing over my shoulder, I double check that Arabella is tucked safely in her room before I dare to step over the threshold, closing the door quietly behind me.
I let the music guide me, the volume not loud enough to shake the house, but it has a way of seeping into my bones, each beat drawing me closer. Leaving my nerves at the door, while my heart rattles in time with the bass, I climb.
The same soft glow fills the entire room as I reach the top of the stairs, but I’m frozen in place, unable to move as my gaze lands on Archer, and I can’t look away.
Tucked beneath the sloping roof sits an old drum kit, hiding most of Archer’s frame as he sits, perched on the worn leather stool.
Sweat traces the lines of his abs as his shoulders roll with expert precision.
I don’t know where his shirt is, and I don’t care to find out; I’m too enthralled by the blurred drumsticks tangled between his fingers.
Every strike feels deliberate, every move intentional as the music comes alive before him. It’s the same measured and skilled Archer, but with an air of recklessness, a lack of restraint, and a need for release.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I edge farther into the room, tingles running through me as his bare foot knocks the kick drum, making the floorboards vibrate beneath me.
Staring at him, in all his glory, I’m in awe.
Sweat darkens his hair, the ends unkept as they fall over his face instead of the usual tamed style.
I have no idea what the song is, or if it even is one to begin with, but it’s intoxicating regardless.
Approaching cautiously, he continues to play, his eyes closed, until I step on a groaning floorboard and he stills.
Eyes latch on mine, dark and heated as his chest rises and falls in quick succession, matching the rhythm of the beat he just pounded out.
My pulse rings in my ears as I blink at him, his skin glistening as he flicks his hair back off his face.
“Arabella?” he asks, and I gulp.
“Sleeping,” I murmur, and he nods.
I want to ask him if he’s okay, but I know that he isn’t.
I want to tell him that it’s all going to be okay, but I don’t know that it is.
I want to understand what’s going on here, but it’s impossible for me to press.
He sniffs, fingers flexing around the drumsticks. “My mother is in the basement with urgent care. It’s all set up for her; she’s just going to need a little time.”
“Will she be okay?” I ask, and his jaw tightens.
“She will be perfect once my father is no longer a concern,” he grunts, contained rage raspy in his tone.
“What did he do, Archer?” I ask, even though I know I shouldn’t, and he scoffs.
“He does what he always does: he caused pain and destruction and let the world fall as he walked away.” It’s cryptic, but enough for me to hate the man in question even more than I already do. Archer holds both drumsticks in one hand to drag the other down his face as he exhales.
“I know there was something to do with the tulips,” I mumble, and he glances at me.
“Arabella?” he clarifies, eyebrows furrowing.
“She said they thought they were from you until your mother read the card; then she insisted Arabella go upstairs.”
He nods. “My mother loves tulips; I send them once a week. A different array of colors each time to make her smile,” he explains, and my heart warms for him.
“That’s sweet.”
His lips purse. “When they arrive, my mother and sister make a big fuss, hurrying to the kitchen together while my mother inhales the sweet scent,” he continues, and I gulp.
“Arabella mentioned that,” I breathe, and his nostrils flare.
“My messages are usually short but sweet, and my mother reads them out loud while they have tea time together.” I can’t handle how adorable it all is.
“Only today, that was an issue because the flowers weren’t from me.
” He slips his hand into his pocket, revealing a small white card.
He glares down at it, and I watch, highly anticipating it going up in flames at his touch, but to my surprise, he reads it out.
“I hope the scent offers you the hellish trip down memory lane you deserve.”
I rub my lips together, confusion getting the better of me, and Archer must see it when he tilts his head my way.
“He had the tulips laced with shade.” I shake my head, unsure what that is, and he sighs.
“My father is the most corrupt man you will ever meet, and I don’t say that in comparison to your father or Leonardo; I mean that’s literally what his life is about.
” His knuckles whiten around the drumsticks as he tucks the card back in his pocket.
“My mother has memories of him, of a man paving her every move in gold, promising the world, but all he gave her was despair. The moment she didn’t follow his rules, he got her hooked on the stuff.
It’s a rich, green and black flower that blooms from ash, offering euphoria and emotional numbness, but the effects quickly darken, leaving you with intense terror, as well as a shattered mind and vivid hallucinations. ”
“I’m so sorry,” I breathe, emotions clogging my throat, and he shakes his head.
“She shattered the vase in rage, but her anger came too late; nothing was going to stop the rollercoaster she was on now. But she’s strong and resilient. She’ll regain her composure; she just needs a little time.”
“And Arabella?” I ask, my fondness for the girl undeniable as he offers me a tight smile.
“Her favorite caregiver has been arranged while my mother recuperates. She’ll have monitored access to her to make sure neither of them struggle with the separation, and then we can go on pretending like this never happened again.”
“Why do you carry this alone, Archer?” I whisper, and his jaw tightens.
“Because there has never been anyone else. Besides, once I’m done with my father, there won’t be any need for it.”
His pain is palpable.
“Did Arabella say anything else?”
“She said you were a handful to live with, all—”
“Fifteen years,” he finishes, a soft smile tempting the corner of his mouth. “I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this,” he mutters, and I shake my head.
“Please don’t be. I’m happy to help. I want to help. Arabella is adorable,” I insist as his chin dips to his chest. Clearing my throat, I try to change the energy in the room. “What were you playing?”
“Nothing… just making sound.”
“I liked it,” I admit, inching closer, and he nods.
My stomach knots at the sight of him, but as I come to a stop beside him, he tosses his drumsticks aside before reaching for my hips and tugging me into his lap.
A muted yelp parts my lips as I curl my hands around his shoulders, my thighs draped over his as I stare deep into his eyes.
There’s something there I’ve never seen before. A part of him exposed in a way he has no control over.
His hands run up my thighs painstakingly slowly, flexing at my hips before his fingers splay across my back and he nudges me closer.
Sweat beads at his temples, his nose glistening too as he stares at my mouth.
I can’t imagine tonight has gone even remotely as he planned.
Intent on taking the necessary steps to bring his father down, he only wound up with the man in question keeping the upper hand, hurting him and his family once again.
Running my fingers through his hair, I press my forehead against his. “I’m sorry he hurt you.”
“He didn’t hurt me, he—”
“He did. He’s hurt you so much that his demise is the only solution, and I can relate to that, but I still can’t imagine how that feels.
But you don’t just carry that weight for yourself; you hold it for your mother and Arabella too.
” His chest heaves with every breath as I cup his cheek.
“I just need you to know that I see you beneath the pain, the rage, and the need for control. I. See. You.”
His mouth claims mine in the next second, stealing my breath as he consumes me.
I don’t fight against his control as he tips my head back, deepening our connection before he drags his lips over my jaw, trailing down to my collarbone.
Desire threads through my body, leaving me defenseless to his presence as he devours me, inch by inch, every ridge of his body pressed against mine as my back arches.
The firm press of his cock bulging beneath his suit pants is undeniable as he digs his fingers into the globes of my ass and grinds me against him.
Words are unnecessary between us.
Enough has been said.
Now we’re both chasing the release.
Dragging my nails down his chest, my gaze lingers on the scar marking his cheek. The desire to heal it takes root in my soul, but he must sense my thoughts because he plasters his hand over it, shielding it from my view.
Frustrated, I crush my lips against his again, raking my teeth over his bottom lip harder than necessary, before it slips from my mouth, leaving the pair of us staring at one another.
My chest heaves with every inhale, my pulse ringing in my ears as he launches to his feet, taking me with him, but not for long. He nestles me on the rim of the kick drum, thighs spread as he looks down at the thread of material covering the apex of my thighs.
Perching my head precariously on one of the drums behind me, I gape up at him, clawing at his arms as he crowds my space, slowly loosening the button on his pants to reveal his hard, thick length.
I gulp, and he grins, all dark and devilish, but it’s the familiar rim to his eyes that catches me by surprise.
“Archer, your eyes,” I whisper, and he nods, dragging his hand along the low neckline of my dress, leaving goosebumps along my breasts.
“I can feel my magic in my veins. Is that what it’s like for you?” he rasps, and I nod, words failing me. His eyes latch onto mine. “Will you set the world on fire with me, Ivy?”
Another gulp, another lack of words, but one manages to burn through my shields.
“Yes.”
He snags my panties to one side before pressing the tip of his cock at my entrance. “I’m going to burn this fucking world to the ground, Ivy,” he vows, slamming into me in one swift move, and I cry out, my back arching up to meet his thrust as he fills every inch of me.
Pressing my nails into his arms, I hold on, his cock hotter than ever as he slams into me over and over and over again.
It’s too much and not enough, all at once.
He hitches my dress up higher, delving beneath the fabric to press his thumb against my clit, earning another cry of pleasure from my tongue.
“Archer,” I rasp, holding on for dear life as his hand imprints on my side, holding me in place as he chases euphoria.
“Come for me, Ivy. Give me the control,” he snarls, his orange eyes shining brighter with every word as the pad of his thumb continues to slide over my clit, and my body gives in, bowing to his command.
Ecstasy darts through my veins, seeping into my soul as my orgasm shatters me. Wave after wave takes everything from me until his movements become jagged and he finds his release moments later, the ripples of his cock elongating my release.
Perspiration clings to me as I lie spent beneath him, but as I look into his eyes, I know one thing is for certain.
When the world burns at this man’s hands, I’ll be right at his side, fueling the flames.