Chapter Eight
The day’s heat still clung to the air, mixed with familiar scents of oil, leather, cut grass, and cigarette smoke. She should have been packing up. That was the routine. Clean brushes, cap paints, stack supplies, head back to the little room she’d been given and call it a day.
She didn’t. Her mural waited patiently behind her, half-finished faces and lines frozen mid-breath, but Ivy couldn’t focus on it anymore.
Every stroke she’d laid down after the morning confrontation had been sharp, restless. Havoc’s voice still echoed in her head. That kiss. The way he’d pulled away like touching her hurt worse than staying.
He’d left not long after, called away by King. Roach had taken over, leaning against a post nearby, arms crossed, watching the yard with a lazy alertness that suggested he missed nothing. He’d cracked a joke or two earlier, tried to lighten the mood, but Ivy had only half-heard him.
Now she wiped her hands on a rag, set her brush down, and took a breath that felt like stepping off a ledge.
“I’m done for the day,” she said.
Roach glanced at the mural, then at her untouched supply crates. “You sure? You usually pack up.”
“I know,” Ivy simply said.
She turned toward the clubhouse without another word.
Roach pushed off the post.
“Where you headed?” Roach asked.
Inside, she told herself. Toward answers and unfinished business that gnawed at her ribs.
“I’m looking for Havoc,” she pointed out.
Roach’s brows lifted. “Yeah? He’s probably busy right now.”
“I saw him come back,” she said.
She had caught a glimpse of him half an hour ago. He’d ridden in with a few of the guys. Even from a distance, she’d felt the charge of him like static.
Roach studied her for a long moment, then glanced toward the stairs like they might bite.
“What do you want with him?” Roach asked curiously.
Ivy stopped and turned back to face him fully.
“Where’s his room?” Ivy demanded.
That got a low whistle. “Straight to the point.”
“Roach,” she said evenly, patience thinning, “are you going to tell me or not?”
He scratched his beard, clearly torn.
“You seem like a decent woman,” he said finally. “Not the kind that needs trouble.”
Her shoulders squared. “What are you saying?” Ivy asked.
“I’m saying,” Roach replied slowly, “Havoc ain’t ... easy. Ever since he lost his old lady, he hasn’t been the same.”
Something tightened in Ivy’s chest. “I didn’t ask for a warning,” she muttered.
“You might not get what you’re looking for,” Roach continued, not unkindly. “Whatever it is you think is there.”
She held his gaze. “That’s for me to find out.”
Roach sighed, long and resigned.
“Second floor. End of the hall. Door on the left,” he finally told her.
“Thank you,” she said.
She didn’t give herself time to second-guess it. Ivy turned and headed inside, boots echoing against worn wood. The clubhouse swallowed her whole, dimmer and cooler than outside. The air smelled like coffee gone cold, smoke soaked into walls, and something electric she couldn’t name.
The stairs creaked under her weight. With every step, her pulse ticked higher. She told herself she was angry. That she needed to finish the conversation he’d cut short. That this was about clarity.
It was also about the way her body remembered his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at her like wanting and fear were the same thing.
The second floor hallway was quiet. Doors lined the walls, each one closed, private, holding pieces of lives she didn’t know. She found his at the end, just like Roach said.
The door wasn’t locked. She hesitated on the knob for half a second, then she turned it and stepped inside. Steam hung in the air. The bathroom door was open, and the sound of running water cut off abruptly as she froze just inside the room.
Havoc stepped out moments later, towel slung low around his waist, hair damp and darkened, droplets tracing slow paths down his chest. Ivy forgot how to breathe.
Her gaze snagged everywhere at once. Broad shoulders still beaded with water. The ink curling over the planes of muscle over his chest and six-pack abs, disappearing beneath the towel. Heat flared sharp and sudden, rushing south before she could stop it.
“Oh,” she managed.
Havoc stopped short when he saw her. Then he curved his mouth upwards—he seemed unmistakably pleased.
“Well,” he drawled. “This is a surprise.”
She looked anywhere but directly at him. The bed, rumpled and masculine. A cut draped over the back of a chair. The open window letting in late sunlight.
“I—I didn’t knock,” she mumbled.
“No kidding,” he said, amusement threading his voice. “You usually make a habit of walking into men’s rooms uninvited?”
Her face burned and for a moment, she forgot why she barged in here in the first place.
“We didn’t finish our conversation,” Ivy pointed out.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, utterly unbothered by his lack of clothing.
“Nothing left to say,” he said with a shrug. His indifferent attitude annoyed her.
“That’s not true,” Ivy shot back, finally lifting her eyes and immediately regretting it.
He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard. He flicked his gaze to her lips, then back to her eyes, grin widening like he enjoyed watching her struggle.
“You came all this way for that?” he asked.
“Yes,” she admitted, now feeling a little foolish.
He pushed off the wall and crossed the room, slow and deliberate. Ivy’s breath hitched as he stopped a careful distance away, close enough she could feel the heat rolling off him, smell soap and something unmistakably him beneath it.
“I told you to drop it,” Havoc said.
“You don’t get to decide that,” she replied, chin lifting even as her knees felt weak. “You don’t get to kiss me like that and then pretend it didn’t happen.”
Something flickered in his eyes. There was definitely heat, but there was also something darker too.
“You think this ends well?” he asked quietly.
“I think,” she said, voice softer but no less sure, “you’re hiding.”
His jaw tightened. “You don’t know me.”
“I know what I feel,” Ivy said. “And I know you felt it too.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and charged. Havoc dropped his gaze to her mouth again, and it lingered. His control seemed like a visible thing now to Ivy, pulled tight as wire.
“You should go,” he said, though he didn’t move to open the door.
“Make me,” she whispered, feeling half excited and defiant.
Ever since their paths had clashed, Ivy had erotic dreams of Havoc night after night. Finally, this was actually happening. He surged forward, crowding her space, using his hands to bracket her against the door.
The kiss that followed was nothing like the morning. It was slower, deeper, dangerous in a way that made her toes curl. Ivy gasped into his mouth, hands fisting in his towel as she kissed him back with everything she’d held in all day.
The world narrowed to heat and breath and the thud of her heart.
He lifted her without effort, turning and depositing her onto the bed as if she weighed nothing. She bounced once against the mattress, laughter bubbling up despite the tension, then he was over her, caging her in.
For a moment, they just stared at each other, both breathing hard, eyes dark and searching.
“This is a bad idea,” Havoc said.
“Probably,” Ivy agreed.
Neither of them moved away.
When his mouth found hers again, it was inevitable. The bed creaked beneath them, and for the first time since she’d arrived at the compound, Ivy felt like she was exactly where she was supposed to be.
Her clothes came off next. Ivy took off her paint flecked top, wondering if she ought to take a shower first. However, Havoc didn’t seem to care one bit. Once he dropped his towel and her mouth went dry at the size of his member, he assisted her in unhooking her bra.
He licked his lips at the sight of her breasts, the nipples already hardened to points. Her pants and underwear followed, until she was completely bared for him. He straddled her, spoiling her with kisses. Havoc left a trail down her neck, the hollow of her collarbones.
Havoc took one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard on it until she cried out, before moving to the other one. Lower he went, down her ribs, and finally the valley between her legs. She moaned as he traced the shape of her pussy lips and closed his clever mouth over her clit.
Ivy cried out, sliding her fingers into his hair for support as her vision swirled and she climaxed. Havoc pulled himself up, still licking her need lingering on his lips. Ivy didn’t embarrass easily but she flushed at that sight.
“Sweet as honey,” he murmured and seemed to enjoy the sight of her face turning even redder.
“I want you in me,” she whispered, feeling bold.
“I love a woman who knows what she wants,” Havoc said.
He slipped out of bed for a moment and for a second, Ivy thought he changed his mind. Havoc only took out a condom from his wallet before positioning himself at the edge of the bed.
“Yes,” she murmured as he lifted her legs over his broad and inked shoulders.
Havoc slipped a finger inside her, then another. Ivy groaned, because she was already so wet and ready for him. She couldn’t wait to feel him inside her. Havoc entered her, slow and steady. Clutching at the sheets above her, Ivy could feel Havoc making his way in her.
Once he was buried balls-deep inside her, Ivy let out a breath.
“You good, sweetheart?” He asked her.
“Ride me, Havoc,” she said and that made him chuckle. She didn’t miss the silent appreciation in his eyes.
Havoc started on a steady rhythm which suited them both, only speeding up when she begged him to. Soon enough, Ivy had trouble stringing a coherent thought as he reduced them both to panting and needy animals.
Ivy had been on her fair share of dates but none of them had ever made her feel the way Havoc did. Each time their bodies joined, it felt like a piece of her soul drifted out to touch his. When he changed the angle of his thrusts, she cried out.
Havoc had found her sweet spot and he kept aiming for it, until the pressure growing inside her became too much to bear. At his last push, Ivy gasped, crying out his name. The room fell away from her line of sight as she floated twenty-thousand feet in the air.
He thrust in her several more times before reaching climax. With a growl, he came, then pulled out of her. Languidness filled every inch of Ivy’s body. She curled to her side, feeling utterly spent and content.
Havoc retreated to the bedroom and must’ve disposed of the condom. When he returned, he had a towel with him. He cleaned them both up, before sliding next to her in bed.
Ivy didn’t know what to expect after. The heat faded first, ebbing like a tide pulling back from shore, leaving her skin overly aware, nerves humming and tender.
Her thoughts scrambled, tripping over Roach’s warning, over the ghost of Libby, over the way Havoc had kissed her like he was starving and terrified in equal measure. She braced herself for the shift. For the moment where he would pull away, stand up, put space and distance between them.
She’d already started to gather herself for it. For the quiet dismissal. Havoc would soon tell her she should go. Instead, Havoc did none of those things.
He rolled onto his side and tugged her with him, looping one heavy arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world. Ivy startled softly when her back met his chest, when his body curved around hers, solid and warm and unmistakably there.
Havoc rested his chin against the crown of her head, breath slow and steady against her hair. For a heartbeat, she didn’t move and neither did he.
He splayed his hand across her stomach, fingers flexing once, as if testing whether she was real. The other arm tightened. As though letting go would cost him something he couldn’t afford to lose.
Ivy’s chest ached. This wasn’t what she’d prepared for. The bed creaked faintly as he shifted, pulling the blanket up around them with an awkward tug, tucking it around her shoulders like he hadn’t even realized he was doing it.
Havoc pressed his nose briefly into her hair, inhaling. The sound he made was barely audible, rough and low, like relief he hadn’t meant to give voice to.
Her heart fluttered painfully. Slowly, carefully, Ivy let herself relax into him. She fit against his body as if she’d been shaped for that space, her back settling into the hard line of his chest, her hips aligned with his, her fingers curling into the forearm draped over her middle.
Still, Ivy waited for the other shoe to drop, but it didn’t.
Havoc traced absentminded circles against her skin with his thumb.
It wasn’t sexual but felt protective in a way that made her throat tighten.
She felt the tension in him slowly ease, muscle by muscle, like a man who’d been braced for impact for far too long and was finally allowing himself to rest.
The silence between them wasn’t empty. It was full of things unsaid, of shared breaths and lingering emotion, of the fragile knowledge that something had shifted whether either of them was ready to name it or not.
Ivy swallowed, emotion swelling unexpectedly behind her ribs. She hadn’t realized how much she’d feared being pushed away until he didn’t do it. How much it mattered that he chose to stay like this, wrapped around her, instead of retreating behind old ghosts and scar tissue.
Havoc adjusted again, pulling her a fraction closer, his grip firming as if she might disappear if he loosened it. His lips brushed the back of her shoulder, barely a touch, almost unconscious.
“Stay,” he murmured, the word rough and unpolished, more instinct than request.
She closed her eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Ivy said softly.