Chapter 48 Teddy
TEDDY
The past few days with Ivy have been some of the best of my life.
We’ve spent nearly every waking moment together.
Ivy isn’t back at work until next week, and I’ve been greedy with her time—filling it with talks that last late into the night, sex that leaves us both wrecked, and silences that don’t feel empty anymore.
Her toothbrush has found its own place in my bathroom and I even cleared out a drawer in my dresser for her clothes. She argued, said it wasn’t necessary, but I wanted her things here.
With surgery looming tomorrow, I planned a special treat before another stretch of recovery steals away our normal.
I called Em two days ago and asked her help to pull off the surprise.
She laughed at first, thinking I was joking when I said I wanted to rent out Ivy’s favorite bar and restaurant for the evening. But she quickly realized I was serious.
“Leave it to me, Teddy Boy,” she said, and within a few hours, everything was arranged. It cost more than I expected, but that doesn’t bother me. I can afford to splurge on her. My investments keep paying out, even if I’m no longer pulling the kind of salary I once did in the League.
Now as we head to the restaurant, my fingers laced through Ivy’s, I’m filled with nerves. I’ve kept quiet all day, only telling her to dress up for our first official date. She teased me, demanding hints, even tried bribing me with kisses and other favors. I didn’t crack.
We stop and she inhales sharply as the faint music drifts through the open car door. Neon Dagger isn’t some high-end steakhouse or a Michelin star name my parents’ friends would recognize. But Ivy mentioned that it was her comfort spot.
“Teddy. What did you do?”
“It’s all ours tonight.”
“You rented out the entire Neon Dagger?”
Shrugging, I try to play it cool, though my pulse is anything but steady. “What’s the point of having all that money if I can’t use it to make you smile?
She laughs, but it breaks on a choked sob, and suddenly her arms are around me. “You’re impossible,” she murmurs into my chest. “Thank you.”
“Impossible for you, maybe.” I stroke my hand down her back, enjoying the low cut of her dress that peaks out from under her faux leather jacket. My fingers itch to slide underneath it.
Inside, the place is quiet except for the low notes of an indie track the manager queued up for us. It’s from the playlist Ivy created for me for Christmas. I hear the soft catch of her breath next to me when she realizes what’s playing.
“You remembered,” she whispers, her voice trembling between wonder and love.
“I remember everything when it comes to you,” I tell her as we’re guided to where they’ve set up the table for us.
Finding the back of Ivy’s chair, I pull it out for her. She sits, the fabric of her dress whispering against the seat, and I settle next to her. The manager says a polite “enjoy your evening” before footsteps fade.
“This is unreal,” my date says, her breath catching with emotion. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“That’s exactly why I did it. I wanted you to feel celebrated and cherished, as if you’re the only person in the world. Because to me, you are.”
The music shifts to another track, her favorite, and she lets out a soft laugh that’s part disbelief, part joy. “You make me feel like I’m living inside a love song and I never want it to end.”
“Then let’s never let the music quiet down.”
For the next three hours, we enjoy each other’s company.
Ivy orders her favorite cocktails—she swears they taste better here than anywhere else—and I let her talk me into ordering more rounds.
We devour burgers dripping with sauce and I make her laugh when I manage to spill some on my shirt.
Conversation drifts easily from her wild nights here with her friends, to my worst rookie stories.
And finally to what the future might look like when recovery isn’t the centerpiece of our lives.
Time is suspended for the night, destiny granting us a reprieve from the chaos of our lives. Just Ivy and me, soaking in the simple magic of being together.
We barely make it through the door of my apartment before our mouths crash together. My back hits the wall as Ivy presses into me. She tastes sweet, like the cocktails we had all evening, her lips urgent on mine.
“You’ve no idea what being next to you for three straight hours, without being able to do more than kiss, did to me,” she says, mouth grazing my jaw. “I wanted you all damn dinner.”
“Then what are you waiting for?” I ask, dropping my outerwear on the floor.
She strips my shirt away, her nails scratching across my chest as if she wants to mark every inch of me. I reach for her in return, sliding my hands beneath her jacket, taking it off slowly. She laughs as it catches on her elbow.
“Too many clothes, not enough hands,” I mutter as I tug it free. My hands undo the zipper of her dress and I let it slip to the floor. Her underwear follows.
As I run my hands over her bare skin, goosebumps rise wherever I touch. I lick my way down her neck, over her collarbone, savoring the taste of her skin. Her fingers find the waistband of my pants, tugging them low with my briefs as I toe off the last of my clothes.
She drags us backward, step by clumsy step until the backs of her knees hit the couch.
We fall into it together, a tangle of limbs and laughter, our mouths never parting for long.
I kiss her the way I always do when I’m drunk on her—slow at first as if I’m memorizing her for the first time, even if it's the thousandth time.
Then my kisses get hungrier and sloppier.
Her hips roll up to meet mine, her thighs spreading for me, welcoming me. “You feel so good,” she breathes against my neck.
Dipping my fingers between her legs, I groan, finding her already slick and wanting. I tease her, all while loving the way her body arches for my touch.
“Need you inside me,” she whimpers. “Please.”
“Not here.” My voice is rough with want. “I have another surprise for you upstairs.”
Her giggles break through the haze of lust when I scoop her into my arms. The sound vibrates against my chest, brighter than anything else.
I carefully carry her up the steps, guided by the memory of the place and the steady rhythm of her lips brushing against my neck.
Each kiss makes me shiver, my grip tightening around her.
I set her down on the bed and she asks, “What are you up to, Seaborn?”
“Trust me,” I murmur, reaching into the nightstand where I stashed the massage oil earlier. The bottle clicks open, the scent of vanilla spilling into the air.
“You planned all this just because?”
I pour the oil into my palms and rub until the warmth spreads through my skin. “You deserve to be spoiled, so flip over and let me take care of you.”
I get on my knees beside her, lowering my hands to her bare upper back. Her skin is silk under my touch, heat rising beneath every glide of my palms. I knead gently, working along the tension at her shoulders before trailing down the length of her arms.
She sighs, soft and loose, sinking deeper into the mattress. I spread the oil across her back in slow sweeps. My hands linger at the dip of her spine, then glide over the curve of her ass. I slide lower, along the tops of her thighs, pressing into the muscle until she moans into the sheets.
When I’ve touched every inch of her I can reach, I lean closer, my voice low. “Turn over for me. I want to see what else I can do for you.”
The mattress shifts as she obeys, and I drag my hands to her stomach, smoothing oil over the soft planes before moving upward, greedy to map every part of her with my touch.
My hands find her breasts, cupping their weight.
The cool metal of her piercings contrasts the heated softness of her skin, and when I roll them gently, she arches into my palms with a broken moan.
“That’s it,” I murmur, bending low enough to taste her skin, dragging my tongue over the slick swell of her breast before pulling back. “Let me hear you.”
She squirms, hips twitching, but I take my time, my hands moving over the sharp lines of her hip bones and down the length of her thighs. Her muscles tighten under my palms, and when I press them apart, she lets out a needy whimper.
“Relax for me,” I coax, my thumbs sweeping the tender skin of her inner thighs, dragging higher with every stroke but never quite touching where she aches the most for me.
“You’re killing me,” she pants.
“I’m just getting started.”
I draw the massage out, teasing her until she’s squirming under me, every muscle tense with anticipation.
Only when she’s begging do I finally give in, lining up myself at her entrance.
Heat and slickness envelop me as I press inside.
She wraps her legs around my waist, drawing me deeper, and my name falls from her lips in a chant.
The way she—fuck. I feel everything. Her body clenches tight around me, the slick heat welcoming me in.
The way her hips move to match mine is instinctive, like we were made for this.
Her heartbeat thunders against my chest, syncing with mine until it’s impossible to tell where I end and she begins.
“I love you,” I moan, the words ripping out of me.
She pulls me down for a kiss, her lips trembling against mine, her lip ring my comfort these days. “I love you, too.”
We move slowly, forgetting the world outside. Every thrust has her gasping, my piercing hitting the perfect spot again and again. I slip a hand between us, rubbing her clit until she breaks. She comes hard, shaking beneath me, her cry muffled against my shoulder.
The feel of her pulsing around me undoes me completely. My orgasm rips through me like fire in my veins. My body jerks, hips slamming forward as I spill inside her, groaning her name against her damp skin. It’s a release so intense it borders on pain, and yet it feels like coming home.
I’m buried deep as we catch our breaths, but I’m not done. I slide out and down her body, kissing and nipping at every inch I can find. Her nipple piercings. Her stomach. Her hips. The insides of her thighs. She whimpers as I settle between her legs, our mixed arousal spilling out.
“You don’t—” she starts, but I hush her with a deliberate stroke of my tongue moving towards her center.
Her fingers grip my hair, her body jerking as I swipe her clean only using my mouth. The taste is heady—a mix of our love and pure sex—and I savor every trace of it. The little sounds she makes drive me absolutely wild. She cries out when I suck at her clit, her hips arching up off the bed.
“Teddy—fuck that feels good.”
I don’t stop until she’s shaking in ecstasy, her second orgasm hitting her in waves. I hold her open for me, loving her with my lips until she’s a boneless mess beneath me.
When I finally crawl up her body, she grabs my face, kissing me. I dip into her mouth and she moans as she tastes the remnants of us on my tongue. “You wrecked me,” she pants between kisses.
I roll onto my back, bringing her with me, and the room settles into a hush broken only by our uneven breaths. Her fingers draw idle shapes on my chest as we lie there together.
“Are you scared for tomorrow?” she asks in a tentative whisper.
The words scrape out of me before I can cage them. “So much.”
Her fingers still against my chest, right over my heart. “Then let me carry the fear with you. You don’t have to do it alone. Not anymore.”
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper into her hair, breathing in the coconut sweetness that’s become my addiction.
“You do,” she says fiercely, lifting her head to brush her lips on my jaw. “You deserve every good thing, Theodore Seaborn. And tomorrow, when you wake up after the operation, I’ll be right here waiting for you, ready to start our forever.”
The lump in my throat makes it hard to speak, but I manage. “Don’t ever leave.”
“Never,” she promises.
And I believe her with every fiber of my being.