Chapter 15 - Ivy #2
The pressure is firm enough to work out tension but gentle enough not to hurt. He works methodically, moving from my shoulders to my upper back, finding every tight muscle and coaxing it to release.
"Wow,' I breathe. "That feels amazing."
"Yeah?" His voice is rough, affected. "Good. That's the point."
His hands slide lower, spanning my waist, thumbs pressing into the muscle along my spine. Each touch sends heat pooling low in my belly. My breathing quickens.
This isn't just massage.
It's seduction in its purest form.
"Can I take off your shirt?" he asks, hands stilling at the hem. "I want to feel your skin."
I nod against the pillow, not trusting my voice.
He lifts the fabric slowly, gently, then unclasps my bra. But I'm not sure I want to be careful, rational Ivy. I barely force my hands to stay still or I'll yank the shirt and bra off myself.
I want this. Want him.
The air feels cool against my bare back. His hands return, skin to skin, and the sensation makes me draw a ragged breath. He touches my spine in a feather-light manner with his fingers, making me shiver.
"Beautiful," he murmurs. "So beautiful."
His hands run down my back, mapping it like he's memorizing territory, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me arch into his touch. When his thumbs press into the dimples at the base of my spine, I moan involuntarily.
"That's it." His voice is pure gravel now. "Don't hold back. I want to hear you."
He continues the massage, but it's different now. More sensual. His hand slips beneath me, palms skimming my sides, thumbs brushing the outer curves of my breasts.
Another moan escapes my lips as I writhe from side to side.
His hands travel to my jeans' waistline. They graze the base of my butt and I gasp.
"You're wearing too many clothes," he says, fingers toying with the jeans.
"So are you."
"This isn't about me tonight."
His fingers go around. I lift my body to give him some room. He pops the button, slowly dragging down the zipper. He pulls down the jeans. Then he removes my underwear, his fingers glide down my skin, sending waves of electricity into me.
By the time I'm lying on the bed naked, my breathing is almost erratic. I'm trembling from so much desire.
He kneads from my calves to under my butt. I gasp when his fingers trace around my butt, creating sensation I never knew existed. His hands squeeze gently, like he's molding it, every touch sending ripples of desire inside me.
I'm getting wet for him. I need more than what he's giving right now. Much more.
"Dec..." I breathe out. "Declan..."
"Can I turn you over?"
I nod, and he helps me shift onto my back. The way he looks at me like I'm art. Like I'm precious and he has been waiting his entire life for this moment. It makes my eyes sting with unexpected tears of happiness.
"Tell me if you want me to stop at any point for any reason," he says, settling between my legs. "Okay?"
"Okay."
Starting from my shoulder, his hands run down to my breast, touching, exploring. By the time they touch my nipple, I don't know how long I've been moaning.
This is a wondrous sensation I've never experienced.
His fingers glide down to my belly button, then to my legs, kneading. My thighs tremble around his hand. I grasp his hair, fingers tangling in his hair as I try my best not to fall apart.
His fingers touch my clit, his piercing gaze meeting mine with an unspoken question.
I nod. "Please."
He smiles, then begins to explore. When his fingers brush my clit, my thoughts dissolve into static. When they slide inside me, gentle and sure, I cry out.
I arch my back, my body craving more.
As if reading my thoughts, he adds another finger, stretching me carefully while his mouth claims mine, kissing me deep and unhurried. His other hand rests on my thigh—firm, grounding—keeping me tethered as my body threatens to spiral out of control.
The pleasure builds and builds until I’m sure I can’t take any more.
I hear his breathing—steady, controlled—in stark contrast to my ragged gasps.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Let go. I’ve got you.”
And I shatter.
The orgasm crashes through me like a wave, stealing my breath, my thoughts—everything except the sensation of Declan’s hands and mouth guiding me through it.
He presses kisses to my lips, my cheeks, my throat, the base of my neck. His fingers move slowly, coaxing the aftershocks until I whimper.
"Again," he says against my neck. "Give me another one."
"I can't..."
"You can." He finds some spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids. "Come on, beautiful. One more."
The second orgasm builds faster, harder. His thumb circles my clit while his fingers work inside me. The combination is devastating. When I come this time, I actually scream his name.
He works me through it, gentle now, careful. When the trembling finally subsides, he withdraws his hand and brings his finger to his mouth, maintaining eye contact as he tastes me.
The sight should embarrass me. Instead, it sends fresh heat pooling low in my belly.
"My turn," I manage breathlessly, lifting my hands to touch him. "Let me..."
"No." He captures my hands, pressing them back against the bed. "Not tonight."
"But..."
"Tonight is about you. There will be time for the rest later."
He kisses me deeply. I can taste myself on his tongue.
"Right now, I just want to hold you," he says, removing his jeans and shirt then pulling me against his chest.
I can feel the hard length of him pressing against my hip, but he makes no move to do anything about it.
"Declan..."
"Sleep, Ivy." His hand strokes through my hair. "Just let me hold you."
I feel safe with Declan. Protected. And slowly, I let myself drift off.
The next thing I know, I wake to darkness—and crushing guilt.
Declan's breathing is deep and even beside me. His arm is slung across my waist, possessive even in sleep. The sheets smell like us: his woodsy cologne, sweat, and all the cum that ran down my thighs.
My body still hums with the aftershocks of what we did. What he did to me. The way he handled me like I was important and worth taking time with.
Yet all I can think about is King.
The texts I haven't answered because I was too busy falling into bed with Declan. The plans I'm supposed to be making to finally meet him. The connection that feels just as real, although we've never touched.
I'm falling for two men at once.
And I don't know how to be the kind of person who does that.
Moving carefully, I extract myself from Declan's embrace. He murmurs an unintelligible sentence but doesn't wake. I gather my scattered clothes, dressing in the dark.
On his nightstand, I find a notepad and a pen. I write quickly before I can change my mind.
Thank you for tonight - Ivy.
It's woefully inadequate. It doesn't capture the magnitude of what happened, what shifted between us, but I can't find better words when my head is this chaotic.
I leave his penthouse like a thief, taking an Uber to Sloane's apartment through streets that are just starting to show signs of dawn.
I use her spare key to slip into her apartment, careful not to wake her or she'd pepper me with questions. Her living room feels too small and empty. I collapse on her couch, still smelling like Declan, my body still thrumming with remembered pleasure.
My phone sits on the coffee table, accusatory.
Three unanswered texts from King.
King:
Hope your day was good.
King:
Thinking about you.
King:
Sleep well, beautiful.
Beautiful. The same word Declan used when making me fall apart.
Guilt crashes over me in waves. I'm betraying them both; Declan by still wanting King, King by falling for Declan. Neither of them deserves this divided heart.
The phone buzzes. This time it's Declan.
Declan:
Woke up alone. Not gonna lie, that hurt. But I understand if tonight was too much. Take the time you need. I'm here when you're ready.
The message is understanding and patient.
I don't respond to either of them.
Instead, I sit on Sloane's couch as dawn breaks over the city, trying to figure out how I became the kind of person who can break two hearts while trying desperately not to break her own.
***
My phone rings, shattering the silence.
Declan's name flashes on the screen. For a moment, I consider letting it go to voicemail so I can buy myself more time to figure out what the hell I'm doing. But my traitorous hand reaches for it anyway and puts it on speaker.
"Hello."
"Ivy."
His voice is rough, strained. Background noise filters through: classical music, polite conversation, the clinking of champagne glasses.
"I need you to get me out of here."
My heart kicks against my ribs. "What? Where are you? Are you okay?"
I hear someone greeting him in the background. His response is polite and cultured, nothing like the Declan I know.
"I'm physically fine. It's just that I'm at a museum gala. Senator Ashford's senatorial campaign event."
Ice floods my veins.
Senator Ashford. Isn’t that the father of his date at the charity gala? If Senator Ashford is at the occasion, Evangeline is there with Declan.
Jealousy slams into me.
Images flash through my mind: Evangeline in that silver dress, beautiful and polished, her hand on Declan's arm. Declan smiling at her the way he smiled at me hours ago. Declan kissing her the way he kissed me.
Of course, he would. If he's with Evangeline mere hours after making me scream his name with his touch, everything we did meant nothing to him. It was just a game to see me writhing under him, wanting him.
"Ivy? You still there?"
"I'm here." My voice comes out flat. "You're at a gala with Evangeline."
"It's not what... Gregory set this up. I didn't have a choice."
"There's always a choice."
"Not when your agent threatens your career if you don't comply." Frustration bleeds into his voice. "Look, I know how this looks like. But I'm asking you to please come get me. I can't do this anymore. I can't pretend to be with her when all I want is you."