21. Ivy
IVY
Breathe.
I keep telling myself to breathe as Callum takes control of my mouth.
Breathe and relax.
But it’s hard to relax when I’m this aroused, this turned on.
Because, at long last, I’m tasting the man I want. I’m licking him. Sucking him. Feeling him pulse in my mouth.
And feeling all the pleasure between my legs as Stone follows every command Callum gives him.
As my man thrusts a little harder, goes a little deeper, I cough the slightest bit, gagging but not enough to stop. He stares at me. “You okay, beautiful?”
I nod, sucking hard, my way of saying, Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Even though my eyes are watering.
But I don’t care.
Because I’m close again. I’m so damn close. I can feel it, my orgasm. It’s just over the hill, rising up, coiling low and tight in my belly.
As Stone devours me with his mouth and twists my flesh in his hands.
As Callum pumps into my throat.
And as his words fall on my ears.
“The way you take my dick, it’s so damn beautiful, Ivy. I need to see this again and again. Need to do this over and over. Need to have your mouth on me every goddamn night,” he says on a thrust, and I tense everywhere.
With the promise of future ecstasy.
Every cell in my body sings in pleasure as I reach the edge and Callum jerks his cock from my mouth, grabs his length in his hand, and squeezes himself, hard, furiously. One stroke, two, then he’s painting my lips, my mouth, my chin with his hot come.
That is all I want.
That is all I need.
My orgasm rockets through me, sending me on a wild, writhing path of bliss as I buck up against Stone, coming hard on his face, my hands on Callum’s thighs, my lover’s orgasm on my lips.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” I call out.
And before I fully come down, Callum’s rough voice fills the room. “Now, do it now. Come on her tits.”
“Oh, hell yeah.” Stone climbs over me, pushes the tie out of the way, and straddles me. He slides his cock between my breasts, his shaft slick with lube he must have just put on.
He pumps a few times as I push one breast against his length and Callum pushes the other, and that’s all Stone needs to come on my breasts, his release marking me.
I lick my lips, tasting Callum, then I drag a finger down my chest and bring that one to my mouth too, sucking off the taste of his friend.
And I breathe out a long, shuddery sigh of satisfaction.
Because I am eminently satisfied.
Even though we’re not done.
We’re not done at all.
But there’s something else I want to do right now.
Something outside of this suite.
The four of us step into the elevator, and the first thing I do is turn to Jackson. “Please join us for a drink.”
“He’ll never come along,” Stone cuts in.
Jackson arches a brow. “That’s what you think?”
The question is for Stone, but I take the reins, because I made the invitation. “I love getting to know new people, Jackson. And I want to hear what you thought about Stone’s concert.”
That makes the stoic man break into a half-smile. “I’m in.”
“Color me shocked,” Stone remarks, as we exit the elevator.
Walking through my casino is an absolute thrill. My floor manager, Jen, waves from her spot by the blackjack tables. I walk over, flanked by my men.
Jen gestures to the man of the night. Well, one of them. “I heard your show was amazing, Stone. Everyone on the floor is talking about the concert. So glad you were here at The Extravagant.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” Stone says, ever the gracious superstar.
I set a hand on his arm. “Wasn’t it a terrific performance? He has tremendous stamina,” I say without cracking a grin, even though inside I’m smiling wickedly.
Callum coughs to cover up a laugh, and that delights me.
I squeeze his strong arm, and he casts his gaze on me, murmuring, “ Beautiful .”
It’s his pet name for me, and I love it.
We continue past the tables, on our way to Speakeasy. I’m decked out in my concert attire again—sequined top and leather pants. Callum is wearing his suit, minus the tie, of course. And Stone’s in his rocker uniform, as he calls it—tight jeans, a stylish T-shirt, and his Chucks.
I head in first, feeling like I’m queen of The Extravagant, like I own the place, because I am and I do.
And because tonight, I feel complete in a whole new way.
I can be this woman in public, and I can be this woman in private.
And being here, reveling in the afterglow of both the public concert and the private performance, I’m sure that’s what tonight was all about.
It was putting the parts of me back together.
Giving me the freedom to be who I crave.
Jackson asks Henry for a private room before I can, and I file that data point away—the man knows what his client needs, knows to keep Stone away from easy sightings.
I’m glad for that too.
And glad for this interlude before we return to my suite.
Well, men do need time to recharge. It’s only thoughtful that I’m giving that to them.
When Henry asks what we want, I don’t have to contemplate. Callum chooses for me, picking Tender Is the Night this time.
“Sounds good to me,” I say, and I’m sure the tequila concoction will be fabulous and the opposite of tender, but ironic drink names are awesome.
When the drinks arrive—iced tea and club soda for the bodyguards at the table, cocktails for us others—I lift my glass in a toast.
“To nights like these,” I say, grinning, then I add, “And to knowing what you want.”
Callum taps his glass to mine, our eyes locking, his voice a firm but loving caress as he says, “I know what I want.”
And those words feel like the start of something between us.
I can only hope.
For now, though, I want to savor this moment of knowing .
Of understanding myself.
Of accepting and embracing all that I want.
Later, I’ll figure out what can become of this man and me.
I turn to Jackson. “So, what did you think of Stone’s show? Everyone here is loving it. I loved it; the crowds are buzzing. What did you think? Did you catch it all?”
The big man with the trim dark blond hair gives a devil-may-care shrug. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”
Stone’s jaw drops. “‘Nothing I haven’t heard before?’ That’s all I get?”
Jackson stares hard at him. “That’s all you get.”
Stone shakes his head, pouting, looking forlorn. “Man, has anyone ever told you you’re a hard-ass?”
Callum laughs. “As a good bodyguard should be.”
Jackson lifts his glass in Callum’s direction. “Exactly, brother. Exactly what we need to be.”
I toss out another question. “What do you like to listen to?”
“You’re really asking?” Jackson’s eyebrows rise, like he’s surprised someone would inquire.
“Yes, of course I’m really asking. I’d love to know.”
He scratches his jaw. “I like music you can dance to at a club. Something with a steady beat. Daft Punk, LCD Soundsystem. I like art-pop. Alt-pop. Ezra Furman can do no wrong. And, of course, Nirvana.”
Stone’s eyes bug out. “Dude. Dude. Dude.”
“What? What? What?” Jackson replies in pitch-perfect imitation.
Stone clasps a hand to his chest, mortally offended. “You did not include me. You didn’t include my music.”
“Huh. Turns out I didn’t,” Jackson says, thoroughly deadpan, then takes another swig of his drink.
Stone leans closer. “Now I’m learning this? After working together for four months, I’m learning you don’t like my music?”
“You never asked.”
And Stone doesn’t have a reply to that. He simply slumps down in his chair, almost like he’s lost in thought.
I toss a glance at Callum as if to say, Check out these two.
He simply smiles back at me, like What can you do?
And this whole silent exchange feels like another step for Callum and me.
One more thing connecting us—we can do what we do in the bedroom, and we can have playful moments like these too.
We can have silent, private conversations that only two people who really know each other, really trust each other, can do.
As Jackson and Stone launch into a debate on the best alt-rock bands of the last ten years—news flash: they disagree—Callum moves closer to me, slides an arm around my shoulders, and whispers in my ear.