End With A Bang (Slap/Bang Duet #2)

9. Knots

CHAPTER NINE

Knots

“Admit it, Sever. You have a problem.”

“Piffle. I can stop any time.”

“Mmhm.” Ever since she’d asked him to apply a little suntan oil to her back, he’d developed an unhealthy obsession. “You do know that was a brand new bottle, right? Completely full when you started.”

“I think I can swing a replacement.”

“That’s not the point,” she argued blithely, chin on her folded hands. “It’s the principle of the thing. You’re wasting precious... whatever that’s made of.”

“But it turns you so shiny and makes you smell like candy. And when I pour it here,” he dripped it on her spot while teasing her with his sex-having voice, “you quiver.”

She quivered. “Stop that.”

“And when I rub it in,” he demonstrated until she squealed and kicked her feet, “that happens.”

She peered at him sidelong, suspicious. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? Slowly but evilly.”

“About time someone did.” At her look, he smiled. “Not kill you. Do right by you.”

“What—? Nobody’s done me wrong.” Not any more wrong than I’ve done them.

“Haven’t they? This spot of yours.” He teased its perimeter. “Like a flashing neon bullseye, this; how could any man miss it?”

“Sever,” she leveled with him, frankness fueled by the mimosa she’d had at lunch, “you’re not like other men. You notice things.”

He leveled right back at her, “I notice you. And so should anyone else who lo—” Lips tight, he looked down. “Who wants to please you,” he amended, trying to re-establish eye contact.

She turned her face to rest her cheek on her hands, and gazed at a jagged cliff.

“Ivy…” Sever stopped just short of touching her hair; she could feel the heat of his hand as palpably as his desire to get her to talk.

Knot twisting in her gut— runs around the tree, an’ pops back down the hole —she shut her eyes and begged him, desperate and hushed, “Please.”

After a moment, he expelled a long, noisy breath, and smacked the suntan oil down beside her head.

Stomach knots multiplying, tautening, Ivy braced herself for abandonment... but then he went and threw her for one more loop.

Leaning in close, he said in French, “Just enough left for the front.”

She smiled, and the knots came undone.

“My front is fine,” she said, and swiped the bottle. “There’s just enough left for you .”

“But I wanna cover your tits in oily coconut candy?—”

“Lie down, chaud lapin .” Which roughly translated to ‘ you horndog .’

He relented with a boyish whine, and she sat astride his swim trunk-clad behind to pour it on his back. “A-ha. You quiver too.”

“That wasn’t a quiver,” he said. “It was a manly jolt.”

“Of course,” she said, spreading the oil over his sun-warmed skin. “That’s not your bullseye anyway.”

“My what?”

“Your spot.” She tapped his lower back. “You don’t have the same spot. No one does. Unless they caught air sledding when they were fifteen.”

“Were those words supposed to make sense?”

Spreading the oil again, she explained, “I was visiting family in New York, and I was so excited about the snow, I dragged my cousins out to sled in the middle of the night. The ground was uneven, we hit a rock and went airborne, and bam! Compression fracture. It healed, but it’s been super-sensitive ever since...” That gave her pause. “Wait. Is that how you knew about it? Did you see my medical records?”

“Love,” he said. “I wanted to seduce you, not give you a check-up.”

“Right,” she said, chastened and amused. “Good point.”

“It’s a natural erogenous zone, you know—all it takes is the right touch. And an observant partner.”

She couldn’t argue that, so she said, “You’re such a know-it-all.”

He chuckled softly. “It’s called expertise.”

A group cheer traveled over the water from the direction of the harbor, and she squinted at the island. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“What can I say, my prowess defies all logic.”

“Not you,” she said snidely, “Catalina. It looks all storybook land from here. Like if you got a little closer, you’d find out it was a diorama.”

“If you want to go ashore, we can,” he said.

“Thanks, but I’d rather stay here and not end up in Rich People Weekly .” She kneaded his neck.

“Could get scandalous,” he slurred, and groaned softly at her fingerwork.

Plagued by a sudden vision of Jason finding out via grocery store tabloid, Ivy looked toward the harbor again. There were dozens of boats moored there, far away from A Moveable Feast , but still... “You don’t think there’s anyone out there with a really long camera lens, do you?”

“Boat’s not in my name,” he murmured, far too relaxed. “We weren’t followed, and I haven’t been newsworthy for some time. We’re safe.”

“How could you not be newsworthy? You’re a billionaire bachelor. A total hottie billionaire bachelor... You should be on the cover of every magazine, every week!” She was truly stumped by this. “Do you pay them not to?”

He raised his head. “And the truth finally comes out.”

“The truth?” What truth?

“You,” he said, turning around underneath her with an ultra-smug grin, “think I’m a ‘hottie’.”

Ivy chuckled. He was so vain. “Are you honestly surprised? I know you don’t like mirrors, but come on.”

He feigned total ignorance.

“You saw how all my friends reacted to you!”

“Don’t care what your friends think.” He walked his fingers up her front.

She huffed. “Okay, yes. I think you’re a hottie. I do.”

“Complete this sentence.” He put his hands behind his head, got comfortable. “‘My definition of a hottie is...’”

“Come on.” She poured the last of the suntan oil on his chest. “You know the definition.”

“I want to know yours. Inasmuch as it relates to me, and so forth.”

“Fine.” Smirking at him, she closed the empty bottle and put it aside, rubbed her coconut-scented hands together. “I will tell you what makes you a hottie, but just this once.”

“All I ask.”

“Okay, well,” she spread the oil over his flexing muscles, “you’ve got a nice body.”

“‘Nice’.”

“Yeah. It’s very defined and...” she slid her fingers down his torso toward his elastic band, “Greek statue-y. Better than Greek statue-y, more like... Van Damme-y, circa Street Fighter . Bad movie, but... good muscles.”

He got a little moon eyed while she rambled. “Go on.”

“Okay. You use it well. Your body? The way you move is...”

He tilted his head, waited.

“...also very nice.”

“The way I move when?”

“I dunno. Whenever.”

“Oh, come on! Throw me a bone, will you?”

“When you walk!” she returned defensively, and went on, “When you dance... When you...” she made a shy gesture, “You know.”

He smiled with her.

“It’s effortless. ...Fluid. You’ve got a lot of style, and I appreciate that. In a body.”

“So that’s it? Just my stylish body? Throw a bag over my head and it’s all the same to you?”

“Quit fishing, I’m not done yet.”

Happily, he settled in for more. “I’m listening.”

“Your hair. When we met, it was a solid brown, but now you’re rockin’ the skinny white streaks and the salt-and-pepper temples...”

Another head tilt. “You like that?”

“You don’t have to say it. Daddy issues, blah blah.”

“I’m not saying anything,” he said innocently, and his eyes sparked and crinkled at the edges. “Hair, body—anything else?”

“Your eyes?”

He waited, then, “Is there an answer to that question?”

“They’re nice, too.”

“Bloody—” He sat up a little to call out, “Is there a thesaurus on board?”

She laughed, pushing him back down. “I’m trying, okay?”

“What you holding back for?” he goaded her sweetly, “Come out with it!”

“You’re gorgeous! I think you’re gorgeous, okay? You’re like everything I...” Whoa, cool your jets, lady! “...find... nice.”

He looked surprised, touched, and thoroughly flattered.

Hoping to avoid any further true confessions, she pressed her lips together. He reached up to touch them, nudge them apart. She nipped at his thumb. It tasted like Coppertone.

They startled at the sound of a throat clearing. It was Vikram, squinting purposefully at the sky. “Sir?”

“At ease, mate. We’re decent.”

He relaxed. “Is there something you need?”

Gazing adoringly at Ivy, Sever said, “Not a bloody thing.”

The day was almost over, but she didn’t mind. There was still so much night to look forward to. Being with him was never boring, no matter what they were doing. She’d expected an entire day of sex, not much to do or discuss in between. But it turned out to be minimal compared to all the inbetween.

They’d moored at a picturesque, secluded cove where they snorkeled in the shallows, then sat on the swim-up stern, kicking their feet in the water and snacking on charcuterie while debating the merit of Hemingway and bullfights and paintings of vagina-esque flowers. A curious dolphin came by and Ivy excitedly communed until Sever threw a grape at it and said, ‘sod off, worm, she’s mine.’ Which, coming from anyone else would have turned her off, but from him, it caused the opposite effect. She showed him her nipple and made him suck it and pinch the other until she climaxed from that alone. He then took her feet and clasped them together over his cock, fucking the tight space between and ultimately jacking off on her soles. He claimed it was his first footjob. It was definitely hers. As he dipped her feet in the ocean to rinse them of his come, he called, ‘Here, dolphin. Suck my cock.’ She kicked a splash at him. Finally, they lazed on the salon couch, discussing his travels, until Vik said it was time to pilot to a better vantage point for the sunset.

“How do you even pilot a sailboat?” Ivy asked, stretching. “Is it the same as a powerboat?”

“Want to give a go?” Vik asked her.

“Me?” She was hesitant. “That depends. Are there icebergs? Or, other boats?”

“I’ve got this,” Sever told Vik with a chuckle. “I’ll call you back in a few.”

“Sound,” Vik said. “I’ll get dinner started.”

Sever gave her a rudimentary lesson, and now she was in his lap, confidently steering the boat. “Aye aye, Cap’n,” she said. “A-westerly we go.”

“That’s Admiral to you, cadet,” Sever said.

“Cadet? I think that might be an insult.” she said. “Also, that’s military rank, Admiral. I’ve seen all the movies. Captain’s as far as you can go here.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I just like the way it sounds.”

She thought for a moment. “I like the way Boatswain sounds. Can I be that?”

He grabbed the captain’s hat off its peg and put it on her head. “You’re hereby promoted. I’ll be your First Mate.”

“You sure you wanna do that? I’ve been known to get drunk with power.”

Clearing her neck of damp tresses, he feigned a gasp. “Not you .”

“Oh, I’m shockingly bossy. For my sixth birthday? Some genius gave me one of those toy megaphones. Huge mistake. I ruled the world for like, three weeks straight. My way or highway, take no prisoners, iron fist Ivy.”

She felt his smile on her shoulder. “Why only three weeks?”

“Dad ran over it in the driveway. He claimed it was an accident, but...”

“That’s just cruel.” He nodded at the loudspeaker hooked to the controls beside the wheel. “Give it a whirl, tiny tyrant. I’ll even do what you say.”

She gasped. “You want me to get all corrupted!”

“You just figure that out now?”

“A leadership role, a hat, and a loudspeaker.” She craned her neck in his direction. “You have no idea what you’re in for.”

“I like surprises.”

“You won’t when I have you...” she gestured ahead of her, “hoisting up the squib, or, jibing down the tack, or... sailing terms!” Off his languid snicker, she admonished, “Hey. Laughing gets you locked in the brig.”

“Ooh,” he said.

Ooh? She picked up the loudspeaker and pushed the button to say, “I’ll hang you tight in the cleat.” Feedback squealed, and after a moment, she added sheepishly, “Sorry, Vik.”

They snickered like misbehaved kids, then he squeezed her tight and said on exhale, “God, I love you.”

At that, her comfy bubble of His for the Weekend popped.

“Sorry,” he said, on edge. “Slipped out.”

Ivy tried to convey her profound inner conflict, but ended up stammering instead. “I... I, I can’t?—”

“I know. I know you can’t. I’m not asking for it.” He sighed. “Let’s not spoil this, yeah?”

“Yeah.” After a moment, she took off the hat. “Keep an eye on the wheel for me?”

“Sure...” He seemed perplexed when she turned in his lap, put the hat on his head, looked into his eyes, and kissed him.

She would make sure that the bubble closed over them once again.

The sky was a palette of Alizarin Crimson, Ultramarine Violet and Cadmium Orange, lightened with Titanium White. She wasn’t a realist painter, but it made her want to stand outside of herself and capture this scene: the two of them as silhouettes—her straddling him, back arching, his hands on her breasts—lovers in a perfect world.

“Sir?” Vik asked from below.

Ivy didn’t stop moving.

“Dinner is ready. Would you like me to bring it up there?”

“No,” Sever said, voice faint, eyes glazed and locked with hers. “We’re a bit busy.”

“Say no more, sir.”

Vikram went away, and it was just them again, surrounded by a blazing canvas.

She undulated languidly, her palm on his chest. He closed his hand over her wrist, squeezed her hip. Breath heaving and harmonizing with his, she threw her head back, lolled it forward, and rode him into the sunset.