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

30. Break Some Rules

CHAPTER THIRTY

Break Some Rules

Sever parked the car at a hydrant, on an angle, and if he didn't care what happened to it, Ivy wasn't gonna argue. She had more important things to do with her mouth.

They stumbled up the walk, kissing and groping, until her back was pressed against her building's door. It took a while to unlock it.

Inside, she wrapped her legs around his waist and he ground her into the wall, pulled her shoes off, let them drop.

He flipped the nearest light switch, which lit the kitchenette.

“Kinda small,” she said between kisses, apologizing for her apartment.

“Kinda convenient,” he said, and threw her on the bed that was mere steps from the door.

Biting her grin, she twisted toward the opposite bedside to light a candle.

“Stay like that,” she heard him say. “On your stomach.”

She quivered as he raised her dress to the small of her back and rubbed her ass. Touched the drenched center of her sheer underwear. “Someone knew this might happen.”

“Maybe I wear frilly pink panties every day, you don’t know.”

“Better not.” He yanked them down, leaving them at her thighs, and ran his hand over her ass, her Spot, her ass. As she quivered and keened, he slapped it. Hard.

“Yes...” She moaned, felt another little gush.

He yanked her underwear all the way off, lifted her hips in the air, and suddenly her legs were hooked under his arms and his mouth was on her sex. Her palms flat on the mattress, her dress hanging over her face, she moaned, loudly, as he unleashed his amazing tongue.

—You’re all pent up. Count down for me, like seconds...

Ten, Ivy counted down in her head. Nine... Eight... Sever ? —

That was it. That was the countdown.

With a teasing chuckle in a muffled moan, he eagerly drank her up as she cried in sweet relief.

He unzipped her dress, and put her down. "Let me look at you."

She pulled the dress over her head and flung it aside. Let him take a moment to rake his lust-ridden gaze over her. Then she crawled to him, and opened his belt. “Let me look at you .”

She rubbed his cock against her cheek—god, she’d missed his scent—then hummed as she ran her tongue over his warm, steely length.

He whispered hotly, “Oh, fucking... hell...”

She began to take him in, but he stopped her abruptly.

Ivy was surprised. Hadn’t he gotten over that with her?

“Later. I need to be inside you.”

Relieved, she nodded, and began to pull down his pants. He flung off his shirt, placed his hands on the bed to crawl over her, making her back up as he advanced like a hungry tiger.

When their faces were level, he said, “God, I’ve missed you.”

Ivy reached up to touch his chest, then felt a raised, smooth bump. It was his bullet scar: a pink circle, surrounded by white.

Her throat swelled. Tears filled her eyes. She’d only seen it bandaged, and here it was, evidence of his mortality.

Gently, he closed his hand over her wrist. “I’m all right, Ivy.”

Fingers rising to his face, she said, “I fell in love with you in Paris.”

He let out a puff of air, dealing with that declaration.

She could pinpoint the exact moment: they were having dinner, and she saw the color of his heart. “The very first night.”

He searched his memory. “At the bistro, when we had dinner?”

“I didn’t know it yet. Not until...” She touched his scar again.

It was still vivid as ever: the vision of the impact, his gaze meeting hers, his drop to the floor. It was in that slow-motion moment that she saw how blind and stubborn she'd been. Saw what she'd been denying for two months.

He was searching her face, touched and silent.

She asked, “Do you know when you fell?”

He thought for a moment.

“Don’t tell me it was love at first slap,” she said snidely.

“It was when I read your college essay.”

That was a surprise. …Or was it?

When I read this, I knew who you were. What you’re meant to be. You’re an artist. This is passion. This is a plea for a life that’s as sharp and rich and blazing as an abstract work of art

She’d thought about that declaration often, and, at first, tried to suppress how it made her feel: overcome, confused, breathless, excited. He’d tapped into a yearning she thought she’d long let go of. Ivy told herself that he was using it to manipulate her into his bed, but a part of her must have known it was genuine.

The very first time their eyes met, there was an instant attraction. All too quickly, it veered into something more. She’d met her match in wit and fire. Had she met him first, as he’d said, she may have been his from the start. Maybe they were meant to be, no matter the circumstance. She hoped that was true, because if not, she would have missed out on this remarkable soul, with a soft, pink heart visible only to those he loved.

“I regret everything,” she said. She should not talk after sex. Especially after morning sex, when her brain hadn’t woken up yet.

“Too late.” He was on his back beside her, munching on a pear as he teased, “You said I'm your destiny . You said it to your best mate. You can’t take that back.”

“That'll be enough of that.”

“Far from it. I'm gonna get you to state that in writing.” He looked at the throw pillow she was fondling. “Or embroidered on a pillow.”

“Maybe Vik and Terrell can knit it on a sweater for you.”

He took another bite. “So? What'd she say?”

“She asked me why my destiny has to be a Republican.”

“I'm not Republican. I'm not even registered!”

“I know,” she assured him. “I told her your shareholders make all of those decisions and that deep down inside, you're a tree-hugging radical?—”

“Now, wait a minute?—”

“—with the pure, fragile soul of a docile woodland creature, and she said?—”

“All right, all right. Very funny.”

“I know, I'm hilarious.” She ran a hand through his hair. “My closest living family member begrudgingly approves.”

“Result.” He tossed the pear stem into the trash across the room. “Will she be walking you down the aisle?”

“Stop,” she said. “I told you. One year, and I’ll think about it.”

He sighed, and flopped onto his back. “But that’s so long ...”

“I said I’ll live with you. It’ll be just like marriage... only not fraught with baggage and PTSD.”

“It’s a bit cozy,” he said, looking around the room. “But we’ll make do.”

She nudged him with a chuckle. “You know I can’t resist a hilltop Frank Lloyd Wright. But I’m not a freeloader. I’ll pay you at least a tenth of my salary,” she said, facetious. “Which is about a dollar right now. I do plan to get a better job, though.”

“Zeitgeist awaits,” he said.

Uncertainty stepped in. “I’m not ready yet.”

“Why not?”

“Well, the papers. They're gonna have a field day. A, a day of fields.”

“I don't care about the papers. I care about us. You and me. That's all.”

“But... your yes men hate me. They think I'm the devil.”

“Welcome to being in charge.” He sat up, grabbed his phone, started searching contacts. “Anyway, you’re not working with them. You’re running a team of do-gooders, your favorite people.”

“You’re my favorite person.” She drummed his chest. “A do-badder.”

“Say that again.”

“A do-badder, ” she purred, knowing that wasn’t the phrase he was referring to. “You’re my favorite person. I’ll put it on a pillow.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He said into his phone, “Right. She’ll come in Monday.”

Ivy realized what he’d just done. “Monday? I’m not ready. I have...”

“You have what?”

She admitted, “A boring job that I hate.”

"Come, Ivy. Be powerful with me."

Well, when he put it that way.

Now that his phone was awake, it began to buzz with notifications. He picked it up. “Hmm. Ten calls from my publicist.”

“Today?”

“Yeah.” He listened to a message. She could hear parts of it:

All over the internet... to some burger joint... pictures of you two outside her apartment building... noise of your passionate love making all night...

Her eyes widened. He switched it to speaker:

...can't help you if you're gonna act like a goddamn horny teenager, do yourself a favor and take her someplace private. And give me a call? Please? Thank you.

Brows raised, he closed the phone. “Did you get all that?”

She nodded, chagrined. “Maybe we should move this to your place.”

He smiled. “I've got a better idea.”

“Don’t come near me with that!” Ivy squealed as he ran after her with an open, raw oyster.

Sever caught her by the waist, pressed himself against her and whispered in her ear, “But Daddy wants his pearl.”

“Oh... god...” Her eyes rolled back. “You don’t... need an oyster for that.”

He stilled. “Bloody right. The world’s our oyster.”

She laughed as he tossed it into the sand. “That was lame.”

With a gasp, he picked her up and threw him over his shoulder, and brought her into the warm, aquamarine sea.

His island was the perfect place to hide out for the week. There, they could yell as loud as they wanted, fuck wherever they wanted, and laze around for as long as they wanted. No time constraints, no constraints of any kind. They were free to enjoy each other fully, without interruption, without guilt.

“Nude pantyhose,” he said, sitting across from her at a small table, caressing her bare feet in his lap. “At least a closetful.”

He’d made her compose a checklist, but this time, it wasn’t for a vacation.

“White t-shirts,” she said, and speared a shrimp with a fork. “At least seven thousand.”

He took a sip of Chenin Blanc, put the glass down. “Black latex.”

“Oh! A new riding seat.” Her eyes might have dilated at that.

“A what?”

“You know,” she said. “The one you had under the cross?”

“The saddle?” He gave her an arch look. “I didn’t know you liked that.”

“Maybe. I mean, it’s okay, whatever. I don’t care.”

He laughed, and squeezed her feet. “I’ll get one custom made for you. All the gadgets Dolly could ever want.”

“And I’ll get one custom made for Daddy.”

Titillated, Sever pressed her foot against his swimshorts. “You little minx.”

She sat forward, chin on her hand. “What else?”

“Gold paint.”

“Gold body paint,” she corrected him. “No Goldfingering.”

He snickered while she took that phrasing back. “As long as I can paint your tits gold.”

Stuck on bondage fun, she remembered their plane ride home from Paris. “Feather. Paddle. Gloves.”

“Shibari rope,” he said, right there with her. “And a ceiling rig to string you up.”

“Uh, what?”

He smiled at her, and his gaze went from provocative to smitten. “Sunflowers.”

He was a softie, and she loved it. She had a sense memory of the flamenco bar in Paris, his seductive words in her ear, making her neck tingle. “Cinnamon and roses.”

“Strawberry jam.” He winked.

Closing her foot over his groin, she said, kittenish, “Butter.”

A deep breath in, and Sever threw his napkin down. “Right. I’m ready again. You?”

“ Oh, yeah.”