Raw Bloody Power

Chapter 43

43

FRONT DOOR SURVEILLANCE: MOTION DETECTED

Rio

“Lucy, I’m homeee,” I call out from the front door of the penthouse, dropping my keys on the entry table.

Ivory immediately lifts a finger, her stare fixated on the Kindle nestled in her hand. I understand why she didn’t move in with me. Truly, I do. But when I walk in through the door to find her in her cute little pajamas, long hair tied up in a messy bun, no make-up, comfortable and content in my space—I forget why I didn’t push harder.

Let’s put aside the fact I don’t particularly care for the fact Koshka knows where her place is. It’s also a waste of money she could be saving and putting toward something else, considering she’s slept in my bed almost every night since. At this point, it’s our place, our bed, and the very moment Benedikt Koshka is no longer part of the equation, I will singlehandedly bring all of her belongings over here myself if I have to.

I love coming home to her—and I want to for the rest of my life.

She’s so absorbed in whatever she’s reading, she doesn’t realize I’ve depleted the space between us and crept up behind her until I thread a hand in her hair and tug her backward.

“Nooo!” she whines from her upside down position. “Babe, what the fuck! It was getting good!”

I’ll show you getting good.

“Your man, you know— the real one— who fucks you better than your fictional men ever could, just got home.” I pluck the Kindle out of her hand and toss it on the couch, tightening my grip in her hair. “Be a good girl and say hello to him.”

She gives me that grin, the salacious one paired with those fuck me eyes, and leans in closer. “Hello, Mr. Guerra.”

“Much better.” Kiss . “How was your day?”

“Good until it wasn’t. How was yours? Did Dino finally meet with Stark again?”

Love how she tried to skirt past that. Nice try, baby.

“He did. Now elaborate more on the ‘good until it wasn’t’ part,” I probe, cocking my head slightly.

Sighing, Ivory digs through the couch cushions and fishes her phone free, tapping through a few screens. Then she hands it to me. It’s her text thread with Benedikt displaying a conversation he initiated earlier in the afternoon…

Benedikt

Do you have a few minutes?

Ivory

Yes.

Benedikt

My mother wants to have dinner with us.

Ivory

When?

Benedikt

She’s busy this weekend, so the next. 6pm that Saturday.

Ivory

I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.

Benedikt

You can’t get out of meeting my mom, malish. Lol.

Ivory

I wasn’t trying to get out of it. I’m making sure I don’t have anything pressing I’ll need to get done before.

Benedikt

Okay. I’ll pick you up around 4:30.

Ivory

Can’t I just meet you there?

Benedikt

Do you want her to ask why we came in separate cars?

Ivory

Why would it matter? This is an arrangement, Benedikt.

Benedikt

She doesn’t know that.

Ivory

How could she not know that?

Benedikt

Because I told her I’m in love with you.

Ivory

See you at 4:30 next Saturday.

I’m far less jealous than I’d anticipated, handing her back the device with only a hint of annoyance simmering beneath the surface. Koshka can want her as much as his little heart desires. He can say he’s in love with her until he’s blue in the face. Introduce her to his family and wait for her at the altar.

The only man she’s walking down the aisle for is me.

“I do not want to have dinner with his mother. And I definitely do not want to ride in a car with him for God knows how long,” she says.

Loosening my tie, I make my way around the couch and plop down beside her, throwing an arm over the back. “I don’t like it, either, baby girl, but you’re gonna have to in order for our plan to work. Can’t get to D-day if you don’t meet Mama Koshka.”

Ivory cringes and curls into my side, burying her face into my chest. “I know, but I wasn’t expecting to have to play pretend, though. His mom thinks this is real, Rio. That means I’m gonna have to hold his hand, and kiss him, and act like I want to be there.”

Anddd there’s the jealousy I was waiting for…

He fabricated this version for his mother on purpose. To make it more difficult for Ivory, to have an excuse to throw himself at her whether she wants him to be or not. He’s no fool. He knows damn well that’s the last thing she wants.

“Well, when you put it that way,” I only half joke, visions of carving a matching gash to Benedikt’s throat clear as day in my mind. “I can make it to Jersey and back in an hour.”

“Get that thought out of your head ’cause it’s not happening.”

“I should, though. Nullifies the plan, makes our life easier.”

So much easier.

“No, you shouldn’t, because then we’ll need a new plan to keep you alive.” Climbing into my lap, she claims my face and goes straight for my mouth, no doubt to distract me from my own thoughts.

“I want to.” I really fucking want to. “Five minutes, that’s all I need.”

“You’re not. End of discussion,” she counters firmly.

“Not yet anyway…”

Shaking her head, she flicks her tongue flicks against the seam of my lips and rolls into me teasingly. “I’ll think of you every single time he touches me.”

“Not helping, Petal,” I growl softly, smoothing my palms up her thighs .

“Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven.”

She’s definitely forgiven, especially when she licks into my mouth lazily, in no particular hurry whatsoever.

There’s something about when Ivory takes her time with me that drives me wild. I don’t know if it’s how every touch, soft yet deliberate, slowly lights each nerve ending on fire, or how because each touch is so delicate, it almost hits harder than when she’s frantic. The anticipation builds and builds until one of us is so desperate, we can’t take it anymore—usually me.

In any case, her special brand of hell works me up to the umpteenth degree, and she knows it, playfully swatting my hand away when it roams up her shorts to palm her ass. “Go change,” she chides me. “Dinner’s ready. You want me to serve you?”

I curve a brow because Ivory? Cooking? “You cooked?”

“I should’ve, but no. I ordered out.”

Oh, God, no. Please no.

“Let me guess… pizza?” I don't even know why I ask at this point.

This girl could eat her weight in pizza if I let her.

Ivory grins as she slides off me and curls back into her corner of the couch. “Yup.”

“Jesus, you’re sick,” I laugh, scrubbing a hand down my face.

She’s lucky I love her so much.

“So I’ve been told.”

After swapping out the suit and tie for nothing more than a pair of sweatpants, I—reluctantly—head into the kitchen and scope out the dinner situation. Pizza, garlic knots, and pasta. The latter doesn’t look terrible. Actually, looks like a decent Bolognese if I’m being honest. The knots don’t look bad, either. The pizza, however, is a different story. Still, I grab myself a slice, if you can even call it that.

Is that ricotta cheese sliding off one side? And a meat sauce? What the fuck?

I know better than to question her madness, though, and snatch a beer from the fridge before joining her on the couch again.

“Scoot your sexy ass over,” I demand, claiming her corner for myself. “What are we watching?”

Ivory leans into my chest once I’ve gotten comfortable and hands me the remote from over her shoulder. “We are not watching anything. I’m reading. Put on whatever you want.”

Taking a swig of the Corona, I peer around her to catch a glimpse of her screen, curious about whatever filthy smut has her so enraptured. “Whatcha reading?”

“It’s a dark romance. Unhinged masked men.”

Did she just say… “Men, as in plural?”

“Mhmm.” She nods. “It’s an RH.”

“The fuck is an RH?”

“Reverse harem. Basically, a poly relationship.”

Both the beer and the plate wind up on the side table, a tattooed necklace sealing around her throat, turning her pretty little head toward me. Our noses brush as I loom into her space. “I’m down to play one of your book boyfriends and recreate some of those scenes, but don’t be getting any crazy ideas. I’m not sharing you.”

There’s that smile again, teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she pats my cheek lovingly. “One unhinged man is enough for me, thank you very much.”

I gasp in mock offense. “I am not unhinged.”

“I beg to differ. Peeks through more than you think.” Booping my nose, she motions to the Kindle. “Can I get back to my book now? She’s about to get fucked clear into next week after they chased her in their masks through the woods.”

Interesting.

I file that little morsel into my mental filing cabinet and peck her lips. “You got like two hours max. Then I’m taking you to bed and fucking you clear into next week, too, understand?”

Ivory smirks and purrs a, “Yes, sir, Daddy, sir.”

She knows exactly what she’s doing, the little minx. All that’s missing is the long, batting eyelashes. I’ve never been the man who wants women to call him Daddy. But the thought of it coming out of Ivory’s mouth while I’m balls deep inside her? Yeah, I might like the sound of that a little too much…

“Don’t fucking play with me.” I tighten my grip with purpose, relishing the soft gasp as I constrict the airflow from her lungs. “I’ll have you screaming ‘Yes, Daddy, more, Daddy’ at the top of your lungs if you keep that up.”

When I release her, Ivory mumbles something along the lines of, “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” and I almost throw her sassy little ass over my shoulder for the sake of showing her how serious I am, but ultimately decide to let it slide.

Clicking my way through Netflix, I eventually opt for Breaking Bad—starting it from the beginning since I fell off around season two—and retrieve my dinner, taking a far bigger bite than I should’ve. The dough barely holds up beneath the toppings, a glob of meat sauce dribbling down my chin.

“This pizza tastes like shit,” I carp, dropping the slice onto the plate.

Ivory immediately gasps as I’m reaching for the napkin and peers back at me in a similar state of outrage. “Blasphemy! That’s my favorite pizza spot!”

Her favorite spot? Is she high?

“What the fuck even are these toppings?”

“It’s lasagna pizza, okay?” she counters, narrowing those golden orbs at me. “Meat sauce, ricotta…”

“Where are the noodles?”

“The pizza dough is the noodles, duh.”

My mother would keel over and die if she heard this. Leandro probably would, too.

“Is this your go-to?” I question, because if it is, I’m revoking her Italian card right this very minute.

“No, I usually get the meat lovers with jalape?os and ranch crust.” She says it so breezily. Like it’s normal.

My jaw nearly falls to the floor.

“Ranch crust?” I scoff, trying to imagine what the hell that even tastes like. “Baby, please tell me you’re joking right now… ”

“I’m not.” She hitches a shoulder. “I also like Hawaiian pizza.”

Nail in the coffin right there. I don’t care what anyone says. Pineapple does not belong on pizza. Ever.

“And you call yourself Italian? You’re a disgrace to our heritage.”

Very slowly she turns to face me, her expression meant to be lethal, but it’s the cutest little mad face I’ve ever seen. Like a stabby kitten with sharpened claws. “Take that back right now.”

“Not unless you admit this isn’t real pizza,” I goad. “You do realize Leo could make this a million times better, right?”

“Well, I can’t exactly walk into Papa Gino’s and ask him to do that, now can I?” she retorts haughtily. “Do you guys even have a lasagna pizza?”

“No, but he’ll make your twisted concoction if I ask him.”

“Fine, ask him, and we’ll have a taste comparison. You want some cannoli cake since you’re clearly skipping dinner?”

“Is it from this place?” I ask in disdain, pointing to the slop she calls pizza on the plate.

Ivory rolls her eyes and hops onto her feet, retrieving said plate from me with a quick hand. “No. I made it earlier.”

“Then hell, yes, I want some.” My twitchy ass palm touches down on her ass before she’s out of sight. “And put some extra frosting on the side so I can eat it off your pussy while you read your smut.”

Front Door Surveillance: motion detected

It’s just past eleven when a notification on my phone keeps me from shutting off the lights and going to bed. Tapping on it, the video feed outside of Ivory’s apartment pops up, revealing Benedikt-fucking-Koshka and a bouquet of flowers standing on her doorstep. I roll my eyes so hard, I’m surprised they don’t roll out of their damn sockets. He knocks again, waits. Knocks a third time, waits again.

After the fourth, he finally gives up.

Alvaro

On tonight’s episode of The Bachelor…

He brought her flowers.

I chuckle under my breath at my brother’s text so as not to wake Ivory and click on the message. I have him connected to the feed, too. Extra set of eyes and all that shit.

Me

Cut him some slack, okay? He’s trying.

I can’t even type that with a straight face.

Alvaro

I’m fucking barking over here. Cami’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

Me

I’m surprised he hasn’t…

Nvm he just text her.

My stare drifts to Ivory’s now illuminated phone on the nightstand.

Alvaro

What does it say?

Opening up my camera, I zoom into her screen and snap a pic, quickly sending it off in response. All it says is, Are you awake?

Alvaro

He’s probably in his car, hoping she’ll text back.

Too bad she’s in a dick coma—twenty minutes down the street.

Cami here. Hi! A dick coma sounds amazing tbh. Your brother might be incomunicado until tomorrow. Good night

Haven’t met Cami yet, but I like her already, setting my phone onto the nightstand and shutting off the lights. This isn’t a nightly occurrence, thankfully, usually once a week—twice if he’s feeling adventurous. And while it’s more comical than anything else, I can’t help but wonder what goes through his mind given Ivory never answers the door and claims to have been asleep when she responds to his texts the following morning .

Curling an arm around her stomach, I pull her against me and settle beneath the sheets. Ivory stirs momentarily, mumbling something unintelligible, and rolls over, nuzzling into my neck as a leg hooks over my waist. I wish I could join her, but sleep evades me for quite some time because if I were Benedikt, I’d have a lot of questions—and even more suspicions.