Eric clapped him on the back. “It’s show, buddy. Tickets to the gun show.”
“Whatever.”
A smile tugged at my lips despite the strain I was under, and I turned as Ivy walked out of Hannah’s room.
Damn, she was beautiful. Her hair fell in soft waves that begged to be fisted, held tight, and her blue sweater clung to every curve that her skinny jeans may have neglected. She was a walking, talking wet dream, her curves made for sex and her mouth built for kisses. Too bad she was a goddamn nightmare in reality. I’d never understand someone who could betray their sister the way she had.
I would die for Jessica.
I would kill for Hannah.
It was obvious that Pepper and Eric had forgiven her, but I didn’t need to hear or understand her reasoning. Trust was something I didn’t give easily, and she’d already shown herself unworthy.
“Okay, all of her new clothes are put away. The books we picked up are on the shelf in her new study room, and I re-braided her hair. She’s curled up with your iPad while we finish, but I think she’s ready.” She gave me a shaky smile, and I instantly felt like the asshole I was.
She made it so damn hard to hate her.
Or maybe it wasn’t really hate. Maybe it was a simple case of self-preservation in the form of assholery.
“Thank you,” I told her and meant it. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Everyone, really. But, especially you.”
Her cheeks tinged pink and her smile was a punch to the stomach. “What else can I do?” She asked Pepper.
Pepper scanned down the list. “Head to Connor’s bedroom. If you two handle that space, we can get the study finished up.”
Ivy and I took our mission seriously and headed toward my bedroom.
“What do you want me to look for?” Ivy asked, her gaze sweeping over the room.
“Anything that would send up a red flag that I can’t raise a kid,” I answered.
“Other than the fact that you’re an asshole,” she teased over her shoulder as she approached my bed.
“Right. If you find any documentation or a giant flashing sign that reads ‘ Connor is an asshole,’ please let me know.” I tried like hell to keep my face stern, but couldn’t help the slight tilt to my lips.
“It…It looks like you in here,” she said softly, taking in the masculine furniture and deep blue accents.
“That’s because it’s mine,” I stated the obvious, unwilling to let myself soften toward her.
My first order of business was pulling the large, black storage box from my closet and putting it on my bed. I popped the lid and immediately tossed a small throw blanket on top to cover the majority of the contents. I wasn’t a sadist, or even deep into any BDSM lifestyle, but yeah, I enjoyed my sexuality and had no problem enhancing it when my partners were up for a change of pace.
“Anything sketchy, toss it in the box.”
“You don’t mind me going through your things?” Ivy asked.
“Not in the least. Having someone else in here might get awkward,” I admitted, throwing a box of condoms and a couple tubes of lube from my nightstand into the box.
Ivy’s eyes widened as she watched, then she busied herself in my dresser, where I knew she’d only find clothing. “And it’s not awkward having me in here?”
“Nope.”
“Why is that? Not worried I’ll find your porn stash?”
If she only knew that she was my mental porn stash. I couldn’t count the number of times I brought myself to orgasm either by myself or with a partner, imagining Ivy’s face, her hands, her soft, wet lips.
“I don’t have a porn stash,” I answered honestly. Man, this was getting too intimate, not just because she was exploring my personal space, but because I knew it would be all too easy to slip under the spell she so naturally cast on every other guy. “Besides, in order for it to be awkward, I’d have to give a shit what you think, which I don’t.”
I almost regretted my words when her back shot ramrod straight.
“If you were looking for a sign that you’re an asshole, there it is,” she shot back, pointing a finger at me.
“Never pretended to be anything else, Princess.”
She scoffed and switched from my dresser to the other nightstand, while I checked the closet over again, hoping I’d remembered to put my sex swing in the box. That was definitely not the kind of play equipment DSS would be hoping for.
“Seriously?” Ivy called out, holding out two sets of fur-lined handcuffs. “How cliche are these? Fur-lined?”
I grinned, unable to feel even an ounce of embarrassment. “One, they’re not cliché. Two, I happen to like my headboard, and the women I have sex with.”
She blinked at me. “How well could you possibly like them if you have to tie them down to keep them in bed with you?”
Challenge accepted.
I crossed the room to where she stood, and she retreated until the backs of her thighs hit my bed. I watched, hypnotized by the movement of her throat as she swallowed in nervousness. Then I took one set of the cuffs and hooked it to the convenient cut out in my headboard, keeping my eyes locked on hers as the metal clicked into place.
“It’s not about force,” I told her softly, invading her space, watching for her first sign of unease or distress. All I saw in those blue depths was curiosity, challenge, and what I was almost afraid to acknowledge as a spark of desire.
I held the still open cuff in one hand, and reached out for her with my other, leaving my palm open to await her decision.
“Then what is it about? Having a woman at your mercy?” H
er chin lifted. I couldn’t help but wonder what she was really like in bed. Did she bring the fiery temperament or that crackling energy? Or was she timid underneath all that smooth skin?
“It’s about trust. Trusting your partner to see to your pleasure. Not to take theirs out of your captive body, but to relieve you of the responsibility of giving back. It’s about giving, Ivy, not taking.” God, just the thought of having her handcuffed beneath me, her body writhing as I gave her orgasm after orgasm was enough to get me hard.
She placed her wrist on my palm, and I gently closed the other cuff around it, making sure it wasn’t too tight.
“The fur keeps the cuffs from marking your delicate skin,” I whispered as I ran my thumb along the line where cuff met flesh. “Giving yourself over to your partner is the ultimate intimacy. It means you have faith that they’ll take care of you, that you’re comfortable enough to know they’ll keep you safe, and willing to let them push your boundaries.” Her lips parted, and our eyes held, the moment more sensual than any I’d ever experienced during sex. “It’s not about being submissive, or even giving someone else their fantasy. It’s about being worshiped, stroked and tended to, until your limp with pleasure. If you think these are cliché,” I said as my thumb ran up the bare, sensitive skin of her forearm, and back down to the cuff, “then you’re having sex with the wrong people.”
She swallowed again, her pulse racing in her wrist. “And if I’ve never let anyone tie me down?”
A smirk played across my face, and I reached into the open nightstand drawer to retrieve the key. “Then like I said, you’re having sex with the wrong people.”
I unlocked the cuff and turned away after grabbing its partner off the bed. In the dresser mirror, I saw her sag against the bed, momentarily feeling a euphoric high that something as easy as my words got to her.