Chapter Four
Ashton
I'm becoming more pissed off by the second, watching that asshole trail around after Ivy. Seems obvious to me that all he wants is to get inside her panties.
Isn't that what you want, too? My conscience whispers.
I frown. No, that's not all I want. I'm not going to lie; having her lush curves beneath me while I fuck her raw has been an obsession of mine for years, but she's not a one-and-done deal for me. If I give in to the temptation that's been burning a hole in my gut for longer than I care to remember, I won't be able to walk away.
Rebecca, Kathy's friend, sidles up to me again, unloading episode twenty-four of 'Rebecca's Terrible Divorce' on my uninterested ears. A movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I see a flushed Ivy making her way through the kitchen and out back. The urge to follow her is overwhelming. I know it's not a good idea, but I'm done with good ideas. I want to indulge in some very bad ideas. With Ivy.
I make my excuses to Rebecca and head towards the back door, but another of Kathy's friends waylays me. I exchange polite pleasantries with the middle-aged woman for a moment until I see the guy who's been buzzing around Ivy all evening also heading outside.
Something about the way he checks over his shoulder before he slips out the door has my senses on red alert, but it takes me another few minutes to extricate myself from the conversation without raising suspicions unduly.
I step outside, following the path toward the summer house at the far end of the garden. Voices reach my ears as I approach.
"… I’m gonna do you a favor and pop that cherry you’ve been guarding because no other fucker will ever be brave enough to fight their way through all that fat!"
"Just fuck off, Brent!" Ivy's voice. She sounds… odd.
"I usually like my women a little smaller, but I’m going to make an exception for you.”
What the fuck?
I round the trellis, and my blood turns to ice in my veins. Ivy is draped across the sofa in the summer house, her dress pulled down to expose her breasts, head lolling back drunkenly. The little fucker who's been following her around all night is looming over her, unzipping his fly.
I see red.
Pure, unadulterated rage engulfs me.
He doesn't stand a chance as I haul him away from her and my fist connects with his jaw. The punch sends him reeling back into an occasional table behind him, but I'm not done yet. I fist my hand in the t-shirt at his throat and haul him up off the ground, only to deliver another blow to his slimy face. He slumps to the ground, out cold.
I turn to Ivy. Her eyes fix on me for a split second before they roll back in her head, and she passes out. I shrug off my jacket and cover her with it. My heart pounds as I realize what was about to happen here, what that shitbag was about to do to Ivy. My Ivy. He'll pay for that.
Things suddenly become crystal clear in my mind. I've been pushing her away for three years, but no more. I want her in my life. Under my roof, in my bed, in my arms.
I'm done waiting.
Two hours later, I'm back at my apartment with Ivy, who's still out cold.
How the fuck did I get myself into this position?
I've fought my feelings for this woman in my arms for three long years, worked my way through guilt, shame, and self-hatred, but it hasn't changed a goddammed thing. I want her. Pure and simple. Well, okay, there's nothing pure about the way I want her—it’s more of a dark-edged obsession.
I wanted to kill that little fucker for what he tried to do, but I satisfied myself with messing his face up a little and calling the cops on his ass.
Kathy was beyond grateful that I was there to put a stop to the little shit. She was all for canceling her trip to New York tomorrow morning to defend her client in a high-profile court case, but I convinced her to let me bring Ivy home with me. It was the ideal solution. Kathy trusts me with her daughter.
But she shouldn't.
Because I'm casting my morals aside where Ivy is concerned. I'm selling my soul to the devil, and I can't bring myself to give a shit.
I place Ivy gently on my bed and strip her out of her torn dress. I'm tempted to slide her lace panties down her thighs too, but I'll save that little treat for later. The sight of her bare body almost brings me to my knees. She's thick and curvy, with large breasts, wide hips, and chunky thighs that lead to a perfect little pussy with its neat strip of hair.
I drink in her luscious breasts tipped with their rosy crests. Her nipples are relaxed as she sleeps, and I want to see them harden for me, beg for my mouth, just like I want her to beg for my thick cock.
For the last three years, I haven't been able to come without thinking of her delectable body, without imagining sliding inside her tight, hot channel.