Recovering Ivy

by Riley Edwards

  “So fucking wet. I can’t wait.” His hands moved to my ass and he lifted me as if I weighed nothing. Trapping me between the cold wall and his large warm body, he removed one hand and used it to guide himself to where I wanted him. The tip of his cock lingered at my opening and he waited for me to look at him before he started to push inside. “Ah, fuck,” he cursed, causing another gush of excitement to coat the head of his dick. “So fucking tight.” I watched the hardness of his features soften as the haze of sex started to pull him under. I was happy to see I wasn’t the only one affected; he seemed to be just as lost in the moment as I was.

  He dipped his hips to get a better angle and with a hard thrust he was balls deep. I let out a strangled cry and my head fell back, hitting the wall with a crack. My nails dug into his shoulders and I held on, trying to adjust to the intrusion. It had been a long time since I’d had a man inside me, and never one as large as Zane. He didn’t give me long before he drew back and shoved back in with such force a moan tore from my throat.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Hang on, sweetheart, I’m gonna fuck you until you see stars.”

  And he did. He fucked me with precision and determination. Two words I’d never thought to associate with sex, but there it was; that was exactly what he’d done. His strokes were hard and precise, each push and pull hitting the perfect place inside me. He was determined to fuck me so hard I would feel him for days. I couldn’t hold back, my hips rocked with his, and when his thumb brushed over my clit, the mountain he’d been building turned into a volcano. I was damn near erupting; I could feel the heat bubbling to the surface.

  “I’m almost…” I panted.

  “Jesus Christ, you feel so fucking good. Let go, sweetheart.”

  “Almost.”

  “Come for me, Ivy. I want to feel your tight pussy come around my cock.”

  That did it.

  His filthy words were the match I needed to ignite my release. My orgasm broke loose, and I screamed my pleasure.

  “That’s it. So goddamn sweet.” And if it was possible, he fucked me harder until something new was building, threatening to rip me apart. My vision had blurred, my breasts swelled, and I broke out in a sweat. “Again.” Zane’s voice had turned rough and hard. “You’re there. Take it, Ivy. Come with me.”

  He grunted and continued to thrust until my body convulsed, and I indeed saw stars. Sometime during my out-of-body experience, he planted deep and came.

  “Christ. You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered into my neck.

  Sex against the wall? Best thing ever.

  3

  Zane

  I was in a foul mood. I should’ve been fucking ecstatic I’d woke up drained and satisfied. The sexy brunette from the bar last night was hands down some of the best sex I’d ever had. When Ivy let go, she was goddamn magnificent. After we finished against the wall and made our way to the bedroom, I’d fucked her in all manner of ways. The woman gave as good as she got. She matched me stroke for stroke and begged for more. And her mouth? Soft and warm. Shy and tentative at first, but once she caught her rhythm, I had to fight back blowing in mere minutes. I couldn’t remember a night I’d come so many times.

  Then why was I so pissed? Not only had she fucked the hell out of me, but I didn’t even have to give her the morning after talk.

  She was gone.

  I was so exhausted I hadn’t heard her get up and leave. No goodbye. No thank you for the fuck. No asking for my number, my last name, if we could meet up again, nothing. I should’ve been walking into the office with a smile on my face, not feeling like I wanted to shoot someone.

  “I sent Declan to check out Forester’s PA,” Linc told me as I made my way through the main area of the office.

  “Great.” I didn’t stop to talk; instead, I took the stairs two at a time up to my private space wondering if it was too early for a drink. I needed something to pull me from my funk.

  Before I could slam the door Linc’s hand shot out and stopped it.

  “What crawled up your ass?” The bastard chuckled and followed me.

  I was now finding there was a downside to employing family. They were nosey pricks and thought they could barge in for a stop and chat instead of actually doing their job.

  “Nothing. How’s your wife?” I asked, hoping by mentioning Jasmin, Linc would stop butting in my personal business.

  “She’s fine. Nothing, my ass. Everything okay with Anderson’s daughter?” he inquired about an open investigation, guessing that was what had me in a bad mood. I thought about lying and allowing him to think he was right, but I’d never lied to my brother and I wasn’t about to now.

  I sat on the couch in my office and contemplated my words. Too much information and Linc would never leave it alone, not enough, he’d press for more.

  “Nothing is wrong. I’m tired that’s all. I’m too old to pull all-nighters.”

  “Ahh, I see. Not much sleep last night.” He chuckled. I wasn’t lying, I was too old for this shit. I’d had maybe two hours’ worth of sleep by the time Ivy and I had finished. “I never thought I would see a flavor of the night wear you out.”

  Irrational anger welled hearing Linc call Ivy my flavor of the night. Never in the past had it bothered me. My brother knew I didn’t do repeats. I hadn’t since joining the Navy. I found early on the women around the bases I was stationed at were mostly frog hogs, their only requirement before fucking you was that you were a SEAL. Most of the women were so good at spotting us, their pickup line was color or number. I’d been asked the question so many times it was laughable. Somehow the women felt taking a member of DEVGRU, which designates their teams with colors instead of the regular teams who were known by numbers, to bed held more bragging rights. My standard answer then, as it is now when asked what I do, is to tell women I’m in waste management. It was true, I was a garbageman of sorts. I just didn’t take household trash to the dump. I disposed of the human kind of trash.

  “Where the fuck did you go?” Linc pulled me from my thoughts.

  “Nowhere.”

  I was losing my touch. Since when did I daydream and zone out? Ivy. This was all her fault. She’d fucked with my head and cast some kind of spell over me with her magical pussy. That was the only logical explanation.

  “Right. I know not to push for answers; your stubborn ass is locked down tighter than a virgin in a foxhole.” Linc stood and made his way to the door.

  “You know that doesn’t make any fucking sense at all, right?” I chuckled.

  “Whatever. You’re tracking, that’s all that matters.”

  Linc closed the door behind him and I walked to the bank of windows and stared out over the Naval Academy yard. Young, fresh minds hard at work earning their commissions. What would it be like to be young and naïve? Not knowing what I know or having seen what I’d seen. Would I be different? Would I have the desire to keep a woman? Fuck, would I even know how to be a husband, never having a real man in my life growing up to teach me.

  My phone vibrated, breaking my useless thoughts. None of that mattered. I had seen the atrocities of combat, I had taken lives, I did know everything I wished I didn’t. There was no sense wasting time on stupid shit I didn’t want anyway.

  I needed a woman like I needed a hole in the head.

  The day dragged on and with each passing hour my mood seemed to deteriorate. Maybe I needed to go back to the bar, find Ivy and fuck her until she was out of my system. I was man enough to admit that her disappearing act had also bruised my ego. No one dismissed me, ever. Did that make me an arrogant prick? Yes, but I never claimed to be anything different.

  I couldn’t shake the memory of her. And not just the sex. Her smile. Her pretty hazel eyes. Fuck. I’d memorized the flecks of green in them while she was on top of me. They were big and expressive, and she held nothing back. Maybe the part that held my attention the most was the pain behind them. There was a worldly experience one gained from deep, soul-crushing pain; it was
the same knowledge I’d gained over the years. I didn’t like that she seemed to have the same understanding.

  I hated that for her. I would never wish that pain on any woman, especially one as beautiful as Ivy.

  4

  Ivy

  I hated this place.

  I hated sitting at a desk thirty feet from the man that had held my sister against her will. Oh, she didn’t protest; she swore she was in love. He was the man for her. Her dream come true. He’d plucked her off the streets and gave her a beautiful home.

  And kept her in drugs.

  She got a house, clothes, a car to drive, and all for the very low price of moving his drugs. The cost seemed rather steep to me, especially considering it had cost her her life. But for Joey, she was living the dream. A habit she’d started as a teenager and one that took her life at nineteen.

  What a waste.

  Nothing, and I mean nothing, would change her mind. Joey’s addiction started at the tender age of fourteen and she went downhill from there. She was fifteen the first time I’d pulled her out of a dealer’s bed. When I took her back to the apartment, she shared with my mother, her stepmother I had actually contemplated taking her back to the dealer’s shack he called a home. At least his rundown house had electricity, and he was careful not to have needles and other paraphernalia scattered about. The place we lived was filthy and my mother paid no mind to what she left out for her daughters to see. Pills, powder, bongs, the bands she used to tie off with when she shot up; they were strewn about. I couldn’t remember a time the kitchen had been used for anything other than cooking her meth.

  I had long ago given up on helping my mother.

  Not because I was heartless – but because she didn’t want it. She’d yelled and cussed and told me to mind my own business every time I tried. And I’d been trying for a long time. She’d been an addict for as long as I could remember. I didn’t have a single memory of her not strung out on heroin. My dad exploited her addiction and used it as a means to keep her quiet, then he’d rail and carry on about what a piece of shit she was when she’d smoke the dope he’d brought home for her.

  It was ugly.

  It was my life.

  That was the sad cycle of a drug addict.

  He left when I was sixteen. That day I thought the Lord had finally blessed me and removed one toxic parent from my life, leaving me with the lesser of the two evils. My father was a liar, a cheat, and had a nasty habit of knocking around my mother, not caring his child was witness to his verbal and physical abuse. Come to think of it, neither of them cared much about anything. Then came Lance, and with him his eight-year-old daughter. Much like me, she had two addicts as parents - only her mom bailed and left her with her dad. They moved in with us days after my dad moved out. Of course Lance was my mom’s dealer and she needed free drugs considering she didn’t work.

  When Joey came to live with us, there was already something broken inside of her. We were the same, her and I, but different sides on the same coin. I wanted out. I fought like hell not to follow down the path my mother had gone. Joey was resigned. She never believed we could be better. She was ten when I left. I tried to take her with me, but she refused to leave. I called CPS and tried to have her taken away, but they’d come and do an inspection, the drugs would be gone, power on, and food in the fridge. Joey would lie and tell them both her dad and my mom were wonderful loving people and they’d leave her there.

  And so began the merry-go-round of Joey’s life.

  At some point, to save myself I had to step off. I couldn’t keep trying to save people that didn’t want help. Yet, I always went back. When Joey called because she was in a tight spot, I would go to her. When my mom would call and promise she wanted to get clean and needed money to feed Joey, I gave it to her. Over and over, I never learned. Then a few years ago I couldn’t mentally take it anymore and I stopped answering their pleas for help.

  They were both liars.

  Now Joey was dead.

  “Excuse me?” A deep voice pulled me from the report I was supposed to be finishing.

  “Yes?” I looked up and smiled.

  Holy hotness!

  “I’m looking for Forester Grant. Declan Jones.”

  His name fit him.

  If I hadn’t met Zane last night, I would’ve said Declan was one of the hottest men I’d ever seen. My girly parts clenched remembering Zane. I’d thought the same thing about his name – a sexy name for a sexy man. Not that sexy did Zane justice. He was smoking hot, and the sex was epic good. Off the charts, infinitely fabulous. I could barely crawl out of his bed this morning, let alone walk. Regret washed over me.

  I wished I was a different kind of woman. One that didn’t have a shit ton of baggage and self-esteem issues.

  “Miss?” Declan called.

  “Sorry. Not enough coffee. Follow me.” I stood, and my thighs screamed as the over-worked muscles protested. A night with Zane was better than a week at the gym. I stopped at Forester’s door and knocked. “He’s expecting you.” When I heard Forester yell come in, I opened the door and announced, “Mr. Jones is here to see you.”

  “Thanks.” Forester stood to greet Declan and I shut the door.

  I’d spent too much time this morning daydreaming about Zane and all the shit things in my life I couldn’t change. I had reports to file and revenge to plan.

  The time was so close I could taste it. And nothing had ever tasted sweeter… except Zane.

  5

  Zane

  “Yo. You gotta minute?” Declan asked as I was closing my laptop down for the day. I was too high strung to be in the office any longer. I needed a drink and I didn’t want to end up sleeping here on the couch again. I’d been making too much of a habit of it, favoring my small office to my penthouse.

  Maybe I was having a midlife crisis. I seemed to hate everything these days, which my team would say wasn’t too far off from normal, but the relentless twisting in my gut was getting old. I’d even considered putting my penthouse on the market and downsizing, something I swore I’d never do.

  “Whatcha got?” I asked and motioned for him to take a seat in front of my desk.

  Declan was the newest addition to the team and he’d proven his worth. He was all too eager to leave the CIA and settle down - a luxury that now afforded him time to get to know his twin sister, Violet, better. There were some in the agency that didn’t take his departure well, but who the fuck cared. They didn’t sign the contracts I worked under and they certainly didn’t sign the checks. If Declan didn’t care, I could give two fucks about them. I’d had enough of the Agency’s bullshit to last a lifetime.

  “I met with Forester today,” he started. “I already gave Garrett the picture I took of his PA, Susan Black. Hopefully, he’ll get a hit on her real identity. I hope to God she’s clean because the woman is smoking hot. After we put Forester out on his ass, I’d like to go back and see if she’d be up for a roll.”

  “Are there any women in the greater Annapolis area you don’t want to fuck?” I asked.

  “Man, I’ve been trapped in the jungle with filth for the past year. Before that I was lucky to make it stateside once every six months. Just making up for lost time. And you’re one to talk. I’m afraid I’m picking up your seconds.”

  “People need to keep their fucking mouths shut,” I grouched, and Declan chuckled. “Anything stand out?”

  “Other than her being sexy as fuck? No. She was pleasant but kept her distance. There didn’t seem to be any familiarity or signs they are working together. I have drinks scheduled with Forester tonight. He’d suggested Susan tag along to take notes. She was less than pleased and reluctantly agreed. It’s my night to tail him anyway, so drinks before he meets with his hooker works. You wanna come with me? I’d like your take on him, if you’re not busy.”

  Was I busy? No. I’d planned on going home, drinking myself into oblivion, and catching up on much-needed sleep.

  “I got nothing tonight.” I
looked at Declan’s suit and was rethinking my acceptance. “Where are you going?” I looked at my tee and cargo pants and didn’t think I was properly dressed for a night out.

  “Swanks.”

  Definitely needed a suit.

  “Give me ten minutes to change and I’ll follow you over.”

  With a lift of his chin he left my office, leaving me alone to change. I pulled my navy Cesare Attolini suit out of the hide-a-way closet in my private ensuite and quickly stripped down. Before I could button my dress shirt, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror.

  Marks.

  Ivy had branded my skin with her nails and mouth. Before I understood what I was doing, my hand was on my chest rubbing the hickey she’d left. I hated marks. If I even felt the pull of a woman’s mouth on my skin, I stopped her. I normally extended the same courtesy to a woman. She was not mine to mark. However, last night, I’d marked Ivy. There would be no forgetting our night together, not for many days to come. The thought gave me a twinge of excitement. She may have snuck out, but she wouldn’t forget me.

  Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of Swanks and exited my Rover. Tonight was going to be easy, an hour feeling out Forester then home to my bed. Corporate espionage was so much fucking easier than strapping on my kit and tracking terrorists. I’d take these gigs any day of the week. The thrill of the chase was gone. If I was honest, the adrenaline rush had vanished a long time ago. Yet another reason I thought I was having a midlife crisis. I never thought hunting and killing bad guys would get old.

  Declan met me at the car and we walked in together. I scanned the room, checking exits and potential risks. Just because I thought tonight was going to be easy didn’t mean I was stupid. Shit could go sideways on a dime. Not that I thought this low-level dickweed was going to give us trouble, but old habits die hard.