Remembering Ivy

by Claire Kingsley

  He pushed his cock in, slowly. Tenderly. His eyes rolled back, and he groaned, the sound coming from deep in his chest. He stretched me open, his thickness filling me. I was so wet the only resistance was the tightness of my pussy around his cock.

  “Oh fuck, Ivy,” he said, his voice strained. He pushed in farther, as deep as he could go, and held there. “You feel so good.”

  All I could do was nod. Even without rhythm or friction, just the pressure of his cock had me speechless. It had been a long time for me—long enough that this all felt deliciously new. He touched his forehead to mine and I held him tight, reveling in the intensity of this moment. Nothing I’d experienced had ever felt this perfect. This real.

  “I need to fuck you,” he said, his lips brushing against mine. “I’ll stop before I come, but I need to.”

  “Yes.” My pussy was hot with desire. I needed him to fuck me or I was going to go crazy.

  He slid out and plunged back in. Slow and deep, taking his time. Whether he had experience or not, his body knew exactly what to do. He thrust his hips, flexed his glutes. Drove into me with a steadily increasing rhythm.

  I closed my eyes and let him have me. Massaged my fingers into his muscular back. Heat spread through my core, my pussy tightening around him. I moved my hips to take him deeper and he groaned, his pace increasing.

  Grabbing his tight ass, I let my legs fall open wider and pushed against him, grinding him into me with each thrust. He fucked me harder. Deeper. He moved faster, the intensity increasing. The heat in my pussy built, my wetness making us both slick.

  The pressure grew, my clit and pussy pulsing with the need to climax. He sucked on my neck, still thrusting hard. I whimpered and moaned, my mouth near his ear. I clutched at him, swept away by the heat of his body melding with mine, the feel of his thick cock inside me.

  Suddenly, he stopped, his cock buried deep. His chest moved fast, pressed against mine. “Baby, I have to stop, or I’ll come.”

  I grabbed his ass and held him inside me. “No, don’t stop,” I whispered. “Just a little more.”

  He groaned again, a low throaty sound that made my blood run hot with lust. I pressed against his ass so he couldn’t pull out and bucked my hips against him. Begging him for more.

  Then he unleashed.

  His hips drove hard, thrusting his cock deep inside. Over and over while he grunted into my neck. I knew what I was doing, knew he would come, and I didn’t care. I wanted it. I wanted him to lose himself inside me, pour every bit of himself into me.

  One more hard thrust and I came undone. I burst apart beneath him, waves of pleasure rolling through my body. I called out, uninhibited, my body moving with his.

  Just when I thought it was over—that I’d peaked—he stiffened, and his cock throbbed. He drove into me, groaning, and one orgasm rolled right into another. I rode the high as he came inside me, his muscles flexing, his voice low in my ear.

  He paused, still deep inside me, as we both caught our breath. I ran my fingers gently up and down his back, caressing his warm skin. He kissed my neck, then my cheeks. Kissed me over and over until I giggled beneath him.

  “That was amazing,” he whispered in my ear.

  “For me too.”

  He brushed my hair back from my face and those captivating blue eyes held mine. I thought he might say something, but he just stared, then kissed me again.

  I got up to use the bathroom, then came back to bed. He gathered me in his arms and held me close.

  “This feels good,” he said.

  “Love comforteth like sunshine after rain.” I clicked my mouth closed. Never mind that I was once again vomiting out literature quotes—Shakespeare this time—I’d said love. About us. Were we ready for that?

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing, just me babbling again. Sorry.”

  He rolled me onto my back and leaned over me, his eyes fierce. “Why are you apologizing?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “Someone told me once that using other people’s words too often makes it sound like I can’t think of anything original to say.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think… some things have been said with such beautiful words, why not borrow them and revisit their beauty and meaning?”

  A slow smile crossed his face, deepening his dimples. “I love you.”

  “You do?” I blinked, knowing that wasn’t the right thing to say. But he kissed my forehead before I could backtrack.

  “Ivy, I loved you before I ever laid eyes on you,” he said. “And when I did see you? When I saw how beautiful you are? God, I wanted to lie down at your feet and worship you. I wanted to tell you everything. How you consume every piece of me. How I feel like my soul isn’t mine, it’s simply a part of yours, and I’ll never be complete without you. But you had no idea who I was. I knew so much about you, but I was a stranger. And every day since, I’ve been waiting for the moment when I could finally tell you how I feel.”

  I stared at him, feeling the depth of his words. Knowing their truth. I put my hand alongside his face. “I love you, too.”

  Smiling again, he took a deep breath. Then kissed me, soft and slow. We settled back into the softness of his bed and basked in the glow of happiness. Of feelings shared, and the relief of knowing we were exactly where we were meant to be.

  Mutual Suspicion

  We spent the afternoon in bed, our bodies tangled together. He held me in his arms, tracing circles on my skin with his thumb. I felt so close to him. He filled the void inside me that had gaped so wide and dark after losing my dad.

  It was more than just his physical presence next to me, or even his arms holding me tight. I knew what it was like to be surrounded by people, and still feel terribly alone. With William, I felt connected again—no longer disassociated from the world.

  Enjoying his warmth, I relaxed against his strong body until Edgar whined outside the bedroom door. William kissed me and said he’d take him outside—I could take my time.

  I watched him get up and pull on his sweats. God, he was gorgeous. He put on a t-shirt and ran his hands through his hair, then smiled at me over his shoulder. I bit my bottom lip and smiled back, feeling a little drunk. William was more potent than any drink I’d ever had.

  He left, and I closed my eyes, letting out a long breath. I felt amazing—relaxed, warm, and happy. A pleasant ache between my legs. I lingered in bed for a while, still basking in the glow of that long-awaited orgasm. When I heard William return with Edgar, I figured I should get up.

  I put my bra and panties back on. My shirt was on the floor nearby, but I grabbed one of William’s and brought it to my nose. It smelled like him, and I couldn’t resist putting it on. The soft cotton fabric caressed my skin. I lifted the collar to my face again and inhaled. He smelled so good, I wanted to wear this every day, just so I could keep his scent with me all the time.

  Looking over to the side, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My long blond hair was down, tousled and wavy. My cheeks pink. Dressed in a man’s shirt with my hair a little messy, I looked exactly like I felt—like I’d been properly fucked.

  I liked this look on me.

  Edgar’s paws scraped against the hardwood floor. A few seconds later, someone knocked.

  “Uh oh,” I muttered to myself. I dug through my bag and found a pair of leggings, then tugged them on as quickly as I could. I heard William answer the door.

  “Edgar, sit,” William said. “It’s okay, he’s just protective of his mama. Come on in.”

  I peeked out of the bedroom. William held the door open with Edgar sitting next to him, his ears twitching.

  A man in a black shirt with the sleeves cuffed stepped inside, and William shut the door. He was probably in his mid-thirties with thick hair and a beard. He carried a worn brown leather briefcase.

  I moved closer, wondering if I should come introduce myself, or wait.

  “His mama?” the man asked.


  William looked at me and smiled that radiant kill-me-now smile. “Yeah. James, this is Ivy.”

  James gaped at me as I walked toward them, his eyes widening. His mouth moved like he was trying to speak, but nothing came out.

  “Ivy, this is my friend James,” William said, apparently oblivious to his friend’s shock.

  I stepped next to William, suddenly self-conscious of my she’s-been-properly-fucked appearance. William gently rubbed his hand up and down my back—a gesture that was somehow both sweet and intensely possessive.

  “It’s nice to meet you.” I started to wonder why James was staring at me like that. Did I have something on my face? Had I forgotten to put on my bra and my nipples were showing? I fidgeted just for the reassurance of the underwire against my ribs.

  James blinked. “I’m sorry. Did you say this is Ivy?”

  “Yes,” William said.

  “The Ivy?” James asked.

  It was dawning on me that James knew. William must have told him about me.

  “Of course,” William said. “Who else would I have in my apartment?”

  “Right,” James said, still sounding confused.

  “Come on in,” William said, as if none of that had been the least bit strange. He went back toward the kitchen, leading me with a light touch on my back. “I was just about to cook dinner. Are you hungry?”

  “No, I’m fine.” James followed us in and set his briefcase down on the table. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ve been out of town, so I have some things to go over with you.”

  “You’re not interrupting,” William said. “It has been a while, hasn’t it? I’m glad you finally get to meet Ivy.”

  “Me too,” James said, casting another bewildered glance at me.

  I took a seat on one of the stools by the counter. Edgar still sat near the front door, his body alert, his eyes on James.

  William opened the fridge, then looked back at me. “I was going to make asparagus risotto with lemon. But I’m out of lemons.”

  “That’s okay,” I said. “You don’t need to cook. We could just grab something later.”

  He narrowed his eyes, regarding me with a furrowed brow for a few seconds. “No, I definitely need to cook you dinner. James, I have to run down to the market.”

  James sat at the table, pulling some paperwork out of his briefcase. He glanced up. “Um… okay.”

  “I’ll be right back.” William smiled, dimples and all, and leaned in to give me a quick kiss.

  Edgar padded over to me and sat, putting himself between me and James. William winked at him. He kissed me again as he walked past, then slipped on a pair of shoes and left.

  James and I looked at each other, the awkwardness practically filling the room.

  “I’m sorry,” James said. “I just… well, to be really blunt, I didn’t think you existed. Your name is really Ivy?”

  I nodded. “Ivy Nichols.”

  “Are you… you know, his Ivy?” he asked. “The Ivy he’s been talking about?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “How did you meet him?” he asked.

  “I think it would be more accurate to say William found me,” I said.

  “And he told you his story,” he said. “About why he was looking for you.”

  I nodded.

  He crossed his arms and looked at me for a moment. “How do I know you’re not just playing him?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Look, I’m not trying to be an asshole, but William is… different. He’s been obsessed with finding someone named Ivy for as long as I’ve known him. Maybe your name really is Ivy. But he could have met you, found out your name, and suddenly he’s convinced you’re the one. The guy’s smart, but if you’re pretending to be this woman he thinks he’s going to find—”

  “Wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “First of all, I didn’t seek him out. He saw me in a coffee shop and started stalking me. And I’m not pretending to be anything. He’s the one who knows the story of my life.”

  “Or you’re going along with it, telling him he’s right about the things he thinks he knows,” he said.

  “Why on earth would I do that?”

  He raised his eyebrows and his gaze flicked up and down, like he was noting that I was dressed in William’s shirt. “You’ve seen him. You pretend to be his Ivy, you get him.”

  I was torn between being offended and a little bit grateful that James was looking out for William. I’d been suspicious of James, too.

  “Did he tell you what the paintings are?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” James said, his brow creasing. “He said they’re visions.”

  I pointed to the painting of the puppy. “That’s Edgar the first time I saw him. He was being fostered by a couple who lived in a house with a big front window. I wasn’t sure about getting a dog. My dad talked me into it. But as soon as I saw him peeking out the window at me, I knew he was mine.”

  James looked over at Edgar, then back at the painting. “Okay. So he painted a white puppy, and you have a white dog.”

  “That’s my dad’s office when I was little,” I said, pointing to another one. “The one there is the tree in my backyard where I grew up. My dad built that swing. That one’s the blanket my mother crocheted when she was pregnant with me. I still have it at home. It looks exactly like he painted it. I know them all.”

  “Holy shit,” James said under his breath.

  “I know,” I said. “I can’t explain it. It’s like looking at a gallery of my memories.”

  “You’re telling me this is all real?” he asked.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know how. All I can say is that he knows a million things about me, and they’re all true.”

  “I didn’t think William could keep surprising me, but apparently I underestimated him,” he said.

  “You didn’t believe him, did you?”

  James let out a breath and looked around at the paintings again. “I don’t know. Can you really believe a person when he says he’s searching for someone he’s never met, but he has visions that will lead him to her?” He paused. “But he was right?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “At least, the things he knows about me are. His paintings are things I recognize.”

  “Wow,” James said, rubbing his temples. “I feel like I have to rethink my entire outlook on existence.”

  “We can only know that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom,” I said.

  James raised his eyebrows at me.

  “Tolstoy, War and Peace. Sorry. I know what you mean. He walked into my world already knowing my life story. Displaying it on his walls.”

  “That is a head trip,” he said. “But… here you are.”

  I smiled. “Yeah. Here I am. How long have you known him?”

  “I met him about… nine months ago? Maybe a little more?”

  “Did you really ask to take his picture and then find him again and turn him into a model?”

  James chuckled. “That’s… yeah, that’s pretty much it. I saw him and there was something about his face. He has a great bone structure, but he looks so…”

  “Innocent?”

  “Yeah, only not, which is such a contradiction. But I guess that’s what makes his face so interesting. When I was processing the pictures later, I kicked myself for not finding out who he was. I went back to the same park a few days later, and sure enough, he was there. I guess I got lucky. I arranged to do a proper photo shoot and it didn’t take long before I had interest in his photos.”

  “Wow,” I said. “Did he live here then?”

  “No, I don’t know where he was living at the time,” he said. “After I sold his first photos, I helped him get set up here, in this place. I know the guy who owns the unit.”

  “That was nice of you,” I said.

  He shrugged. “He needed more hand-holding when I first met him than he does now. He wasn’t as… lucid. He had a hard time remembering things, bu
t he’s improved a lot.”

  “Is there something wrong with him?”

  “Other than the fact that he paints visions that are apparently your memories?” he asked with a little smile. “I don’t know. William is just… William. He’s a little odd, but whatever issues he was having with his memory seemed to have gone away as far as I can tell. He’s still a mystery, though. No past. No ID.”

  “What do you mean, no ID?” I asked.

  “He doesn’t have any identification,” he said. “No birth certificate, Social Security number, driver’s license. Nothing.”

  “But how does he function without ID?” I asked.

  James glanced down at the papers in front of him. “I handle everything for him. The apartment and utilities are in my name. His Jeep is, too. I come over once in a while to go over everything, so he knows I’m not screwing him over, but he never pays attention. I still do it, though.”

  “But he drives.”

  “Yeah, I know. I told him he could get in trouble for it. He just shrugs and says it doesn’t matter.”

  That sounded like William. “Do you know where he’s from?”

  “No idea,” he said. “According to him, he’s not from anywhere.”

  “He told me that, too. Do you think he has amnesia?”

  “It’s possible,” James said. “The thing is, I don’t think he’s lying. He really believes his own story. As far as the truth? I don’t know. I wondered about his past more when I first met him, but I kind of stopped trying to figure it out. It just agitated him when I asked too many questions. I suggested he see a doctor once and he looked at me like I was nuts. Said he wasn’t sick.”

  I shifted on the stool. Edgar had laid down, but his ears were still perked up.

  “Why do you do all this stuff to help him?” I asked. “It must be a lot of work to handle all his finances and everything. Does he pay you for it?”

  “He does,” he said. “He insists on it. Although it’s the least I can do. My career was going well before I met him, but he helped me take things to the next level. It’s in my best interest to make sure he’s taken care of. But to be honest, the money isn’t why I do it. William is…”