by RC Boldt
I focus straight ahead on one of the corridors, and I assume my stern focus alerts many others I’m not up for pausing for brief greetings or conversations, which I’m grateful for. We reach the darkened hall, and I check one of the doors, finding the first three locked, but I continue.
“Becket? What are you doing?”
“Just give me a sec.” I try the door on the left and hit the jackpot, the handle turning, and I tug her with me inside the darkened storage room. I quietly close the door behind us and lock it. Swiftly, I steer her back against the door and cage her in. We’re ensconced in darkness, and I lower my head to press my lips to her bare shoulder.
“How do you know him?” My words are hushed yet demanding.
“How do you know her?” she shoots back. “She eye-fucked you right in front of me—and him.”
There’s something in her tone that has my head snapping up. Jealousy? Possessiveness?
“You first.”
She huffs out an irritated sounding sigh. “I know him from college.”
“And when you say you know him, you mean…”
She shoves me, but I don’t budge. “Becket. It was years ago.”
It’s irrational as hell, but pure rage fills my veins at what she’s not telling me. At what I’m reading between the lines.
Between gritted teeth, I force out, “You slept with Teegan?”
“It was in college.” Her tone is ripe with exasperation.
I shake my head and bring my body closer to hers. “He had you, Ivy.” I slide my palm down the petal-soft fabric of her dress and stop, cupping her core. “He’s had this. Tasted you.”
Her breathing stutters. “Yes.” There’s a pause. “And the woman. Lindsay? How do you know her?” Her tone is demanding, forceful, and there can only be one reason for it.
Ivy cares. And that itself eases a fraction of the intense, possessive rage pulsing through my body.
“She’s my ex-fiancée.”
There’s a long beat of silence. “You never told me about her.”
I back away from her abruptly. “Like you never told me about Teegan.”
“He wasn’t my ex-fiancé!” Her voice rises, heated.
“Ivy…” I rake a hand through my hair in agitation and blow out a long breath. “She was my fiancée, and I found her in bed with someone else. I called it off immediately. That’s it.” I pause for a moment. “Now, what about Teegan?”
“Did you love her?”
I pinch my eyes closed. “I thought I did.”
She falls silent. “Teegan and I had an agreement in college. Until he decided he wanted more.”
He wanted a relationship. A part of me celebrates the fact she didn’t want that with him. Simultaneously, I feel sorry for the poor bastard because I can’t blame him for wanting more.
I stalk toward the door and cage her in, splaying my hands on either side of her head. “I know it makes me sound like a dick, but, Ivy”—I dust my lips against her temple—“I’m jealous as hell that he’s been inside you. That he knows what you feel like, how tight you get when you come all over his cock.” I lightly drag my lips along her jawline. “I fucking hate that he’s been buried in your sweet pussy, had his mouth all over you.”
I detect the sound of her small purse dropping to the floor before her hands slide into my hair and grip it tightly.
“How do you think it makes me feel?” she challenges. “That she knows what it’s like to ride you, to make you lose control and come inside her?” Her grip on my hair tightens almost painfully. “The fact that she obviously still wants you, still thinks about you like that, pisses me off.”
“I don’t want her, Ivy,” I grit out angrily. “All I fucking want is you.”
Using her grip on me as leverage, she steers me so our lips are against one another, brushing lightly. “Show me.”
26
Ivy
“Show me.”
I barely get the challenging words out before Becket’s lips crash down on mine in a kiss that’s searing and possessive, and his tongue delves inside to tangle with my own. He tears his lips away to sweep my hair aside and trail kisses along the column of my neck while he works to hike up the long length of my dress.
With the bunched fabric in one hand, his fingers wrap around the thin, flimsy strap of my thong, and he gives a strong tug. It snaps, the fabric giving way to his strength, and his fingers immediately trace the folds of my entrance.
“Fuck.” His voice is hoarse, gravelly, at discovering my wetness. “Tell me who made you wet,” he demands before dipping one fingertip inside, just enough to have me whimpering.
“You,” I say on a ragged breath, and I’m instantly rewarded when he thrusts the finger deeper. I arch with a loud gasp, and my inner muscles clench tight.
“Dammit, Ivy.” He sounds pained. “I’d give anything to sink my cock inside you right now.”
“Do it,” I urge breathlessly.
He rests his head on my shoulder, his finger still pumping in and out of me with languid strokes. With a pained laugh, he whispers, “No way in hell am I having our first time be in a damn storage room.”
He adds another finger, continuing the torturous thrusts that drive me closer to the edge. I clutch at the lapels of his tux and tip my head back against the unforgivingly hard surface of the door.
“Becket, please.” My voice is thin, needy, and desperate. At any other time, I’d cringe in disgust. But right now, I don’t care. All I need is for him not to stop.
“I’ve got you.” His teeth gently toy with my bottom lip.
I widen my stance to allow him more room, and he releases what sounds like a predatory growl. “Ivy.” He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “You’re killing me.”
My hands fly to his pants, and I make quick work of them before I wrap my fingers around his cock. I glide my hand up and down his length in sure strokes, spurred on by his guttural moans and the way he pulses in my grip.
“Did I make you this hard?”
My question appears to catch him off guard because his strokes falter for a millisecond before he resumes and answers me. “God, yes.” He adds a third finger, and it creates a decadent stretch inside me. “Only you, Ivy.” His whispered words, so laden with lust, combined with his thrusting fingers send me to the edge of the precipice. Not yet toppling over, but oh so close. I clench around him, and he whispers a command. “Rub your clit for me.”
He continues to hold my bunched dress in one hand while tormenting me with the other, and I obey and reach for my swollen flesh. I can’t restrain the tiny hiss that leaves my lips at the initial contact, my nerve endings already hypersensitive.
“I want you to come for me. Me, Ivy. Only me.”
I continue stroking him while rubbing circles over my clit. His deep voice is low and seductive in my ear. “That’s it.” He wraps his lips around my earlobe and tugs gently. “You’re getting wetter.”
When I run the pad of my thumb over the top of his velvety head, gliding through the moisture seeping from the tip, he sucks in a sharp breath. “I want you to come thinking of me inside you, of my cock buried deep. Of you clenching me tight and me coming inside you.” His breath hitches when I tighten my grip, and he surges in my palm. “Fuck, that feels good.”
His words, combined with my ministrations, send me flying over the edge. My entire body goes taut, muscles tightening before a gasp is wrenched from me and my inner muscles spasm around his fingers. “Becket,” I cry out.
“That’s it,” he groans, working me through my orgasm with his thrusts. “Come all over me. Pretend my fingers are my cock.”
The waves of my release crash over me, and I rock my hips, riding his fingers, my breaths coming fast in harsh, breathy pants. My tremors have barely subsided when Becket’s body turns rigid. Catching him by surprise, I move, shifting our positions. Gently, I push his back against the door and drop down to take him in my mouth. As deep as possible, I slide my mouth up
and down over his hard, pulsing length.
“Ivy,” he groans. “God, you feel so fucking good.” His voice is strained, and I don’t think I’ve heard him sound so close to losing control before.
With aching slowness, I draw my mouth off him with a slow pop, releasing the suction. “I want you to come hard.” I run the tip of my tongue along the notch of the head and lap at the bead of salty fluid, eliciting a sharp hiss from Becket. “In my mouth.”
When he releases a harsh groan, I slide my mouth back down over his hard length and work him with both my hand and mouth in long, even strokes. His fingers grip my hair, drawing it tight. “Fuck.” He jerks in my mouth just before he explodes, jetting his release, and I do my best to suck him dry.
Once his shudders subside, I release him from my mouth and gently tuck him back inside his boxer briefs and fasten his pants. He helps me rise and tugs me close, kissing me with a voracious intensity I’ve not yet experienced from him. He ravages my mouth, the emotions intertwined in the kiss dragging me under seductively, and I give in to it and hold him tight.
He draws away to skim his fingers against my lips, and I realize they’re the same fingers he had inside me mere moments ago. Painting my mouth with my own essence, he dips his head and licks at it before whispering, “I love your taste.” Another swipe of his tongue. “So damn much.” Another long swipe. “I can’t wait to taste you again, later.”
I grin against his mouth. “Getting a little sure of yourself,” I tease softly.
He swats at my ass. “Damn straight.” He toys with my bottom lip. “I plan to feast on you, Ivy Hayes.”
His words induce a shiver that wracks my body. “I can’t wait.”
He smooths my dress down. “You know how hard it’s going to be to spend the rest of the night knowing you’re bare? That it would be so easy to touch you again, to see if you’re still wet, to thrust deep inside you?”
I lay my forehead against his collarbone and release a tiny groan. “If this weren’t such an important event for you, I’d ask you to take me home now.”
He huffs out a breath. “Trust me, you wouldn’t have to ask.” He pauses for a long moment. “Ivy?”
“Yes?”
“I—”
The knock on the door interrupts whatever he plans to say, startling us both. I immediately tense, only to ease at the muted sound of his brother’s voice. “Beck? You in there?”
“Yeah.” Becket still doesn’t open the door. Instead, he cradles my face in his hands and plants a tender kiss on my lips.
“You might want to make an appearance. A few people’ve asked about you, where you were.”
“I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Okay.” There’s a brief pause before his brother tacks on, “I’ll go distract your adoring fan club,” with amusement threaded in his tone.
Becket chuckles softly. “I’m going to turn the lights on. Just to make sure we’re somewhat presentable.”
“Okay.”
I wince as soon as he flicks the light switch and wait for my eyes to adjust. Once they do, my gaze locks with Becket’s dark one and the flecks of gold amidst the deep brown appear more pronounced. He’s picked up the wristlet I dropped, and I accept it from him.
A faint smile plays at his lips as he gazes at me. He reaches out a hand to smooth my hair before he dips his head to kiss my forehead. His lips linger an extra beat longer than expected, and the contact sends a flood of unfamiliar emotion sweeping through me.
“Ready?” He leans back, carefully regarding me. It dawns on me at this moment, that if I were to say no, that I’d rather go home, he would give his regards to the others and take me home. Even knowing what this night represents to him and his family.
Which is why I peer up at him while carefully adjusting his lapels and answer, “Ready.”
We leave that room behind, my hand held snug in his, and it’s as though something has shifted between us.
Something dangerous.
Something unsettling.
Something new.
Something that feels a lot like an emotion I’ve never felt before for a man.
“…and I want to thank everyone here tonight, everyone who’s donated their time or money to this cause that’s embedded in my heart and soul.”
Becket’s at the podium, speaking to an audience held captive by the man who’s proven he’s much more than a handsome face, an infectious smile, an athlete, or a hard body. He briefly lowers his eyes to the wooden podium and swallows hard. When his gaze rises and locks with my own, my heart lurches in my chest. I offer what I hope is a comforting smile and do what I never in my life imagined I’d ever do.
I discreetly blow Becket a kiss.
The immediate change in his demeanor is near startling as his expression brightens, the shadows shifting from his eyes. He gives me the quickest wink and continues.
“My mother, who battled like the badass she always was, finally succumbed to her fight against cancer nearly eight years ago now. The Mayo Clinic here in Jacksonville went above and beyond, as they do on a daily basis for countless others, to assist her in the fight. The night she passed, with my brother, Brantley, and me beside her, I vowed to do whatever necessary to give back.
“That night, I decided to create the Mayo Clinic’s Giving Gala. And without you”—he gestures to the crowd seated at surrounding tables—“none of this”—he waves at the large projection screen behind him that displays the slideshow of patients along with photos of the doctors and research labs—“would be possible. We would be even further from discovering a cure. Further from seeing patients walk out of the clinic and not returning. So on behalf of my mother, my brother, and me, from the bottom of my heart, thank you.”
With a brief nod, Becket takes a step back from the podium as the applause starts, and individuals rise from their seats, continuing with their enthusiastic clapping. He descends the stairs to return to his seat beside me, and his eyes are locked with mine the entirety of his walk.
“Thank you.”
The deep voice that murmurs in my ear startles me. I turn a questioning look at Brantley, who’s seated at my side. His eyes, so similar to his brother’s, regard me with an unnerving intensity.
I tip my head to the side in question. “For?”
“Thank you for loving my brother.” His words, though spoken in a softly hushed tone, send ripples of panic shimmering through me.
My lips part, my instant reaction to protest, and I shake my head. “Oh, but I…” My heartbeat thuds so loud it’s nearly deafening to my own ears. How does one politely say they don’t love a person’s sibling? I don’t want to be rude, but I also don’t want to lead him on and allow him to believe a falsehood. Hell, I don’t even know what love is anyway…
Brantley lays a hand over mine and gives it a little squeeze. “Hey. Don’t worry,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper. “Your secret’s safe with me.”
I’m stunned into silence when Becket takes his seat beside me and leans in with a grin. “How’d I do?”
Attempting to school my expression, I wrinkle my nose and hold out my hand and make a so-so gesture. “It was okay, I guess,” I tease.
Becket lays a hand over his heart and rears back dramatically, his eyes sparkling with humor. “Ah, you wound me, woman.”
Then he breaks into a wide, toothy grin and a tiny voice inside me screams, He’s a good guy, Ivy. You really will hurt him.
I know I should cut ties after tonight. It’s the smart—the right—thing to do.
His expression sobers and his brows pinch together, a crease forming between them that makes me itch to smooth out. He reaches out and toys with one of the loose curls against my upper arm, his gaze searching. “Everything okay?”
I nod and muster up a smile. “Your speech was amazing.”
Thankfully, he seems to go along with my subject change, and his features soften. “Thank you.” He reaches for my hand sitting in my lap and links our fingers togeth
er. “Thank you for this. For being here with me tonight.”
“You’re welcome.” I just pray no one will be nosy enough to care about me.
I reach for my small purse sitting on the table and turn back to Becket. “I’m going to use the restroom. Be back in a moment.”
He rises from his seat, ever the gentleman. When I take that first step, he snags my wrist, drawing me to a stop. Alarmed, I find him watching me with concern. “You sure you’re okay?”
The way he poses this question, as though he’s silently telling me he’s ready to slay any and all dragons for me without any hesitation, causes something to unfurl in the pit of my stomach.
A yearning to let him.
The logical part of me instantly serves the reminder that I can’t let that happen. I can’t allow him to risk everything—his career and reputation—for me.
“Just a little headache.” The tiny lie tastes awful when it spills from my lips even while I simultaneously beg him to believe it.
“Let me know if we need to leave early.” His concerned gaze exacerbates my guilt.
“I’ll be fine.” I press a soft kiss to his jawline. When I back away, I witness the shift, the way his eyes darken with lust and another emotion I’m unable to decipher. I turn and weave my way past the tables, recognizing a handful of former clients, and veer past the line for the bar on my way to the restroom.
Unfortunately, I catch the eye of one particular individual.
I turn left and proceed down the nearly empty hallway leading to the restrooms and register the faint echo of footsteps behind me.
“Ivy.”
His hushed, familiar voice causes my spine to stiffen. I’d like nothing more than to ignore him, but it’ll simply prolong the inevitable.
Might as well get it over with.
I brace myself and paste a polite smile on my face when I turn to face him. “Teegan.”
He hasn’t changed much. Still tall, although shorter than Becket’s six-foot-four frame, and handsome with a fit, lithe body. The young man, the one who’d wanted more from me than I could give, now stares back at me as a confident, poised man.
