One More Night

by KB Winters

I teased her, flicking my tongue against her clit fast enough to bring the orgasm up her body.

  “Fuck, Shae!”

  That was the last coherent word she said as I licked her pussy and fingered her ass to the sounds of her moans and screams. She was loud and talkative and I was so hard, my cock leaked a continuous stream of pre-come in my boxer briefs. When I sucked her clit and twisted my finger inside of her, Ivy fell apart into a long, fiery orgasm that made her whole body vibrate. Her ass pulsed around my finger, clamped down so hard I wish it was my cock buried there instead.

  Finally her body went slack and her chest heaved under the intensity of her orgasm. Eventually, she laughed and breathed, “God that was insane!”

  She was fucking gorgeous with her orgasmic glow tinting her skin a soft shade of pink, nipples hard as her tits jiggled under her laughter.

  “Amazing. Incredible. But also totally fucking insane.”

  I gave her one last lick, feeling satisfied when little aftershocks made her tremble. “If you’re good and eat all your breakfast, I’ll give you something sweet to put in your mouth.”

  She looked up at me and grinned. “I’m already wet just thinking about it.”

  Yep, this chick was dangerous. Too bad danger was my middle fucking name.

  “This is delicious, Shae. I can’t believe you cooked breakfast.”

  Ivy leaned back in her seat and smiled at me. “I must have really rocked your world.”

  “And tilted it on its fucking axis.” That was the truth. Ivy was a treat I hadn’t seen coming. Almost made me want to thank those stupid fucking Milanos. And I would, after I pissed on their graves.

  Ivy rolled her eyes but her pink lips glistened as she smiled around a slice of bacon. “Thanks for the breakfast too.”

  “My pleasure.” We ate mostly in silence, both of us ravenous. I couldn’t believe I made breakfast. I never did day-after breakfasts, but after a whole night of fucking, I felt like I owed it to her.

  “So Ivy, other than taking care of your brother, what do you do?”

  “I work as a graphic designer. Mostly I work from home but on occasion some clients require me to come into the office. It’s rare though.”

  “Sitting inside and staring at a computer all day sounds like a special kind of hell to me.”

  She laughed and I realized how that might have sounded. “I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s all right. I love it, actually. Creating something from nothing and helping businesses reach their goals is pretty amazing.”

  She sighed wistfully and I wondered what she was thinking.

  “You know, it’s not what I planned to do with my life but after my parents died,” she hesitated just a moment but it was enough to let me see the pain it still caused her. “Well, I needed to make sure Ian finished school so I started taking gigs on freelance websites because they didn’t need to know my age. I got better at it and made a business out of it.”

  Very few things were as sexy as a woman who made her own money, but that definitely topped my list. Most women could spot designer jeans and Armani shoes from a mile away and once they smelled that money there was no way to know what they wanted more. Me or my money. Not that they had a chance in hell of getting either. “You live alone?”

  She nodded and brushed some of her hair from her shoulders with greasy fingertips. “Yep. I thought maybe Ian might stay here while he recuperates but he has other plans.”

  I knew women, which meant I knew more than enough to stay away from that landmine.

  “Now you can focus on yourself,” I said, mopping up my eggs with a piece of toast. Ivy struck me as a person who didn’t focus on herself very much. Suddenly, I wanted to know why.

  “What about you, Shae? What is it that you do for a living? I know you work for your father, but what is it exactly that you do?”

  Her questions caught me off guard, and I took too long to answer.

  “Okay, how about you tell me what kind of job has bad guys showing up at the hospital trying to choke you out?”

  Damn. Not so shy after all. “Like I said, it was work stuff Ivy. And I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Of course.” She fell silent and took angry bites of her southwest omelet, stealing all the salsa and keeping it just out of my reach.

  “You’re gonna pout?”

  She looked up and finished chewing. “Nope. No reason to pout.” Looking down at her plate, her eyes darkened and her brows dipped in anger as she pushed away from the table. “I just … never mind.”

  I wasn’t so big an idiot I didn’t know what that meant. Ivy was pissed. “It’s nothing, really Ivy. They want something my company doesn’t want them to have.”

  “Sure.” She shook her head as she stacked dishes. She pushed the chair back with more force than necessary and dumped everything into the sink, then turned on the water.

  “You know Shae, I’m not asking for anything other than to get to know you. I don’t just sleep with people, which, I know is hard to believe considering everything, but it’s true. I shared my life with you, told you everything, and you’ve told me nothing. I don’t even know your last name.”

  I could hear the frustration in her voice and more than anything, it pissed me off.

  “Yeah, well I didn’t ask you to share, did I Ivy?”

  “Actually you did. We’re just strangers, remember saying that? But forget it,” she said, her voice dripping with disappointment.

  “I meant name and serial number. Not spill your guts.” Even though I didn’t know her well, I didn’t have to turn to hear just how done with me she was and that should’ve been fine. Ivy should’ve been just another notch on the bed post.

  “I’m just not the sharing type, Ivy. It has nothing to do with you. Can’t we just, hell I don’t know Ivy, can’t we just have some fun? Keep it casual?”

  It was so quiet I could have heard a fucking pin drop in her kitchen.

  Minutes passed as she made what seemed like a dozen trips from the sink to the table to gather up the dishes and wash them. The water finally shut off and I felt—rather than heard—her move around the kitchen.

  “No Shae, I can’t keep it casual. I’m sorry, but I can’t. We had a good time together, but I’m not cut out for sport fucking.”

  “What are you looking for Ivy, marriage? I thought you were different, but you’re looking for a husband too. Right?” I could kick my ass for thinking with my dick. Again.

  “No Shae, I’m not. I just can’t sleep with someone I don’t know or keep sleeping with him. I think it’s best if you leave.”

  “Just like that?”

  She blinked her confusion. “What else is there? Are you hoping for another round of sex?”

  She sighed and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Yeah, well, so was I.” She turned then and disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me to take the hint.

  Get the fuck out.

  Gladly.

  I didn’t need this shit. There was so much pussy in Rocket that would love to wet my dick.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ivy

  Goddammit, I did it again! After Shae left, I tossed my bedding in the washer and cleaned my bedroom from top to bottom. And my shower. And the kitchen. And the living room. Okay, I cleaned my whole damn house until the pine fresh and mountain air scents masked any lingering smell of Shae, no last name, hot as fuck, jerk.

  A stupid jerk. And an asshole, too. I was getting myself too psyched up, too angry. All over a guy who, in the grand scheme of things, didn’t matter. He was a good lay. A damn good lay, actually. He woke up parts of my body that I didn’t know were even dormant, goddamn him!

  I should have listened to my first instinct. I mean, who in the hell would even screw a guy they met because he was dumped from a van in the hospital parking lot? Me, that was who. And my long streak of going after the exact wrong kind of guy was in no danger of ending. He was bad news and that wasn’t even based on the business he was reluctan
t to talk about. To me, anyway. It was because of course he wanted to keep it casual. Because it was the perfect way to get what he wanted, sex, without having to share any parts of his life.

  He didn’t need a sex buddy or a mistress. What Shae needed was a steady stream of professional sex workers who would show up, suck his cock and leave without any expectations and a fatter purse.

  I deserved better than that and I knew it. Deep down in my heart I knew it, but that didn’t stop me from being angry and frustrated. I liked him, which should have been the first clue that things weren’t going to work out. It was the story of my life—guys who wanted to keep it casual. Who weren’t looking for anything serious. I couldn’t even remember them all, but what I’d never forget was all the creative ways men could find to tell me they only wanted to stick their dick inside me.

  “Stop!” I screamed at the bathroom mirror.

  I couldn’t let this thought process continue. It didn’t help me get to the point where I wasn’t angry or hurt. Thankfully, my house was clean, which meant I was able to put in a few hours of work to make sure when this week was over, I still had a profitable business. Since I had nothing else, my clients were doubly important now.

  From my office that overlooked the backyard, a large window gave me a glimpse of the outside world, reminding me what was real. Five hours straight sitting in front of a computer screen meant my shoulders, neck and back were stiff as hell. I needed to stretch, get my oxygen and blood circulating and as I did a few sun salutations and downward dogs, I began to feel renewed. My life was getting back to normal. Shae was a blip on the radar screen, receding into the distance. A life lesson. A reminder to keep myself centered and on course.

  No more getting derailed by men.

  Not Ian and certainly not Shae. Not anymore, anyway. I’d completed two projects this morning and taken on two more contracts. Business was still booming. Which meant my life wasn’t a complete and total failure. As pathetic as it was, that thought made me feel a little better because I knew there were women out there with no love and no career to satisfy them.

  “Then again,” I said to my perfectly equipped kitchen, “those women probably have friends to complain to and commiserate with on occasion.”

  Did women still do girls’ nights?

  That was what I needed. Friends. People who wanted to hang out for no other reason than to have a good time together. Not losers who needed to be taken care of, or only wanted me for my body. Just a few besties for simple fun and completely platonic relationships. Girlfriends to count on for those days when it seemed all the lights had gone out.

  “Might as well go unicorn hunting, too.” I scoffed to myself.

  Where had that snarky thought come from? It was definitely a mood buster, so I ordered a cheesy meaty pizza, cracked open a beer, and didn’t feel guilty about eating the slices straight from the box. On the sofa. In my pajamas.

  It felt good not worrying about anyone but myself. To just sit at home alone and binge watch crap on TV because I wanted to. Not to have to answer to anyone about the choices I made. Though I guess it would be nice to have someone around who actually gave a damn about me.

  Just then I heard my dad’s voice in my head. Don’t sit around feelin’ sorry for yourself girl, go out and make life happen.

  I didn’t know what he meant when I was a kid, but all of a sudden it seemed like after all these years, my father had whispered the secret of life in my ears. Thanks, Dad, I said to the last of the beer. And decided right then I was going to ace this course.

  I grabbed my laptop to see what kinds of activities Rocket offered to meet people. I had my choice of book clubs, knitting clubs, dance classes, strip dancing classes and cooking classes.

  Nothing sounded all that appealing to me, but I was determined to follow Dad’s advice, so I signed up for an Indian cooking class that started next month. In exactly two weeks my life would change and I’d cook fabulous dinners for all my new friends. I could taste the curry already.

  My cell phone rang in my office, and I jogged to the back of my small house but missed the call. I swiped it off the desk, assuming it was a robo call because who else would call me in the middle of the day. I didn’t have any friends.

  Within minutes it rang again, and I got that nauseated feeling in the pit of my gut that had nothing to do with the four slices of pizza and two beers I devoured while watching some Brazilian science fiction show.

  “Hello?” I said, nervousness spilling off me like the crumbs from the pizza.

  “Hi,” a firm, professional voice said. “This is Candace calling from St. Mary’s Hospital. May I speak with Ivy Anders?”

  “This is Ivy.” I was already looking around the room for shoes, and I spotted a pair of hot pink All-Stars near the door, my keys and bag hung on the hook three feet above my shoes.

  “You are the emergency contact for Ian Anders?”

  Slowly the blood drained from my body, leaving me feeling cold and numb. “I am. What’s going on?”

  “I’m afraid that your brother has been in an accident.”

  I looked at the phone and scowled. “Yeah, he was in an accident a few days ago. I got this call already.”

  Was this hospital up to helping people if they couldn’t even keep their shit straight?

  “That’s correct, Ms. Anders. But it seems that Ian left the hospital last night with a few friends and while they were out, something else happened.”

  “Is he all right?” That was the only question I had at the moment as I sent prayers up to every deity known to man, Mom and Dad and anybody else who might be able to intervene long enough for the doctors to save him. “Is my brother all right?”

  Finally, the damn nurse spoke as I shoved my feet into my shoes and hoisted my bag over my shoulder and ran for my car, just as I realized that two beers was two too many to get behind the wheel of a car.

  “He’s banged up and re-injured his leg, but he’s all right. Can you come up here in case we have any questions while your brother is in surgery?”

  “Surgery,” I whispered. “He’s in surgery? For what?” This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

  The nurse sighed heavily, and I dropped down on the steps of my porch. “The doctor would prefer to speak to you in person.”

  “I’m on my way.” As soon as the call ended, I called an Uber and sat out on my porch as the wind carried my buzz away. I cried as my mind replayed all the different ways Ian could have gotten hurt. Maybe he fell and broke his leg again, but that wouldn’t require a second surgery, would it?

  Chapter Fourteen

  Shae

  “Shit, Shae! It’s about damn time you showed up. I called you more than an hour ago!”

  Eamon was beside himself, red in the face and damn near blowing steam out of his ears. He looked the same way he did when I stole his Corvette. I was just fourteen and best of all, he didn’t catch me. The fucking cops did. He figured it out when the three separate speeding tickets came in the mail.

  “We thought maybe the Milanos found you again, goddammit.” He raked a hand through his hair and blew out another breath.

  “Nope. Had to head home and change. Didn’t think ol’ Patrick would’ve appreciated me showing up to dinner smelling like sex.”

  I barked a chuckle to diffuse the tension in the room. Eamon was scared, worried, and I knew he hated feeling vulnerable about anything. Normally, I would’ve fucked with him just because it amused me, but between the shit with Layla and then me, he was probably close to losing his shit.

  “We all appreciate that,” Rourke grunted from the corner, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and a smirk on his face. “How do you feel?”

  After spending the entire night buried deep inside Ivy, I felt damn good. And a little sore. And more than a little pissed off about how things ended with Ivy. Luckily, I wasn’t thinking about that right now. At all.

  “Like I’m ready to kick someone’s ass.”

  Before I showered, c
hanged, and left my house, I set aside all thoughts of Ivy until we dealt with business because I couldn’t be distracted. Not now.

  “Sounds good, my boy. We’ll talk business in a minute, but first let’s see what your Aunt Fi has cooked up for us.”

  Patrick walked into the game room, cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth and a relieved smile on his face as he pulled me into a full-on hug. It was odd, since Patrick wasn’t known for his loving gestures, which only highlighted just how much the Milanos had us all worried.

  “We’re still gonna burn those fucks to the ground,” he promised. He wore his usual outfit of jeans, a blue button up shirt and a wildly colored blazer to highlight his lean frame. I fell in step beside my father, and he smiled at me again.

  “I’m glad you’re all right son. Now, tell me exactly what happened.”

  I took my seat to the left of Patrick at the head of the table while Eamon and Rourke took the two seats to his right. Aunt Fiona, my father’s sister, came in with one of her kitchen helpers following behind with a roast leg of lamb. She took her seat at the other end of the table, every graying hair in place, a coating of makeup masking her stern face, leaving an empty seat between us. She surveyed the table groaning with glazed carrots, herbed potatoes, salad and a few dishes that looked like something she saw on one of those cooking shows.

  The last guest strolled in, late with an arrogance sure to piss off Patrick, which seemed to be my cousin Conor’s favorite past time.

  “Glad to see you could join us, Conor.”

  Conor shrugged and dropped down in the seat beside me. “No problem, Uncle. Got here as soon as traffic allowed. You’re the one who decided to live all the way out in bumfuck Egypt.”

  Another familiar argument, which we’d all made at one point or another. Patrick laughed it off as he always did; digs like that never bothered our father in the least. Conor was a cousin from Mom’s side of the family. We never hung out with him often enough on account of the Connelly family business. But Conor had come to the family and asked that we put his special skills to use, and Patrick was happy to bring him on board. Conor also provided some serious muscle, and when Patrick needed more than a little bit of muscle, Conor was more than a simple threat. Conor was the guy you called when you needed people to disappear. Quietly and permanently.