Once we’re inside, I release her onto the bed, not allowing her to even take a breath before I strip her tight workout pants off of her. I shove two fingers inside of her center and groan at how hot and wet she is for me.
“Fuck,” I hiss as I fuck her with my fingers.
Her legs widen, and she arches her back as she pushes against my hand, enjoying the way I touch her.
Popping the button off of my jeans with my free hand, I quickly shove them down as far as I can. Ivy wraps her hands around my wrist as I pull my fingers from her pussy.
Switching our holds around, I encircle her wrist with my fingers and shove her hand above her head onto the mattress before I slam into her waiting, warm, pussy.
“West,” she breathes on a hitched breath.
Wrapping my other hand around her hip, I fuck her. My eyes stay glued to our connection. Watching as her wetness coats my cock with each thrust of my hips.
It isn’t soft and tender, I pound into her body, taking my frustrations out on her. She cries out beneath me as I continue to take her, fucking her with quick, hard strokes until I feel her pussy flutter around my dick.
Ivy lets out a gasp as her cunt clamps down around me. I don’t let up, my release is on the brink, and I continue fucking her until I plant myself deep inside of her and come, on a shout. Pulling out of her almost immediately, I tug my jeans back up as I try to catch my breath.
“West?” she mutters from the bed.
I look into her eyes for the first time since she told me that this wasn’t working anymore and I slide my own closed slowly. “You’re right, Ivy,” I murmur.
“What?” she asks.
“This isn’t working anymore,” I state before I turn around and walk out of my home.
The home we bought when our son Remi was born almost eleven years ago. The home we made our eight-year-old son in, nine years ago. Ivy is right though, we aren’t working. Not right now anyway. I leave her in our bed, climbing onto my bike, starting the engine—I ride.
I don’t know where I’m going yet. But I know that I need to go.
Chapter Two
IVY
I watch him leave, walking out of our bedroom and then with a slam of the front door out of our home. The look in his eyes, it said so much without him having to say a word.
My heart shatters into a million pieces as I stand up and make my way toward the bathroom. Trying to shove the, what ifs, and uncertainty aside I start the shower water.
Peeling off my top and my bra, my eyes catch my brand in the mirror. The black scroll is a bit faded, it needs a touch-up, but the name is still very clear—Camo. I’m his, not only his wife but his Old Lady as well.
I’m not really sure that I’m going to be either of those for very long. The thought makes my heart pound against my chest. I love him, when all is said and done, I love the big stupid man.
However, I know that love isn’t the only thing needed in a marriage to make it work. I don’t know if we have the other pieces of what’s needed to make us whole again.
Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water pound against my body. Tears immediately start to fall. The realization that my marriage may be over washes over me.
Once I’m showered, I dress in a pair of loose-fitting jeans and an oversized shirt. Actually, everything I own is now loose fitting and oversized.
Contrary to West’s belief, I don’t go shopping and blow money on myself. I’m in desperate need of clothes that fit though. However, today, I think I will do just that. I still have a few hours until Reid, my youngest, is home from school.
I head toward my SUV, start the engine and go shopping. I bring my phone with me, not because I am waiting for West to call, but just in case any of the kids need to get ahold of me.
Once I’m on the road, I call Chad. The car’s Bluetooth picks up the call and my speakers flood with the sound of a ringing phone.
“You’re bailing, aren’t you?” Chad asks as his greeting.
I let out a laugh driving toward the mall. “I’m not, actually. I’m calling to let you know that I’ll be there.”
“Your husband?” he asks.
I sigh. “We got into a huge fight. It’ll just be me,” I explain.
Chad asks me what the fight was about. I know that I can’t tell him everything, and I don’t want to get into money, not when it was about paying him. It’s not his fault that we fought. Chad has to eat and pay bills too, I don’t want him to feel guilty. In reality, West’s and my argument is about so much more than just finances.
“We haven’t really been doing well lately. It’s just getting worse,” I admit.
The wooded area of my drive starts to fade away as I make my way closer toward the mall. Chad’s hum sounds throughout my car but he doesn’t make a comment. I tell him that I’ll see him at the bar tonight before I end the call.
I can feel my throat closing up as I think about what this fight with West means. What his words and my own meant, and what the future holds for us. This isn’t how I saw my life unfolding.
Pulling into the parking lot I let out a sigh. I feel like everything has been unraveling slowly like a small thread has been being pulled at the rate of molasses. Now it’s starting to reach the end of the fabric, and everything is coming to a head.
My life as a wife, and an Old Lady, may be over. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I’m not sure that I really feel all that upset at the moment. It will probably hit me when everything is said and done. West did not look like he wanted to talk things through, not that he ever has. I’m just tired of it all, and maybe that’s the difference this time.
Maybe it’s me who has changed, and he’s stayed the same?
Throwing my car door open I make my way into the mall. I start to head to the same store I always shop in, except standing at their storefront feels different.
I don’t want the same shit I’ve always worn. The same mom jeans, the same full coverage bras and panties. I want to feel as sexy in my clothes as I do when I look in the mirror. I’ve worked hard, and although I don’t want to look like I’m trying, I still want to feel beautiful.
I head into a store that is a bit too old for Rosalie, but a place I would have thought was too young for me and hold my breath as I cross the entrance.
The music as I enter is loud, but I’m used to loud music so it doesn’t bother me. What is truly intimidating is the rows and rows of jeans, all different fits and styles. I don’t know where to even begin.
“Can I help you?” a perky sales girl asks. She’s around twenty and all smiles.
Clearing my throat, I suck in a deep breath. “I need new clothes, new jeans for sure,” I murmur.
“Do you know what size you are?” she asks as she walks over to a wall of jeans.
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. “I think I might be a six, I’m not sure.”
“I’ll grab you a couple different sizes and styles, and we’ll go from there.”
I watch as she thumbs through the jeans and pulls out about six different pairs. Then I follow her toward the dressing room. She leaves me alone, and I stare at the clothes then myself in the mirror until my eyes shift back to the jeans.
Stripping my heavily faded, extremely loose pants off I grab the top pair and pull them on. They’re meant to be skinny jeans but they’re too loose in the thighs and waist. Taking them off, I notice that they’re larger sized than the next, so I chance trying them on.
They fit like a glove.
“Do you have any on?” the sales girl asks.
Opening the dressing room door, she looks down then back up at me with a huge smile. “Those look so awesome on you,” she practically squeals. “When you said your size, I wasn’t sure, but those are a twenty-eight, which is a six. You are dead-on and they look fantastic.”
I gaze at myself in the mirror, holding my shirt up to my waist so that I can see the full length of the skinny jeans. They have accented my now leaner legs and trimmer waist, witho
ut even an ounce of muffin top. I’m unable to hold back my smile as I look at myself.
“Those look so awesome on you. Let me get you some different cuts though, that way you can find your favorites. I usually rotate between, straight and skinny legs, depending on my shoes,” she smiles.
I thank her and watch as she walks around the store. “I’m going to get you some tops too,” she calls out.
That’s how I spend the rest of my Friday afternoon. Shopping. I buy more than I need going to several different stores, including Victoria’s Secret. By the time I need to head back to start the pick-up rounds with the kids, I feel a lot better.
In fact, I feel almost rejuvenated.
I make an appointment with my hairdresser to finish out my new style. I decide I need to change my hair as well. I don’t know if West will like it, if he’ll even care, but I’ve decided I can’t worry about him anymore. I need to focus on myself, on what makes me happy, and on my children.
My babies will always, always come first for me. They have since the moment I knew they existed and they will continue to. That doesn’t mean that I have to let myself go though. I need to find a healthy balance, and I’m starting now.
CAMO
Walking into the clubhouse I head toward the bar. My only thought is to drink and do so heavily. It’s pretty quiet right now, but it’s Friday, so I know in a few hours a party will assuredly take place. Right now, all I can think about is the bottle of tequila I’m going to decimate.
Pulling the cork out of the top, I take a healthy swig straight from the bottle, then I walk over to one of the tables and chairs and sit down. Patron is my drink of choice, so I plan on drinking as much of my bottle as possible tonight.
“What happened? Wife or kids?” Torch asks as he sinks down into the chair next to mine.
“Wife,” I grunt.
Torch, the clubs current Sergeant of Arms, clears his throat but doesn’t say anything. I can tell there’s something on his mind. “Spit it out.” Taking another swig of booze, I turn to him. I shake my head as I wait for him to speak.
“You been spending a lot of time down here. She’s been spending a lot of time at the gym,” he points out.
“Thanks, Captain Obvious,” I growl.
Torch lets out a bark of laughter. “What I’m saying is that you two aren’t spending a whole lot of time together.”
I lift my chin in acknowledgment. He’s right. We don’t. I don’t hate her, and I don’t dislike her. The truth is, that I love her, and I will always love her. She’s still sexy as ever, even if she’s lost some of the curves I enjoyed. It’s just, that, I’m not sure we’re sexually compatible anymore.
Sure, she’s comfortable, she’s my home, being inside her still feels incredible, but I want different things—things I couldn’t ever tell her. Things I wouldn’t tell her because she’s my wife, and you aren’t supposed to want those things with your wife. We are not Grease and Serina, being on display like they are, isn’t something she would be okay with.
“We aren’t the same,” I murmur as that truth slams into me like a freight train.
We are not the same. I am not the kid I was when I met her. We are not the same people now. She’s the mother of my children, she takes care of the house and the kids. I can’t do to her what I want to do. It somehow doesn’t feel right to even broach the topic to her.
Torch lets out a bark of laughter. “No fucking shit. You’ve had three kids, you’ll never be the same. Me and Cleo, we aren’t the same as when we met or when we found each other again. We’ve grown and we work hard to grow together. You two don’t seem to be working hard at much, together.”
I run my hand over my face and let out a heavy exhale. “She told me it wasn’t working today. I said the same and left,” I admit.
Torch doesn’t say anything for what feels like ten minutes. Then he speaks. “I think just those few words tell a lot. You told her it wasn’t working either, and you just left. When did you really check out, Camo?” he asks quietly.
I press my lips together before I bite my tongue. Closing my eyes, I think about all of the time I went inside of the free-for-all room, instead of going home to my warm, waiting, and willing wife.
I think about all of the times I pictured fucking her right there in the open while people watched, maybe even letting someone else touch her. Going up to my room and jacking off, instead of going home.
I checked out around the time Reid was born, nine years ago. I’ve been like a robot, doing the things I need to do, day-to-day, but nothing more.
“Your silence is telling,” he rumbles. “If you don’t want to be married anymore, then you need to talk to your wife. Ivy is a good woman, she’s a level-headed woman. You have three children to worry about, brother.” Torch stands and I watch him walk away from me.
I feel like shit—like a fucking asshole. The realization that I fucking checked out of my marriage a decade ago, makes me feel physically ill. He’s right though, I have three kids to worry about. Me and Ivy may not be good right now, but we have to be for the kids.
Letting out a breath, I stand, thankful that I didn’t drink too much. I need to get home to my wife, to my kids, and I need to stop running. It’s time to try and face this shit like a man.
I’m not sure that I’m ready for my sisters and mother to hate me, for my kids to be pissed at me, or to walk away from the only woman I have ever loved. But I do know that I can’t continue on this way anymore.
Straddling my bike, I start the engine, surprised to see the sun setting in the distance. The short ride home doesn’t give me much time to think, but when I pull into the driveway, I feel a wave of sadness. I know what the right thing to do is. I can feel it deep in my bones, but it isn’t going to make this any easier.
Walking through the front door I’m surprised that Ivy isn’t in the kitchen cooking, in fact, she’s nowhere to be seen from the living room. Reid and Remi are on the couch watching cartoons. Rosalie is nowhere to be seen, either. Walking over to my boys, I ruffle their hair, but they don’t even realize I’m there, they’re so immersed in their show.
I decide to head to the master bedroom, in hopes of finding Ivy there. Walking into the room I stop dead in my tracks. Ivy is standing in the middle of the room, a pair of tight as fuck jeans on her legs, wearing red high heels, and a skintight black, low-cut, tank top. Her hair is up in a messy knot on top of her head, and she’s wearing a thick layer of makeup.
“What the fuck is going on in here?” I shout.
She jumps, her body stiffening before she turns to face me completely. She looks smoking, absolutely fucking smokin’. My cock presses against the zipper of my jeans in search of her warm body.
“I’m going out,” she shrugs as she walks over to the bed and grabs a small purse.
“Like hell you are,” I growl.
Reaching out to her, I wrap my hand around her waist and tug her against my chest.
Lowering my head, I let my lips skim her cheek over to her ear. “You aren’t going anywhere but in my bed, or on the back of my bike, dressed like that,” I murmur.
My mission of our talk, of walking away from our marriage has completely been abandoned. One look at my wife and I’ve forgotten why I even wanted to speak with her.
Lifting her arms, she presses the flats of her palms against my chest and attempts to push me. I don’t move, my hand tightening around her hip and my other one pressing against the middle of her back.
“I’m going out with Chad and Brian to Bullseye,” she states.
My eyes narrow and my nostrils flare just thinking about her going out with two men, and to Bullseye. The last time she went there was when we first met, she got tanked, I took her back to her place and took advantage of her. No way in fuck is she going there alone.
“I’ll take you,” I announce. She shakes her head in some kind of attempt to be defiant. Lowering my head again so that my nose is practically touching hers, I speak. “You aren’t going
out alone, Ivy. I don’t know those fucks, and no way in hell are you going out unprotected, at all.”
“Fine, suit yourself,” she whispers. Her eyes deceive her, that warm brown gaze of hers is good and pissed off.
With a smile I ask, “Is there some kind of reason you don’t want me to meet your friends?”
“They’re gay, West. They’re lovers. I don’t care if you meet them.”
“But you don’t want me going out with you?” I ask, guessing at her irritation.
She bites the corner of her lip. “You fucked me, and left me, on the bed. You told me this wasn’t working for you anymore, either, and you walked away. Now you’re right here in front of me, and you want to go out with me?” she asks, her brows knitting together.
“I’ll fuck you again tonight, baby. I’ll take my time, too. We need to spend some time together. Now let’s go and enjoy the evening,” I say, ignoring most of her concerns.
I don’t want to admit that I almost left her tonight. I don’t want to admit that I have desires that she probably couldn’t fulfill, or would wish to fulfill. I don’t want to admit that we’ve been drifting apart for as long as we have, that I’ve been hiding who I am, and what I want from her.
Part of me wants shit to go back to the way it was, that moment I walked into Carlotta’s, the first time. When I saw her cleaning up after her shift.
I want us back, but I also want more—I want different. I want to be better to her, and for her.
I don’t know what the fuck I want anymore.
Chapter Three
IVY
Wrapping my arms tight around his back I wonder what in the hell is happening with my husband? We leave the kids with their cousin Tori for the evening and head toward the bar.
Once he pulls into the parking lot of Bullseye, he nudges his kickstand down, and I quickly throw my leg around to get off of his bike, as I pull the helmet off.
Notorious Devils MC Complete Collection: BoxSet Page 175
