I dry myself off and throw on a pair of jeans, running my hands over my hair to shake off the moisture, and then I head down the hall. Ivy’s sitting on my couch dressed only in the T-shirt and panties she wore to bed last night as she spoons cereal into her mouth. I glance over at the kitchen island and notice she’s left out the cereal and the milk, and that breakfast I thought she was cooking for us hasn’t happened.
“Where the fuck’s breakfast?” I say, because apparently I appreciate the idea of having my balls cut off by an angry junkie. She just glares at me. And I roll my eyes, because I know breakfast isn’t going to make itself, and Ivy sure as fuck isn’t going to make it either. I glance at the shitty cereal box and turn my nose up at the fruity rings of fuck knows what. I can’t handle that much sugar this early in the morning.
Ivy stands, draining the rest of the milk from her bowl, and my cock goes from flaccid to rock hard in zero-point-five.
“You gotta put some fuckin’ clothes on, darlin’! You can’t be walkin’ around my house in next to nothin’.”
“I thought you preferred me in next to nothing,” she snidely whispers, and I grab her hand as she passes and pull her into me, sending her bowl clattering to the floor with a dull thud where it shatters at our feet. I ignore the mess and yank her back against my body, grinding my erection against her arse.
“I prefer you bent over with my dick balls’ deep inside your hot little snatch, darlin’,” I hiss. “And all this pretendin’ you’re doin’ is gonna go south real fuckin’ fast if you keep testin’ my patience, you little prick tease.”
She tries to shrug out of my grasp but I hold her firmly. I slide one hand over those sweet little cotton panties and feel the wetness soaking through the fabric. I smile against her skin and groan, licking and sucking my way up her neck to her earlobe, snagging it between my teeth. Shoving her panties aside, I push my fingers into her. She lets out a small cry and I thrust them deeper. Her moans become more vocal as I stroke her and she demands more, harder, faster. I pause, wanting to try something I never have with her.
I don’t know much about her past. I don’t know the man she called Daddy, the man who was supposed to protect her and didn’t. The man who broke her before anyone else ever had a chance to show her that what he did isn’t how it had to be.
Ivy likes control. She pushes herself to the limit; she likes to be used up. She wants to be hurt, and we’ve all just been happy to go along with it, because that’s the way she controls what happens to her—that’s the way she deals with what that sick fuck of a father did to her, and how it affected her. But what if someone showed her another side? What if she could get off without being hurt?
She’s not struggling anymore, and with my free hand I slide her panties down over her hips, and slowly remove my fingers from inside her.
“What are you doing?” she hisses. “I said harder.”
“See, here’s the thing, Warrior Princess. I don’t like bitches tellin’ me what to do,” I say, and I glide my fingertips over her clit, so softly she tries to squeeze her legs closed.
“Don’t.”
“There you go again, runnin’ that pretty mouth. You’re in my house now, Warrior Princess, and I rule here.”
“Fuck you, Tank. Misogynistic bastard.”
“No, Ivy, fuck you,” I say, gently rubbing her clit. I slide my fingers through her slick flesh, and circle that sweet little nub of nerve endings. She gasps and tries to twist away, but I wrap one arm firmly around her waist and crush her to me.
“Let me go.”
“Do you know how fucking beautiful you are? How hot you make me?” I demand, and she thrashes.
“Shut up. Let me go.”
“Honestly, I’m thinkin’ I might just keep you here. You look good in my kitchen not wearing panties. You look good in my bed, Ivy. I thought of you this morning when I fucked my hand. I thought of you, of taking you slowly in my bed, in this kitchen, on that couch. I thought of laying you down on the rug in front of the fireplace. Your bare body stretched beneath me while I drive slowly into you.” I’m still seated firmly inside my jeans but that doesn’t mean shit when I thrust against her arse. Her flesh is soft and pliable, and rubbing my jean-clad cock against it feels just as good as my hand did half an hour ago.
“Stop it. You’re hurting me.”
“No. I’m not. I’m doing just the opposite, but you don’t know how to deal with that.”
Her legs quake and her whole body trembles. She lashes out at me, elbowing me in the ribs as she screams, and her slick pussy submits to the demands placed upon it. She comes hard and fast against my hands and I rub her clit long after the last of her orgasm rocks through her, forcing her to come again.
“It doesn’t have to hurt to feel good, darlin’,” I whisper into her ear.
She sobs and doubles over, yanking my hand from between her legs as she crouches down onto the floor. Her head is bent low and her tears decorate my floorboards. I stand and watch for a minute, mesmerised by the broken woman before me. Crying isn’t a new thing for Ivy after she comes, and usually I can’t stomach that shit, because I know she’s thinking about all the fucked up things her father did to her. I know that’s all she sees when anyone fucks her, but this is different. This feels right in a way. I reach out and stroke her hair, but she flinches and bats at my hands.
“Do not touch me,” she spits.
“You’re fuckin’ welcome.” I brush past, knocking her to the ground as I go. “Now clean this shit up and get dressed. We’re goin’ to town.”
One thing’s for sure—she may not like it, but I’ll break that girl of more than just her drug habit by the time I’m done with her. Because there’s nothing that I love more than a girl who needs savin’ and someone telling me I can’t.
When Tank returns from his second shower of the day, I’m not dressed and the bowl is still on the floor where he smashed it. He takes one look at me and his eyes cloud over with irritation. I smile, feeling a sick sort of satisfaction from provoking him.
“Bitch, you are pushing all my fuckin’ buttons today.”
I scowl. I hate him. It’s not enough for me to suffer through the minutes, hours and days of withdrawal, but on top of that he wants to break me of all my vices, the way you would an angry colt. He knows that I don’t like it that way, that tenderness hurts someone like me far worse than pain. He knows and he did it anyway.
I’m miserable here. Despite the way my body rejected the hit that I stole from Killer, I want another so bad that my entire body aches for it. I’m restless and bitchy, my back aches, and there’s a cramping sensation in my womb that I haven’t felt for a long time. It’s only now that I think about the birth control that I haven’t been taking since I left the clubhouse that I realise why I feel so teary and helpless. For the first time in a long time I’m going to be paid a visit by Aunt Flow. As if Tank’s little rehab clinic didn’t suck enough. As if the hurt and the memories that come flooding back the second I close my eyes, and the restlessness and vomiting, and his smug attitude weren’t enough, I have to deal with this shit too?
Being a woman sucks.
I miss Kick. He’d never make me dry out like this. I hate what he did to me; I hate that he left me for that other bitch, as if the last three years of sharing his bed had meant nothing to him. I hate him for casting me aside and for letting Tank drag me up to the mountains in Bumfuck, Nowhere. Tank hadn’t even wanted me at the clubhouse to begin with, and now suddenly I’m his pet project.
“Maybe you should lock me in my bedroom while you go out and fetch us some food?” I say, scowling at the man in question.
“Don’t fuckin’ tempt me, sweetheart,” he says, as he stalks over to me and leans down over the couch, whispering in my ear. “There’s nothing that I would like more than tying you up and spanking that hot little arse of yours, but you’d probably only enjoy that.”