21. Ivan

21

IVAN

W e both order coffee—another pumpkin spice latte for me and an apple pie latte for her—and start to walk the few blocks to my car. “I’m sorry for just assuming you were being a dick,” Charlotte says again as we walk, clutching her coffee as the crisp fall breeze blows her hair around her face. “I should have texted you back. Jaz said I was overreacting.”

That guilt stabs into my chest again. “Not overreacting.” I look ahead of us, taking a sip of my coffee as I school my features. There’s a heavy, hard knot of anger in my chest now—not at her, but at the circumstances. In my life , I was born into the world that I was, one of violence and dog-eat-dog survival, and because of it, I can’t be with Charlotte the way I want to. I can’t have met her as a normal man, one who could woo her and fall for her and be loved in return the way it should be. Instead, I need lies and deceit to be with her, and it can only ever be temporary. “I really do understand. But now we have another shot at it. Let’s make the most of it, yeah?”

I glance over at her, and she’s smiling as she takes another sip of her coffee. “I’d like that,” she says softly. “I still can’t believe you agreed to an apple-picking date.”

“I can’t believe I agreed to help bake a pie.” I return her smile. “It’s going to be terrible.”

“Fortunately, I know how to bake.” Charlotte sips at her coffee as we turn the corner to the parking garage. “I’ll teach you.”

I feel the sharp bite of desire, my cock twitching at the thought of all of the things I want to teach her. But today isn’t about that.

Today is about something more dangerous than lust.

“Oh wow,” Charlotte breathes as we walk up to my car. “That’s beautiful.”

“It’s a ‘69 Boss 429. Very rare.” Very expensive , too, but I’m not about to brag. Charlotte doesn’t seem to be the type to be impressed by how much I spent on a car, and it’s one of the things I like about her. How much money I have isn’t what’s important to her. “It took me a while to track it down,” I add, smoothing a hand over the glossy black hood. “But it’s my pride and joy. Favorite car I own.”

“I think I like it better than the one you picked me up in for dinner,” Charlotte says, her gaze drifting over the car. “It’s more—badass, I guess?” She laughs softly. “I don’t know. The other one was gorgeous, but this one is—” She drifts off as I open her door for her. “Are you a car guy?”

It takes me a moment to register her question. She’s standing between me and the car, her back to the open door, and she’s so close that I can smell not only the sweet honey scent of her perfume but also the warmth of her skin. A warmth that I want to reach out and touch, to bury myself in, to wrap around me until it sinks down to the cold depths of my soul. I want her, and standing so close to her, it’s difficult to not reach out and try to take .

It makes me wonder what she would do, if I tried to kiss her right now. If I urged her into the backseat of the car instead, ate her out right here in the parking garage, in the back of my car. If I pulled her onto my lap, fucked her hard until she screamed for me.

“Ivan?” Charlotte is looking up at me, and there’s a quiver of nervousness in her voice. It’s as if that prey instinct has slipped out again, warning her away from me instinctively, even as she leans into me, her chin tipped up as if she wants me to steal that kiss.

“I want to kiss you right now,” I murmur, reaching up to run my finger along the edge of her jaw. I feel her shiver, and I know she’s remembering, the same way I am, that kiss in the stairwell. “But I don’t want to miss our date a second time.”

I take a step back, putting a small amount of distance between us. I see the movement in her throat as she swallows hard, taking a step back as she slides into the car.

I’m hard as hell as I walk around to my side of the car, stiff and uncomfortable in my jeans, and I have to fight the urge to reach down and adjust myself. I slide into the car, turning the key, and as it roars to life, I glance over at Charlotte. “Ready?” I ask, and she nods, the movement a little jerky, as if she’s feeling some of the same things I am.

The actual drive is beautiful. I turn the radio to a station playing old bluegrass and country as we drive out of the city, down streets fringed with changing leaves, out to the orchard that Charlotte gave me directions to. It’s a Saturday at the peak of fall, so the parking lot is almost full, and Charlotte gives me a guilty look.

“It’s going to be really busy,” she says apologetically. “Probably a lot of kids. I hope that’s okay, and you don’t mind?—”

“It’s fine,” I assure her, killing the engine and sliding out to come around and open her door. “All that matters to me is that we’re finally getting our day together.”

It’s the truth. The families and their kids swarming all over the place don’t bother me the slightest bit, not when I’m here with Charlotte, doing the thing that she so badly wanted me to come out and do with her. And I realize, as we get our baskets and head out down the path winding through the grass into the trees, that I’m having fun .

I’d agreed to this because she wanted it, not because I really wanted to, and I didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. Plenty of people did things just because the person they were with wanted them to. But as Charlotte and I start picking apples, trying to figure out what constituted the best ones for picking versus eating, each of us taking turns climbing up to pluck them off and tossing them down to the other, I can feel myself relaxing more and more.

It’s the most normal, fun, innocent thing I’ve ever done. And as out of place as I feel among these other normal couples and families, knowing the darker side to my relationship with Charlotte, knowing all that I’m hiding from her—I find myself more and more able to pretend that it’s not there. That we’re normal.

The smile on her face, the sound of her laughter, the way she gasps when she tosses me an apple, and it almost hits me—all of it makes me feel soft and warm in a way that I’ve never experienced before. It makes me feel happy .

She plucks one last apple, scurrying down and dropping it in the basket. And then, before I can say anything, she leans down, biting into one as she looks up at me, eyes sparkling with laughter, the apple held clenched between her teeth.

I know what she wants me to do. It’s absolutely ridiculous, but I find myself leaning forward, taking a bite out of the apple as she does. It drops between us, and I catch it reflexively in my palm, the juice cool and sticky against my hand as I chew the sweet flesh between my teeth.

Knowledge. Sin. Her . Everything I want, sweet on my tongue, and I drop the half-eaten apple into the grass between us, one hand cupping her chin as I bring her mouth to mine. She tastes like the apple juice, and I sweep my tongue over her lower lip, pushing it into her mouth the instant her lips part, not caring who else might see us kissing like this.

The feeling of her mouth, soft and wanting against mine, ripples through me with an intensity that’s almost painful. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her, never wanted anything so much that I’m willing to do and sacrifice anything to keep it. I know I’m teetering on a dangerous edge, but I can’t bring myself to care.

I want to fall with her.

I pull back before the kiss can get too heated, looking down into her widened, desire-glazed eyes as I reach down to take her hand in mine. “Let’s go try to bake a pie,” I tell her, a smirk on my mouth, and I see her eyes rest there, her gaze so full of need that it takes everything in me not to kiss her again.

“Okay,” she says softly, her fingers linking with mine. “Let’s go.”

—

An hour and one stop at the grocery store later, I park in the underground lot at Charlotte’s building and she leads me to the elevator that will take us up to her floor. I feel a twist of anticipation in my stomach—I haven’t been to her apartment yet, and I’m well aware that this is another step forward. A signal of trust on her end that I don’t deserve, not with everything I’m doing in order to make this relationship happen.

She unlocks the door, letting us inside, and I’m hit with the scent of sweet fall candles, something that smells like pumpkin and vanilla and honey. “I really like this time of year,” she says apologetically, a sheepish smile on her face as she sees me look around for the source of the scent, and that sharp feeling of anger pierces me again.

Not at her. Never at her. But I know that reaction comes from something someone else needled her about. Her asshole ex, probably, making fun of her for liking fall candles.

“Here, you can hang your jacket up.” She points at a brass coat rack on the wall next to the door. “I’ll take the stuff into the kitchen.” She’s already shrugged off her jacket, and she takes the bags out of my hand.

When I join her, she’s put her hair up and tied on a cute cream-colored apron with a pair of red chickens embroidered on the front of it. She looks impossibly adorable, and I wince as I look at her, my rational mind breaking through the fog of obsession again for just a moment.

What the fuck are you thinking, Ivan? What makes you think you can have someone like her, even for just a little while? What gives you the right to break her heart?

If it was just physical, still, maybe I could walk away. There are plenty of gorgeous women in the world, and I’ve never had trouble convincing any of them into my bed. But if it was still just physical—I also wouldn’t care. I wouldn’t feel this stinging guilt as I look at her, knowing I’m leading her down a dead-end path to a cliff’s edge, and knowing that I can’t stop taking her there.

She turns, holding out a potato peeler, and I quickly school my expression into something neutral, leaning up against the doorframe. “You said you weren’t very good at baking. Think you can handle peeling the apples?” she asks teasingly, and I nod, smiling as I reach out to take it.

If only you knew just how good I am with sharp objects, dove, you’d run screaming instead of handing me one.

I take the bag of apples, stationing myself on one side of the counter with a bowl while Charlotte starts working on pie crust on the other. She sets her phone on the corner, opening a music app, and puts on some kind of soft jazz music—it sounds a little like Norah Jones, maybe—and sways back and forth with a smile on her face as she mixes ingredients. Halfway through, I look over from cutting up the apples into small chunks to see she has flour on her nose, and I turn before I can stop myself, reaching out to brush it off.

She goes very still, looking at me. Her lips are parted, and I can tell that just that small touch roused something in her.

Fuck, I want to kiss her. And if I do, I’m not entirely sure we’ll stop. But the way she’s looking at me—I’m not sure she’s going to want me to stop, either.

I can feel myself leaning forward, on the verge of doing it. On the verge of reaching for her. And then, the shriek of a timer buzzes through the air, making us both jump, and Charlotte bursts into nervous laughter.

“I think that means it’s time to assemble the pie,” she says with a laugh, and I take a step back, shoving down my rampant desire as I push the bowl of sugary apples towards her instead.

An hour later, the prettiest and best-smelling apple pie I’ve ever seen is cooling on the counter, as Charlotte collects her things for us to go out to the movie. “See?” she says teasingly, gesturing at the pie. “I told you we could do it.”

“It’s all on you,” I retort, getting my keys. “On my own, I would have made a complete mess of it.”

It all feels so achingly normal , the kind of life I’ve never lived and never really thought I wanted. I’ve long wanted to get away from my father, from the Bratva life, his boot on my neck, and the things I’m forced to do, but I always pictured myself as a rolling stone after that, going from city to city, never staying in one place or with one person for long. I never pictured myself with someone like Charlotte, doing the kind of things we’re doing today. But as we go to the movie theater and get tickets, buy soda and buttery popcorn, and sit next to each other in the slightly creaky seats—I find my chest aching with a longing to keep this normalcy for a little while longer.

It’s like she’s a breath of fresh air, a sliver of light, and I’m grasping for it even though I know it’ll slip away.

She leans into me as we watch the movie, her sweet scent surrounding me, her hair tickling my cheek and neck. Her hand finds its way onto my knee this time, and my fingers link with hers. Her touch sends a jolt of desire through me, but the lust isn’t at the forefront, for once. Not right now. At this moment, I’m aching for something different—something far less familiar to me.

When the credits roll and the other people around us start getting up, I turn to look at her. She tilts her head back, looking at me with an expression that I can’t entirely read, and a small smile curves the edges of her lips. “Did you have fun today?” she asks softly, so softly that I can barely hear it—but what I can hear is the uncertainty there. The worry that I tolerated all of this, that I’ve just been counting down the minutes until this very ordinary date is over—and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“I’ve had more fun today than I’ve had in a very, very long time.” That’s the truth, and as I say it, as I see her eyes light up in the dimness of the theater, I can’t stop myself from kissing her any longer.

I reach out, sliding my hand into her hair, tugging her mouth to mine. She comes easily, willingly, her lips parting against mine as she lets out a soft, gasping breath that turns my cock to steel in an instant, my entire body pulsing with need. My other hand lands on her thigh, gripping just enough to drag another of those breathy gasps from her, and it’s all I can do not to pull her into my lap. She tastes salty and sweet, hints of the salty butter still on her lips, and I lick it away, feeling like a teenager desperate to get to second base again as our tongues slide together, and I groan aloud.

She pulls back, and even in the low light, I can see that her face is flushed, her lips prettily swollen and pink from the kiss. “We should get out of here,” she says softly, and I feel my entire body react to those few words.

It’s not exactly an invitation back to her place, but it’s not not an invitation. The chance is enough to keep that anticipatory desire throbbing through me as I gather up my coat, holding it in front of myself to hide the awkward bulge in my jeans. My cock feels stiff and uncomfortable, aching to be freed, and I want to bury myself in her so badly it hurts.

We barely make it back to the underground lot at her apartment before I’m kissing her again. I wanted to kiss her at every stop sign, every red light, and the minute I turn the car off, I push my seat back, reaching over to unclip her seatbelt as I slide one arm around her and pull her into my lap.

She gasps, her hair falling in messy waves around her face as she looks down at me. “Ivan?—”

“Tell me if you want to stop.” My hands are sliding under her sweater, frantic to touch her, my mouth already on hers as I pull her down to me. The weeks of hearing her talk about her fantasies online, of getting myself off to them while I know she’s miles away doing the same thing, the sweet torture of being close to her and that kiss in the stairwell—it all boils over, desire burning through me hotly enough to make me feel as if I’m going mad with it, and I know as she squirms in my lap that she can feel how hard I am.

My hands slide higher as her tongue tangles with mine, over the soft cups of her bra, molding them in my hands. I yank the cups down, filling my hands with her bare breasts, feeling the stiff nipples against my palms, and Charlotte moans against my lips, her hips rocking against me, down on the thick ridge of my cock.

She’s wearing that corduroy skirt still, and it’s pushed up around the tops of her thighs, only the thin fabric of her panties separating her from the rough denim of my jeans. She moans as she rocks down onto me, the hard length of my cock and the stiff material rubbing her through her panties, and the sound makes me throb painfully.

I slide one hand out from under her sweater, tangling my fingers through her hair as I nip lightly at her lower lip. “Do you want to make yourself come on me?” I whisper, arching my hips up against her. Little dove? It hangs on my lips, so close to slipping free, and I force the endearment back before I give myself away. “Come on my lap, sweetheart,” I murmur, licking along her lower lip as I wrap my hand in her hair. “I know you want to.”

I feel her tremble against me. I can feel her fighting with herself, the part of her that’s a good girl, that doesn’t make out with men in parking garages, where anyone could walk by and see. “I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispers, looking down at my still-healing mouth. “Every time you kiss me, I’m worried?—”

“It does hurt,” I murmur, pressing my hand against the back of her head. “But I’d rather kiss you and feel that sting than not have your mouth on mine.”

My other hand kneads her breast softly, rolling my thumb over her nipple, and her hips grind down against me again. “Make yourself come, Charlotte,” I murmur, still teasing her nipple as I shift beneath her, letting her feel the ridge of my cock rubbing against her again. “I want to feel it.”

“What—what about you?” she whispers breathlessly, rocking against me as she says it. I can feel her pleasure building, can see it in the red of her cheeks, the hitch in her breathing, the way her hips are starting to move of their own volition, as if she can’t stop herself from chasing the release that’s hovering just in front of her.

“We’ll get to that,” I murmur, my lips still very close to hers. “Grind on me just like this, sweetheart, or move those panties aside and get my jeans all wet. I don’t care which one. Just come on my lap like a good girl, Charlotte.”

She lets out a low, keening moan at that, her hips rocking faster. I tighten my fist in her hair, dragging her mouth to mine, ignoring the bruising pain of her lips against the still-healing wounds on my mouth as she starts to ride me in earnest. Every grind of her hips brings me closer to the edge, too, and I fight back the urge to come, relishing the feeling of her rocking against me as she chases her orgasm.

I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything hotter in my life. Her hands fly up, gripping my shoulders as she bucks against me, and her eyes open suddenly, fixed on mine as she pulls back from the kiss, her teeth sinking into her lower lip. “I’m—oh god, Ivan, I’m?—”

“ Fuck . Yes, baby, fucking come for me. Come on my fucking cock—” I pinch her nipple, rolling it as her head falls back, her mouth open as she lets out a shuddering cry, and I swear I fucking feel it as she comes. I can swear I feel the heat as her pussy soaks her panties and my jeans, as she rubs her clit frantically against the ridge of my cock, and I grit my teeth, groaning with the desperate need to come, too. I’ve never been so fucking hard in my life.

She’s panting, gripping my shoulders so hard that I can feel her nails digging in. Slowly, her breathing regulates, and when she opens her eyes I don’t see the eagerness there any longer.

Instead, I see something very close to panic.

“I—” She licks her lips, tugging her skirt down as far as she can get it to go, looking around the parking garage. My cock feels like it’s about to burst through my zipper, and I try to force myself to stop thinking about it, not to think about whether or not she’s going to return the favor and instead about what’s got her ready to bolt.

“Hey. I’m right here, Charlotte,” I murmur, tugging her mouth back to mine with my hand in her hair. But she resists, pulling back, and I let go of her on instinct.

She’s still sitting in my lap, her wet pussy right on top of my straining cock, and I think I might be in hell. If so, it’s not anything more than I deserve.

“I—I can’t believe I did this.” She runs her hands through her hair, and her distress starts to push back my desire a little. “We’re moving too fast, I think. I said I didn’t want to be exclusive, and I was jealous at the gala, and now this—” She leans back, licking her swollen lips nervously. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hey.” I smooth my hand over her hair. “It’s okay. If you don’t want to do anymore, it’s okay.” My cock lurches at that, as if to say that it’s most definitely not , but I do my best to ignore it.

Charlotte scrambles out of my lap, as if that was the go-ahead that she needed to put a stop to this. She grabs her purse, biting her lip, her expression confused and guilty. “I just need some time,” she whispers, and I nod, forcing patience past my very impatient desire.

“You can have whatever you need,” I promise her. “I’ll go at your pace, Charlotte. I promise.” I glance back at the elevator. “Do you want me to walk you up?”

She shakes her head abruptly. “No, I—probably better if you don’t.” Her gaze flicks back to my lap, and I know what she’s thinking—that if I walk her up, we’re going to end up doing this again, but in a place private enough that she won’t be able to talk herself into stopping. “Thank you for a—a wonderful day, Ivan,” she manages. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

Before I can even respond, she’s scrambling out of the car, as if she can’t get away fast enough. But I know it’s not me she’s running from.

It’s herself, and what she wants.

—

When her name pops up on the chat site a few hours later, I know exactly why. She’s running from what she felt with me today—what we both felt—by talking to a stranger. By reminding herself why she wants her freedom.

And goddamn it, I can’t stop myself from giving her a taste of that, even as I’m working against my own interests.

I didn’t even make it out of my car before I jerked off once I was home, my cock aching from having Charlotte make herself come on it, unable to wait long enough to actually get inside my house. I’d come fast and hard, and now, just seeing her username pop up, I was halfway to stiff again.

CuriousDove24: I want to know what you’d do after you caught me in the orchard, Venom.

I read the sentence twice, my cock fully hard again in an instant, and I’m struck with the strangest sensation I’ve ever felt in my entire life. I’m painfully jealous—of myself.

Charlotte doesn’t know Venom is me. Which means she left me in the car, hard and aching for her, and now she’s about to get off to this guy. Something cold and violent slithers through my gut, something that wants to see how far he can push her, even if I can’t.

Venom69xxx: Are you sure you want to know, dove?

I swallow hard, easing my cock out of my sweatpants, running my fingers lightly up and down the shaft. I’m going to find out how far her fantasies go tonight. I’m going to see if I can make my little dove fly away—and if it sends her right back into my arms.

CuriousDove24: Yes. I want to know.

Venom69xxx: Pretty birds end up caged. That’s what I’d do with you, dove. Take you home and tie you up, keep you locked away for whenever I want a taste. Would you like that? To be kept caged for my pleasure?

CuriousDove24: Depends. How much pleasure do I get out of this?

Venom69xxx: Oh, dove. As much as I can give you.

CuriousDove24: Tell me what you’d do.

Venom69xxx: Tell me first, are you touching yourself to this? Thinking about me keeping you tied up, hands and feet to a bed, or maybe manacled to a ceiling, waiting on me?

CuriousDove24: Yes. I have my toy. I’m going to fuck myself with it while you tell me. Pretend it’s you filling me up while you tell me how you’d make me come. How I’m going to make you come, too.

I let out a sharp, hissing breath, my hand moving over my cock as I close my eyes. She’s so much braver behind a screen, so much more willing to tell this faceless man all of the things she wants, while she runs from me after I give her an orgasm. Jealousy licks through me, hot and tangling up inside of me, making me feel like I’m going insane. I can’t be jealous of myself, but I am, murderously so, jealous of a persona I created to make her do exactly what she’s doing right now.

Venom69xxx: I think I like the second option, dove. I’d keep you chained to a ceiling, inside a pretty cage. Naked for me. So whenever I wanted, I could put your legs on my shoulders, and eat you out until you came all over my face. Lower you down enough that I could fuck you whichever way I wanted, and then hoist you up again, letting all my cum drip out of you.

God , I’m so fucking close already. I stroke myself harder, close to the edge, and then a picture flashes onto the screen—Charlotte with her panties pulled to one side, her fingers on her clit, and her pussy stretched tightly around a thick silicone dildo.

Not as thick as my cock , is the one thought I manage before I lose control of my orgasm. My cock spurts, hot and wet over my fingers, throbbing as I let out a ragged groan, staring at the sight of her perfect pussy split open by the toy.

I want to fuck her so badly it hurts. I need to fuck her. The thought rolls through my mind on repeat, over and over, as I come all over my hand as if I didn’t just come hard a couple of hours ago.

CuriousDove24: Venom? Are you still there?

Venom69xxx: Sorry, dove. That picture made me lose control. You made me come so fucking hard, dove. I couldn’t stop it.

CuriousDove24: That’s really hot, actually. I want to make you lose control like that, for real. Make you come so fast you can’t hold it back. You could come all over me and leave me like that. Make me lick it off your cock while it’s dripping off of me ? —

CuriousDove24: Oh fuck, I’m going to come too. I’m ? —

Before I can stop myself, I smash my hand against the mouse, closing the screen. I know she’s going to wonder why I logged off so abruptly, she’s going to think it’s something she did wrong, but I can’t handle another second of it.

I feel like I’m being cheated on with myself, and it’s enough to make my head feel like it’s splitting in two.

Not least of which because she’s not actually doing anything wrong. We’re not together. She owes me nothing.

But all I want is her. And apparently, having her halfway as two different men isn’t enough for me.

I want all of her, as myself.

And I don’t know how much longer I can wait.