Chapter Nineteen Wade

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Wade

B y the time I get home on Wednesday and start dinner for us, Ivy is animated and full of chatter. This has been our routine for the last week. Dinners, drinks, snacks, talking … okay, mostly Ivy talking, while I listen intently through every action movie I can load up for us, about nothing and everything—our childhoods, her training plan, places we've been, college, music, food, you name it. It's nothing too personal, but feels very personal just the same.

After spending these nights with her, I feel like I know Ivy a little better, and everything I know about her I like, and fuck, she's becoming more difficult every day to put out of my head. You think it would be weird sharing a home with someone you barely know, but in this instance, I feel more at ease around her than I did with Janelle after six years of marriage. I've found myself almost excited to leave the office and come home the last few nights. And that isn't a good thing for me when it comes to not giving in to this little mini Ivy obsession or whatever this is.

"What am I going to do when I get home and have to go back to boring dinners?" She smiles up at me as I hand her a steaming bowl of my family's favorite—okay, Mabel's favorite—deconstructed chicken pot pie topped with homemade biscuits.

"For a fee, I could leave a plate on your doorstep," I say, only half kidding because I like cooking for her.

Mostly, I like the face she makes when she takes her first bite and realizes she loves it. Her throat makes the cutest moaning sounds and her eyes roll back just a little. It makes me wonder about the other times she'd make that face and those sounds.

"Oh my God, I would pay for it," she says, giving me the sound I want as she takes her first bite. "You made these biscuits from scratch?"

I scoff as I take a bite. Fuck, that is really good.

"Don't insult me, Trouble. There's no other way," I say, disgusted she'd think I'd use a box mix.

She holds both hands up in truce, and I look up at her as she smiles. She's gotten a little more comfortable. Maybe too comfortable, since she's wearing those little gray fleece pajama shorts again, the ones I wanted to tear off of her the first time I saw them. And just to further torture me, tonight she's wearing my red bandana, the one I gave her to dry her tears her first night at my place. It's tied into her wavy hair like a little scarf, and I couldn't give a fuck to ever get it back. Something of mine that close to her is doing something to me I can't really put into words.

"Sorry, I would never want to insult the chef and risk never getting fed like this again." She takes another bite.

I won't tell her there's probably no risk of that. I'm pretty sure I'd cook for her anytime she wants.

"Oh, I also talked to a handful of potential jockeys today …" she starts.

The conversation I'm trying so hard not to get used to continues as we talk about Nashville and the auction while we finish eating.

Reluctantly, I let her help me dry dishes afterwards because her ankle is a lot better. Also because she tells me if I don't let her help with something, she's going to eat all my Pop-Tarts while I'm sleeping tonight.

I listen to her hum to herself while she works. By the time we're done and I'm heading for the shower, she promises to finish cleaning up and get the movie ready for us.

There's a simplicity to this I can't really comprehend. Oddly like we've been doing it for a lot longer than a week. When I get to the shower, I'm grateful for a few minutes alone. I'm strong, but my willpower is wearing thin, and my balls are a different level of blue than they've ever been before, just from spending every night sitting five feet away from her.

By the time I'm dried off and tossing on my sweats, I have a plan. I'm going to go to bed early. It's her last night here, then we'll go back to normal. I'm taking her things to Blue Eyes for her after work tomorrow, and she's even going to spend some time in the barns before we head to Nashville on Friday.

But when I reach the living room, I see that Ivy has slid the coffee table out of the way and has a big nest of throw blankets and pillows from the couch in the center of the room, on the area rug in front of the fireplace. She's holding a bag of candy and popcorn in her hand.

Fuck me . What plan again?

" Fast X ?" she asks with a smile.

We've watched the first nine over the last few days.

"I mean, I can't go home without watching the final movie. That would be a travesty."

I don't even hesitate. I grab us two waters from the fridge and make my way over to my own personal nest of cock torture as quickly as I can.

"You should take the wrap off, Trouble, let's have a look," I say to Ivy an hour later, when we're mid-movie, as I pop a handful of popcorn into my mouth.

I watch as she unwraps her ankle carefully.

She pokes and prods at it, sticking a long, silky leg out and flexing her foot. I have no idea how but even that makes my dick twitch.

"It's almost better," she says, observing. "A little tight maybe, but I'd say ninety percent better."

Don't do it, Wade. Don't you fucking do it. I look up at the ceiling for a split second.

Fuck it. I'm doing it.

"Give it here, I'll rub it out for you." I motion for her to bring her foot to me.

"I haven't shaved my legs today." She giggles. "They might be prickly."

"Fuck, if you think I care about that, you're dead wrong," I tell her.

She bites her bottom lip and contemplates for a minute. I wonder if she may not trust me enough to even want my hands on her. I berate myself for once again not knowing how to keep any sort of boundary with her, but before the thought can leave my head she's scooting across the floor and putting her foot into my lap.

I reach over, bringing her slender ankle into my hands. I start by pressing my thumbs into the arch of her foot, which feels tiny in my palms. Even her goddamn feet are pretty. A few seconds pass and she moans softly while I try to keep my breathing under control. Heat slinks up my forearms with the feel of her bare skin on mine and the sight of her pretty pink toes in my lap.

"Do you fink they'll ever make another one of veese?" Ivy asks through her own mouthful of cinnamon hearts. I chuckle at her mumbling.

"I don't know. It depends on whether or not Vin Diesel can get an acting job somewhere else," I answer, trying to think of literally anything other than my swelling cock against my sweatpants. "And FYI, your legs aren't prickly in the slightest," I say.

In fact, I'd like to run my tongue over them .

She giggles. "God, that feels way too good, I might have to hire you."

"It'll cost you," I say without thinking.

Ivy's response is barely more than a whisper and shocks me just a little. "Oh yeah, well, whatever it is, I'd be willing … just add it to my tab. Daily dinner and foot rubs. Gawd … that feels good," she says, almost in a sort of pant.

The tone of her voice is even more husky than normal and sexy as fuck.

That voice threatens to ruin me.

"I think they can always convince Vin to come back, but they'd have to leave The Rock out, apparently they don't get along," I say, keeping this lame-ass subject going. "And The Rock would kick Vin's ass, that's why they made Hobbs and Shaw and Vin wasn't in it," I mutter as my thumb traces her calf.

"I think Vin is stronger than you think," she says.

"Not a chance he could take The Rock."

What the fucking hell are we even talking about?

I don't have a clue, but I can play this game all night, the one where we talk ourselves through whatever this is, especially now that my hands are creeping past her knee, kneading her skin like I can't touch enough of her. I can't stop. I don't want to stop.

The slightest little grin plays on her lips as her slightly fuller lower one, the one that was put on her face by God Himself just to taunt me, meets her teeth as she thinks, and she narrows one eye in a squint.

I slide one finger up just slightly over her inner thigh, then circle the back, squeezing tight as she lets out a breathy moan. I may as well dig my rock-solid dick a grave with that sound.

"This is something you should do, get massages. I see how tight your shoulders are at the end of the day. I don't know how good I'd be at it but I could try to return the favor," Ivy offers quietly.

I sigh. "I think it would take a lot more than a little massage to work out the weight in my shoulders," I reply, realizing that sounded a lot more like an invite than I planned.

"Oh I know," she says mischievously. I look over at her, she's grinning ear to ear. "Or … you know what works to relieve tension?"

Fuck me. She looks way too enticing right now to ask me that.

"How about a little tussle? Blow some steam off, Captain Grumpus?" she queries, right before she tosses a pillow and it smacks me square in the shoulder.

I blink, shocked, then register what she's doing.

"Oh, you're done for, Trouble," I growl, leaping on top of her and gripping her tight around her waist as she squeals with delight. Before I know it, I'm pulling her down below me so her small frame is completely caged beneath mine.

Her laugh is contagious as I tickle her into a whimpering pool,

"Mercy … mercy … Wade!" She giggles.

"So you're a tough little thing but the fucking moment I find those ticklish spots you're begging for mercy? I gotta say, I'm a bit disappointed you caved so easily."

She's pushing her blanket against me to fight me, my own laughter filling the space around us bringing hers on, and fuck, it feels good to laugh, especially with her. Even with her still slightly injured ankle, Ivy is strong, catching me off guard. She sends me to my side, and I flop down onto my back as she falls between my legs.

"I'd never really say mercy, Wade. It was all just my war tactic, throwing you off guard so I can get the better of you, and it worked," she taunts, her breathing heavy and jagged as her hair brushes my chest through my t-shirt.

There's no denying for either of us how hard my cock is right now.

"Maybe so, but you're not gonna win, Trouble. I grew up wrangling my brothers."

"I grew up wrangling horses," she retorts as she struggles to pin me down.

I roll my eyes and pretend to yawn in mock boredom.

"Okay, you're going to force me to actually make an effort here?" I ask.

She scoffs at my taunting words but I wrap one arm around her waist and effortlessly flip her over, pinning her below me again, my one hand holding both her wrists easily above her head.

Our laughter putters out at the same time and the room is silent. The fire crackles. Ivy looks up at me, her cheeks flushed, pupils blown out, her pink lips parted and begging.

The only other sound in the room is our breath rising and falling together and my thunderous heartbeat in my ears as I become torturously aware of the warm space I'm settled against between her thighs. A low growl rumbles in my chest as I fight my conscience.

The angel on my shoulder is telling me to stop, sit up, move, go to bed, anything, before I make a mistake I can't take back. But the devil on the other tells me that this moment? Her body pressed against mine, her sweet breath so close to the tip of my tongue, isn't something I have the strength to walk away from.

Ivy's glassy blue eyes drop to my lips at the same time she shifts her hips, her legs parting slightly, welcoming me in, and I know as sure as fuck that the devil's taking this round.

"The way you're looking at me right now, is this your war tactic?" Ivy asks, her voice shaky. I adjust my hips slightly and the tiniest moan escapes her lips.

"And just what way would that be?" I ask, as my pulse hammers in my throat. "Like I want to find out if you taste as good as I think you do? Like it's the only thing I'm fucking thinking about day in and day out?"

"Yeah …" she whispers. "That."

I dip my head even closer, my lips just over hers as my next words come tumbling out, hoarse and deep, before I can stop them. "Find out, Ivy … Say mercy. "

I let my gaze trade between her eyes and her juicy fucking lips that are right there, so close. Ivy's breathing shallows, her lips pop open slightly, her pink tongue wetting them, and I see it, the second she gives in, her voice so quiet I barely hear it, but I do.

"Mercy …" she whispers at the same time I drop my face to meet hers.

My lips devour hers without one ounce of uncertainty, licking, tasting, claiming. Fuck, do I want to claim her. She tastes so sweet, her sugar scent melts on my tongue as her eager lips match mine effortlessly. My heartbeat pulses harder the more I search her mouth with mine. I pull back slightly to run my tongue along her plump bottom lip as she whimpers.

"I was right. You taste fucking delicious," I groan.

I want her permission to explore and she gives it to me, enticing me as she wraps her legs around my waist, coaxing me closer with the slow, languid sweep of her tongue into my mouth and another moan. My hands leave her wrists and find every inch of her body they can. I grip the side of her neck, sliding my thumb down from her jaw, pressing it lightly to the center, feeling her throat work as she swallows the deep groan that leaves my chest.

Her fists grip my t-shirt, tugging at it as she runs her hands under it, over my sides, leaving a blazing trail as she goes. I press my cock into her shamelessly and the sound she makes into my mouth in response almost does me in entirely.

Thunderous knocking startles us both. And we just lie there for three or four seconds frozen, looking into each other's eyes.

"Wade!" More pounding.

"Fuck," I growl into her lips, pressing my forehead to hers for a beat, both of us catching our breath.

"Why is it locked? It's fucking cold out here," Cole bellows from the other side.

I sit up and straighten myself up, looking back down at her, legs still spread wide, knees bent. I'm willing myself the strength to pull it together and answer the door even as Ivy's disheveled appearance and swollen lips tempt me to ignore Cole and get right back to kissing her. A finger darts up to touch her lips and a grin plays over them.

"Delay of game, Chief." She giggles.

I might fucking kill Cole.