“What about her?”
He studied me for a moment, like he was assessing how to proceed with this conversation. His tense shoulders dropped and his gaze thawed. “It’s no secret that I have plans for you, King. I recognised your strengths the day I met you, and I’ve been training you up ever since. The things you’re capable of are things this club needs if it’s going to hold its own, so I’ve worked to draw them out in you.” He paused for a beat. “Those things are good for the club, but they’re not good for Ivy.”
I crossed my arms. “What the fuck are you talking about, Jethro?”
“I’ve been watching your relationship, and I’m concerned about what I’m seeing. Ivy used to turn up here happy to see you. You used to make all the time in the world for her. Sure, you two fought, but I never saw you lose your shit at her in a way that I feared for her safety. Something’s shifted between the two of you, King. She’s not happy, and you’re angry with her all the time. And to be fucking honest, I think you’ll go too far one day and hurt her.”
My breathing slowed. His words rang with an honesty I didn’t want to admit. My mother’s death, and my subsequent quest to punish those I believed responsible had taken the kind of toll on my relationship with Ivy that I feared we couldn’t come back from. On top of that, we were raising Skylar together after Mum’s death. Between our work and family commitments, our anguish and my bitterness over Mum’s death, we were crumbling. These days, we didn’t fight so much as move through life disconnected from each other. I couldn’t recall the last time we’d even mentioned our engagement.
The drunk driver who killed Margreet had disappeared, and I had been unable to track him down. Prevented from delivering the punishment he deserved, I’d fixated on the other person I blamed. Ivy’s mother. It was a fucked-up mess because as much as I wanted to destroy her for the part she played, my love for Ivy stopped me. And so we existed in a toxic bubble of resentment, hate, love, and an inability to reach the other. Physically, we came together, but our sex had disintegrated to irregular, violent encounters.
Jethro was right.
Even I was concerned I’d go too far with her one day.
I blew out a long breath. “Fuck.” Eyeing the man I trusted the most in the world, I admitted something I never admitted to anyone, ever. “I don’t know what to do.”
He watched me earnestly. “If you love Ivy, you’ll walk away from her. You’ll put her safety before everything else. The path you’re on is a dangerous one, brother. Don’t force her to deal with the repercussions of that.”
I’d heard about Jethro’s old lady, but since she was dead, I hadn’t met her. The story went that they’d endured a violent marriage. I’d heard rumours he’d beaten her so badly one night that she’d ended up in a coma and died the next day. I had never been convinced the story was true, but listening to him now, I contemplated that maybe it was.
A knock on the office door ended our conversation, but I couldn’t get his words out of my head for the rest of the night. By the time I arrived home three hours later, completely shitfaced after visiting a pub on the way, I was a wreck of confused thoughts and denial over the state of my relationship.
I could never give Ivy up.
She was mine, forever.
Fuck, but what if Jethro was right?
What if I did the unthinkable one day?
“King? Is that you?” Ivy’s voice floated downstairs as I stumbled through the house knocking shit over as I went.
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Yeah,” I called up to her. I vaguely recalled that Skylar was at a sleepover with a friend. Thank fuck, because my crashing and banging would have woken her, and she had enough trouble sleeping these days. Mum’s death had devastated her to the point it affected every part of her life but especially her sleep.
When I didn’t hear from Ivy again, I figured she’d gone back to sleep. Probably hopeful that I’d leave her alone. But fuck if thinking about her all night hadn’t given me a hard-on that I desperately needed her to take care of. I hadn’t been inside my woman for a good two weeks, and I fucking needed her. Needed her touch.
I staggered up the stairs, tugging my shirt over my head as I went. Dropping it on the floor of our bedroom as I entered, I then reached for my belt. Fuck, Ivy lay naked on the bed, with the sheets kicked off. Every inch of her beautiful body displayed to me. And that sweet cunt I would never get enough of calling to me.
I moved faster, shedding my clothes, and climbing on top of her. She lay face down, and I spread her legs as I ran my hard dick along her pussy.
“King,” she mumbled, sleepily. “Don’t.”
My mind, fuzzy from too much alcohol, tried to keep up, but my need for her controlled me. I ground myself against her, groaning at how fucking good she felt. “I need you, Ivy.” I peppered kisses down her back. “I need this sweet fucking cunt.”
She swat
ted me away. “Not tonight,” she mumbled again.
Taking hold of her arms, I pressed them into the bed either side of her as I continued to grind against her. Jesus, I fucking needed inside her fast. “Yes, tonight. You haven’t fucking let me near you for two weeks. Tonight, you’re letting me fuck you.”
“King!” She woke up and bucked under me. “Fucking stop it! I don’t want to have sex with you tonight.”
I was so fucking tanked and screwed up over the state of our relationship and everything I’d discussed with Jethro that her refusal pissed me off. Pushing my body forcefully down onto hers and gripping her wrists hard, I demanded, “When the fuck do you think you might want to fuck me again, Ivy? This year? Next year? Fucking ever? I’m getting tired of this game.”
She jerked under me and started a full-force battle to shift me off her. When I refused to budge, she bit my arm and screamed, “Get off me!”
“Fucking hell!” I roared, letting her go. “Why the fuck did you do that?”