Page 25 of Corrupting Ivy

The look she had on her face with the prospect of buying new jeans told me there was no way she wanted to wait. On impulse, I grabbed her hand and drew her back into the store. Her warm hand sent tingles crawling across my skin with a startling sensation.

Her hand tensed as I squeezed, then hers melted into mine as one, and she followed without hesitation. “What are we doing?”

“Looking for pants. What else would we do in a country store if you weren’t here for animal feed or tackle?”

“I told you I was going to wait.”

“I know.” But she lied.

The clothing section had a small collection of Wranglers and Levis stacked next to each other in several shades of blue and black.

“Randall, stop. I can’t afford these.”

She yanked on her hand, but I held on to her with a firm grip. I would not let her walk out of here without another pair.

“You think I don’t know the real reason you walked out of here?” I came in close to her, closer than I should have for my sake—for her sake—and whispered so no one could hear our business. Gossip spread like fungus on wheat; it grew uncontrollably until the entire crop was contaminated. I placed my finger under her chin and tipped her gaze up to mine. “I’ve seen your place, your belongings, your lack of possessions. It would take a fool not to recognize poverty when they saw it.”

She jerked her chin away from me, abusing the floor with her angry gaze. “And what do you know of poverty?”

I grunted with something that could resemble a laugh. When I was sure the hilarity of her statement was through my system, I released her. “Pick three pairs and try them on. I’ll wait.”

“I said, I can’t afford it.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

“You’ve got a real problem with manners, mister.” She stomped towards the shelf with defiance in her step while mumbling under her breath. Ivy spun on her heel with a red face and tight lips, and her finger pointed in my direction. She was ready to lay it on me, and I was ready to shut it down. She hesitated before turning back around. A smidgen of disappointment made my shoulders sag. I was almost excited to see what fire the girl had in her.

“Ugh.” She bawled her fists at her sides, and with a small stomp she walked back to the shelf and grabbed three pairs as I instructed, then took off to the changing room.

I glanced at my phone, replying to a work email, and noticed the time. “It’s been ten minutes,” I said. She still hadn’t come out yet, and that was unacceptable. I knocked on the door. “Are you ready?”

“No.”

“How long does it take to put on a pair of jeans?” I jiggled the handle. It swung open, and I stepped inside.

She jolted upright, her fingers on the top button. “What are you doing?” She stood against the far wall, wearing snug Wrangler blue jeans with a slight flare at the bottom, tight around her thighs and ass, making me want to tear them off with my teeth.

“I thought you said you weren’t ready?”

“They’re tight.”

I stepped towards her and reached out to move a lock of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “That’s not a problem.”

Her stunning green eyes widened.

The all-consuming desire to feel her against my skin burned me up inside, and I needed a taste to extinguish the fire. All I’d need is one taste, one kiss, to rid me of this feeling, and I could go back to my selfish ways. Where I didn’t care about anyone but myself unless you were loyal to me or I, you.

I leaned in, her breath but a whisper on my lips, as she sucked in a deep breath. It would only take a slight movement to close the distance and rid myself of this unbearable need. I’d wrapped myself in a neat package of control, but I could feel the bindings unraveling the more time I spent around her. As if it was her goal to watch me come apart.

She closed the distance. And before I could react, her lips touched mine in a brief caress.

Clenching my teeth, I pushed away from her. “Hurry,” I said, then walked out of the confining room.

She seethed with words I couldn’t make out as I shut the door behind me and took a deep breath, swallowing the urge to strangle something—like my traitorous cock with my hand—then walked to the cashier.

I dropped five one-hundred-dollar bills on the checkout counter. “This is for Ivy. Let her get whatever she wants. She doesn’t walk out of here without spending it all.” The older man’s eyes bulged as he recognized the bills spread out on the counter before him. Greed caused him to lick his lips in a subtle but unmistakable manner. “There better be a receipt when she’s done too, Coen.”

He glanced up with narrowed eyes and a tilted head, then smiled.

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