Page 1 of Thorns of Malice

1

Ivy Ford

Ten Years Later

Jaxon Savoia presses me closer against the dirty, white, peeling wall, his hot breath against my ear, ordering, "Come now, Ivy." He thrusts harder, over and over, until adrenaline finally releases throughout me.

It's a teaser, giving me only a moment of relief. The high I'm desperate to experience—the one that should have faded into a mere memory by now but is stronger than ever—stays buried deep.

"That's my girl," he grits, pumping everything he has into me until he's spent.

His ragged breathing is fiercer than mine. He stays planted, his chest filling with air against my spine until it's almost back to normal. "We have to stop doing this," he reminds me, spinning me to face him and stepping back to pull up his pants.

"Spoken to the choir," I mumble, grabbing wet wipes from my purse and cleaning myself up. I tug the hem of my dress down over my hips.

He secures his belt and reaches into his sports coat. He takes a swig of whiskey from a flask and then hands it to me.

I take a sip, barely grimacing as the hot liquid warms my throat.

"You wore that dress on purpose today, didn't you?" he accuses, his eyes narrowing in a bizarre ironic state of disapproval and approval.

My insides quiver, my pussy throbbing once again in need. Jaxon's expression briefly reminds me of the only man I ever loved.

I'd do anything to forget Dax Carrington, yet nothing will let me. And every time I see that look in Jaxon's eyes, no matter how quickly it comes and goes, Dax's face lights up all the memories I crave to relive and hate to remember, torturing me further.

Jaxon steps closer, tilting my face toward the ceiling, demanding, "Admit it. You planned on derailing me again."

"Did you expect any different?" I question.

His lips twist, and it's probably another reason I allowed myself to get into this situation with him. There's something sadistic about his mouth, reminding me again of Dax.

I have to stop thinking about him.

He destroyed me.

Jaxon's phone buzzes, and he releases me. He pulls it out of his pocket, taps the screen, and motions for me to go first.

"You're such a party killer," I whine.

He grunts. "Last week, you were the one who insisted we attend the meeting."

I begrudgingly open the door, carefully step out into the alley, and get slapped with a gust of wind. I hustle around the building and up the steps of the church, brushing past the smokers and hating myself even more.

"Ivy," Ben greets me, giving me his welcoming smile.

"Hi, Ben," I say, then sit on the cold metal chair.

Several of the smokers come inside, and Jaxon follows. He plops in a chair across from me, avoiding my gaze, and makes small talk with the woman beside him.

"Welcome to Sex Addicts Anonymous. It's good to see all of you. It looks like we don't have anyone new today, so let's get started," Ben states, then sips his coffee and sits inside the small circle. As if he knows what I've been up to, he directs, "Ivy, why don't you start today."

Guilt fills me like it does at every meeting. Most of the time, I wonder why I allow Jaxon to force me to attend. I've never abstained for more than four days, and I confess my last encounter in every meeting. No matter how I attempt to do better, I can't. And over time, my addiction has only gotten worse.

Jaxon nods in encouragement, and I want to slap him. We met in this room years ago, the first day I attempted to rid myself of my impulsive behavior. We sat side by side. I quickly learned he was the CEO of Blooming Gardens, a national wholesale floral corporation, and it led to a long conversation about botany. By the end of the month, we had not only formed a friendship, but he offered me a job and a scholarship to finish my schooling.

It felt too good to be true, like when my father told me the Carringtons would put me through Clifton University. So I resisted at first, but Jaxon finally won.

My father was barely making ends meet, and we needed extra income. It was my fault he lost his high-paying job with the Carringtons. What Jaxon offered for my monthly wage was more than Dad made in six months, so I wanted to do whatever I could to help out.

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