Page 27 of Volatile

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Chapter Eight

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Ivy tugged up her fadedjeans, older than she could remember, but they still fit properly. She couldn’t believe they weren’t in tatters, but as long as they still looked good, what did it matter how used they were or when she’d purchased them. All her dickhead boss cared about was how they molded to her body, how they made her ass look fuckable.

God, she hated this job. Loathed it. She felt like a raw piece of meat. Especially when that creepy guy showed up and sat in her section. But it was honest pay, and there was no touching allowed, just a lot of leering that coated her skin in slime. If Cherise ever needed her full-time at the flower shop, she’d reevaluate, but suspected even that wouldn’t earn her enough. She could just work more at Rig’s, drop the flower gig altogether, but she needed it. She loved working there with Cherise; it saved her sanity, one fragrant petal at a time. It was all about keeping a balance or else she’d lose it.

Unfortunately, she was dealing with one of her shitty-end-of-the-seesaw days that morning, dirt billowing up as her ass smacked the ground. Suck it up, Ivy. You know what you have to do. Show up, look pretty, and get through the day.

She pulled the equally worn, equally tight t-shirt over her head and smoothed it down over her back, grimacing. She took an extra moment to rub the sore spots left over from the other day. Left over from Jonathan and her time against the wall. It hadn’t been long, but it’d been intense enough to leave evidence. She could feel it, but she didn’t want to see it. She was too afraid to look.

Ivy yanked her hand away and brushed the hair from her face, pulling it back into a low pony. If she just ignored the throb in her lower back, it’d go away eventually. It confused her to no end, made her question things, and that did not bode well for her. There was acceptable and unacceptable, and she didn’t know which camp this fell into.

She stared into the mirror, flicking mascara over her lashes. She didn’t need the color, just some added length. Most of the time she didn’t even bother with makeup; her coloring afforded her that luxury, but she liked to pretend to be someone else while at Rig’s. Bring on the war paint.

The wand stopped mid-swipe, her hand stilling over her eyes. Well, if she wanted to play someone else, she’d certainly accomplished that while getting banged against Jonathan’s wall.

Ivy stuffed the wand back into the tube. None of this should bother her, shouldn’t make the least bit of difference in her life. As long as he continued to make Lily feel comfortable and encouraged her to talk, everything was moving in the right direction. Her sister’s curiosity in all this BDSM shit was just a passing phase. She was sure of it. Now that the dust had settled, Ivy could look at it without thinking the sky was falling. Lily was a smart girl; she’d snap out of it. Once this guy paid for what he did, life would move on in a sensible way.

And Jonathan? His personal life was his own. Who he cared about, maybe even loved, was his business. But who he fucked the other day? That was definitely her business. She just wished she could take it for what it was worth, keep the crazy good pleasure as a fond memory, and get on with her life.

Neither of them had spoken much afterward. Once it was over and she’d come down, she found that she couldn’t stop tormenting herself over that woman, that painting, Jonathan’s reaction to the whole thing. Ivy had felt secondhand, and she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. She made up some excuse about being late for an appointment and darted out. He’d let her go easily, making her wonder if he regretted what happened just as much.

But, she didn’t regret it. Not really. She’d have encounters like that many times over if she could. It’d been beyond any expectations she had about great sex. She’d expanded, broken, then melded back together, his girth making her feel like she’d lost her virginity all over again. No, the actual fucking hadn’t been the problem. It was everything else that concerned her.

Her throat constricted, a gagging sensation filling it. Maybe this had something to do with more than just the woman. What if everything he’d done to her was just a way of making her see his side? The thought made her ill. Maybe he wanted to show her what could happen when pleasure got out of control, everything he’d tried to explain but she hadn’t cared to listen. What if it was all a ruse to get her to change her mind? Well, it had worked. She’d had that inkling of doubt when thinking about her scraped-up back. Fucking mission accomplished, Jonathan.

She squeezed her fists, digging her nails into her palms. Fuck the jealousy shit. If he used her to put another notch in his psychoanalytic bedpost, that was even worse.

Her mind was really whirling now. And what if neither of those options was correct? If it was just fantastic sex, was that even ethical? Ivy wasn’t his client, but she’d hired him, so technically he worked for her. There were lines crossing somewhere, but she couldn’t figure out which ones needed untangling.

Ivy pulled a tube of cherry red lipstick out of her bureau drawer and smeared it on. The bedroom door creaked open, and she swiveled around to see Lily freeze mid-step. She quickly grabbed a tissue and rubbed it off.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you already left. Um, do you mind if I borrow your sweater, the yellow one?”

Ivy smiled. “You’re free to raid my closet whenever you’d like. You know that.” She tossed the stained evidence in the trash. Ivy never wore lipstick and didn’t want Lily questioning it. Her sister wasn’t privy to the vile details, and she intended to keep it that way.

Lily shrugged and walked over to the closet door. She tugged at it hard; that was the only way it’d open. That slab of warped wood had come off its hinges so many times she was expecting to find it splintered all over her floor one day.

“When do your classes finish for the day?”

Lily pulled the sweater from the hanger. “I’m coming straight home if that’s what you’re really asking. I have finals.”

Ivy sighed. Was that what she was asking? Maybe. Probably. In her defense, she had loosened up recently, realizing that her overprotective behavior wasn’t doing much good. If Lily wanted to get away that badly, she could sneak off while Ivy was at work. And now that Wes wasn’t around anymore, Lily would have even more freedom. Ivy didn’t want to play warden; she just wanted to keep her sister safe. Was that so horrible?

Lily didn’t have her own car, but she’d gone back to taking the bus, and Ivy was trying her damnedest not to worry. Lily swore that what happened was not going to happen again, and as long as she stayed away from the freak and continued getting help, Ivy had to cut her some slack. She didn’t want Lily feeling like a prisoner; she was the victim here.

Ivy just wished that Lily would stop protecting him so they could do something about it. Show him that he can’t go around hurting girls, even if it was too late for Lily. The fact that Ivy didn’t know the identity of this guy was a constant thorn in her side. But once he was exposed, she could make his life hell.

Lily was almost out the door, sweater draped over her arm, when she paused. “Hey, I haven’t seen Wes around in a while. What’s the deal?”

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