Page 11 of Mischievous Lies

Hope is waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs. She looks exhausted, most likely from being out for so long and having to deal with so many people.

“Where did your detective go?” I ask.

“He’s getting the car so we can go home. Want a lift?”

I search the dance floor. Most of the night, I kept tabs on the guy I was dancing with earlier until he started vomiting in the corner and was escorted out. There are other prospects here, but I’m not entirely immune to the way I was dry humping Hawke. It was hard to remove myself from his lap, and I know if I go home with anyone else tonight, I’ll be more frustrated, and then I’ll be having to use my vibrator.

Unfortunately, Hawke has that effect on me.

“I’m done for the night,” I say. “Besides, tomorrow I have some work to do, and I promised to help Billie pack. Look at me being all responsible.” That’s all true, but my sexual frustration might also have a part to play. My pussy is pounding, but I refuse to give Hawke the satisfaction. And it makes me even more irritated at having to deny myself once again what was the most fantastic fucks I’ve ever had. But if I give in, the asshole will be so smug.

Hope briefly glances up toward where Hawke is watching us, then turns and leads us to the exit. “I’m not going to say anything,” she states.

“Good. Because there’s nothing to say.” I smile at her sweetly. I don’t bother looking back in Hawke’s direction as we leave, though I can feel his gaze penetrating my back.

“Early night, Ivy?” the bouncer at the door asks, almost sounding disappointed. I chuckle as I tip him a hundred bucks.

“Just don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a reputation, you know?” I joke, and he chuckles.

As promised, Hope’s detective is parked at the curb, waiting for us. She slides into the front, and I hop into the back seat as I take in the ridiculous lineup of people waiting to get inside the club.

I sigh heavily.

“I need to get laid,” I say, sulking.

Braxton coughs as if surprised by my honesty, and Hope laughs.

“That one vodka and Red Bull kicking your ass?” I ask. “You have your detective anytime you want sex. I have no one.”

“Ivy Walker, you don’t fail in getting sex when you want it. Most men would grovel to be in the same room as you, let alone have sex with you.” I smile and lean forward to kiss her cheek.

“Thanks, Hope. You sure know how to boost a girl’s confidence.”

“You are the only woman I have ever met who needs no help in that department,” she replies, and I wonder why I was sulking in the first place. I’ve often dealt with my sexual frustration easily, but lately, men seem to be irritating me more than usual. Or maybe I’ve just met too many bad eggs in a row, even if I’m only looking for fun.

I catch sight of Hope’s hand in Braxton’s, and I quickly look away.

Vomit.

All this relationship shit seems a little over the top. But as I look at their clasped hands again, I realize I’ve never seen everyone so damn happy. Even with their own personal obstacles, they’re all glowing from their monstrous fucking. And I, the one known to fuck the most, seem to be going in the opposite direction.

A terrible thought comes to mind. What if I’m slowly turning celibate?

A moment of panic strikes me, and then I shake it off.

There’s no way. I like to fuck just as much as, if not more than, most men. My libido is fine.

I pat myself down and sigh, relieved. I’m okay.

I just need to find the right man to fuck.

But tonight it will be my favorite vibrator and me.

CHAPTER 8

Ivy

One thing I like about my life as a freelance IT specialist is that I’m my own boss. While studying IT in college, I had to dilute my talents so I didn’t stand out too much, mostly because I didn’t want my father to realize how much I took after him.

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