Page 4 of The Claiming Series: Collection 1
Something about the way he checks over his shoulder before he slips out the door has my senses on red alert, but it takes me another few minutes to extricate myself from the conversation without raising suspicions unduly.
I step outside, following the path toward the summer house at the far end of the garden. Voices reach my ears as I approach.
"… I’m gonna do you a favor and pop that cherry you’ve been guarding because no other fucker will ever be brave enough to fight their way through all that fat!"
"Fuck off, Brent." Ivy's voice. She sounds… odd.
"I usually like my women a little smaller, but I’m going to make an exception for you.”
What the fuck?
I round the trellis, and my blood turns to ice in my veins. Ivy is draped across the sofa in the summer house, her dress pulled down to expose her breasts, head lolling back drunkenly. The little fucker who's been following her around all night is looming over her, unzipping his fly.
I see red.
Pure, unadulterated rage engulfs me.
He doesn't stand a chance as I haul him away from her and my fist connects with his jaw. The punch sends him reeling into an occasional table behind him, but I'm not done yet. I fist my hand in the t-shirt at his throat and haul him up off the ground, only to deliver another blow to his slimy face. He slumps to the ground, out cold.
I turn to Ivy. Her eyes fix on me for a split second before they roll back in her head, and she passes out. I shrug off my jacket and cover her with it. My heart pounds as I realize what was about to happen here,what that shitbag was about to do to Ivy.MyIvy. He'll pay for that.
Things suddenly become crystal clear in my mind. I've been pushing her away for three years, but no more. I want her in my life. Under my roof, in my bed, in my arms.
I'm done waiting.
Two hours later, I'm back at my apartment with Ivy, who's still out cold.
How the fuck did I get myself into this position?
I've fought my feelings for this woman in my arms for three long years. I’ve worked through guilt, shame, and self-hatred, but it hasn't changed a goddammed thing. I want her. Pure and simple. Well, there's nothing pure about how I want her—it’s more of a dark-edged obsession.
I wanted to kill the little fucker for what he tried to do, but I satisfied myself with messing his face up a little and calling the cops on his ass.
Kathy was beyond grateful I was there to stop the little shit. She was all for canceling her trip to New York tomorrow morning to defend herclient in a high-profile court case, but I convinced her to let me bring Ivy home with me. It was the ideal solution. Kathy trusts me with her daughter.
But she shouldn't.
Because I'm casting my morals aside where Ivy is concerned. I'm selling my soul to the devil, and I can't bring myself to give a shit.
I place Ivy gently on my bed and strip her out of her torn dress. I'm tempted to slide her lace panties down her thighs too, but I'll save that little treat for later. The sight of her bare body almost brings me to my knees. She's thick and curvy, with large breasts, wide hips, and chunky thighs leading to a perfect little pussy with its neat strip of hair.
I drink in her luscious breasts tipped with their rosy crests. Her nipples are relaxed as she sleeps, and I want to see them harden for me, beg for my mouth like I want her to beg for my thick cock.
For the last three years, I haven't been able to come without thinking of her delectable body, without imagining sliding inside her tight, hot channel.
Tucking her under the sheet, I force myself to move away from her, feeling like a perverted voyeur. I head straight for the adjoining bathroom, stripping off my clothes as I go.
Once in the shower, I take myself in hand, the image of Ivy lying in my bed burned into my brain. I imagine I'm standing over her naked body, drops of my pre-cum falling onto her stomach as I fist myself over her in a punishing rhythm.
Harder and faster, I pound my swollen shaft, lost in my fantasies as the hot water cascades over me. I grit my teeth in frustration as I think about all the years I couldn't touch her, claim her. I come with a growl, imagining I'm shooting my cum all over her stomach and tits, marking her like a wild animal.
My orgasm barely takes the edge off. Thinking about her lying in my bed has my cock rock hard again.
I dress quietly so I don’t disturb her, pulling on jeans and a t-shirt before heading for the living area.
My apartment is large, with an open-plan living, dining, and kitchen area. There are four bedrooms, all with adjoining bathrooms, a gym, a study, and a games room. Despite the size of the apartment, I don't do much entertaining here, preferring to keep my private and business lives separate.
The hugely successful construction company I've built from scratch has been my sole focus until the last few years. Then Ivy grew up, and my focus shifted. But her father, Jack, was my best friend.When he died of an unexpected heart attack at forty-two, I stepped in, becoming a shoulder for Kathy and a mentor for Ivy.
