I screech the truck to a halt at the back of the parking lot, and throw it into park, and then look over at Ivy. Her eyes are wide, her skin flushed, and I can see the prick of her nipples through that demure little jacket of hers.
"Get over here in my lap," I growl, and rub her hard through her panties. I can feel her little clit under the pads of my fingers.
Ivy whimpers, but she unbuckles her seatbelt. In the next moment, she's crawling over to me and I put my arms around her waist. At the same time, I hit the release and my seat skids backward a few inches to give her room to climb onto me. Her skirt rides up, but I'm fine with that because it just gives me more access to her pussy.
Her hair's in another one of those ridiculously tight buns she favors, and I want to tug it free and see her hair cascade loose. I know from watching her undress that it's held by a thousand little pins, and so I start to pull them out, one by one. With my other hand, I push inside her panties and stroke her wet folds.
Ivy cries out and then her mouth is on mine in a frantic, hungry kiss.
That's my girl. I let her take the lead, showing me her urgency. She controls the kiss, her tongue moving against mine and her soft little cries increasing each time I stroke her clit. All the while, I pull pin after pin from her hair, determined to get her off and to get her a little bit messy.
Well, a lot messy. I want her to look well fucked, because I love seeing that on her.
She shudders against me as I flick her clit and then rub it with my thumb. Her thighs clamp against my hand and she bites down on my lower lip. My cock aches hard, but this is about her-claiming her, making her mine, making her feel a tenth of how I feel about her on a regular basis. My needs don't matter-all that matters is Ivy.
A little cry escapes her throat and she breaks the kiss to press her face against mine. Her hips push down against my hand, and I can feel the little tremors rocking through her body that tell me she's close, so close. Then, her hair cascades over my hand, finally free of its tight confines. I grab a fistful of it and hold her as I double down, working her pussy over with renewed speed. My fingers glide through her slickness and I sink one deep, even as I rest my thumb over her clit and rub.
Her hands claw at my shirt and the air explodes from her lungs. She buries her face against my neck and rides my hand, bucking wildly against it as I fuck her with my fingers. This is my girl. This is what I want from her-intensity. Abandon. Passion. I want all of it. I kiss her neck, scraping my teeth over her soft skin as I pump into her with my fingers, working her toward her climax. "Come for me, Ivy. Come on my hand. Come all over my fingers. Give me everything you've got."
She cries out and arches against me, and her cunt clenches hard around my finger, trying to milk it. I know my Ivy, though, and I keep rubbing her clit, dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of her as she shudders against me over and over again.
Slowly, she recovers and I pull my fingers from her warmth. I want to leave my hand between her legs forever, but, well, it makes it a little tricky to drive. She sits back in my lap and I put my fingers to my mouth and suck her juices off of them, because I ain't letting a drop of it go to waste.
Ivy strokes my beard as I do, a sleepy, almost amused look on her face. Then, she blinks at something over my shoulder.
"What is it?"
"Another car just parked right next to you. I . . . forgot we're in a parking lot." Pink is creeping up her flushed cheeks. "Oh my god, I always forget where I am with you."
"Can't say I'm sad about that." Not in the slightest, actually. Now I'm picturing all the places I'd like to take Ivy, just to get her off in public: a movie theater, a restaurant, anywhere I can show off to the world that she's mine while privately stroking her sweet, hot little pussy.
She pushes her hair off her shoulders and gives me a flustered look before sliding off my lap and retreating back to her end of the truck cab. "That's because you're a bad influence."
"I like to think I'm the best influence," I drawl.
Ivy just grins and undoes the buttons on her jacket, revealing a silky little top underneath. She fans herself and then pulls the jacket off . . . and I see Band-Aids and bruises covering the inside of each arm.
My arousal dies. The contentment I feel? Dies. Right in my fucking chest. "What happened?"
"Hmm?" She fans her face absently and then turns one of the air conditioner vents toward her.
"Your arms."
"Oh." The flustered look returns to her expression and she gestures at one Band-Aid. "This? I was just donating blood."
"Again? In both arms?" I eye her. "How often are you giving blood?"
"It's for a good cause," she says defensively.
"Ivy, there ain't no cause good enough for them to stick you like a voodoo doll. This why you keep fainting?" I grab the crushed bag of cookies that's been forgotten between us and shove it at her. "Eat one of these before I lose my fucking shit."
Ivy rolls her eyes and takes one of the broken cookies out of the bag, shoving it into her mouth and making a face at me. I don't care if she's pissy. I watch to make sure she eats every bite, and when she pops the last of it into her mouth, I hand over her drink and make sure she sips it. Maybe she's got a family member that's sick. Maybe that's why she's always so quiet and won't tell me what's going on. Maybe that's why things are "complicated" and she doesn't want to leave with me for the weekend.
Suddenly I feel like an ass. "Who's dying?" I ask when she swallows.
The look she gives me is incredulous. "Dying? No one's dying."
"Then why are you giving so much fucking blood?"
"Why is it any of your business?"
I clench my jaw and stare out the window. There's a guy rounding up shopping carts who gives us a weird look as he passes by, but I ignore him. Instead, I grab another cookie out of the bag and hand it to Ivy. She groans but takes it from me and begins to eat it. "It's my business," I say slowly, "because I care about you and I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"That's sweet, but I can take care of myself."
I grab her arm and look at the gigantic bruise that's growing under the Band-Aid, then look at her.
She yanks her arm out of my grip and scowls. "I'm serious, Boone. I don't need anyone hovering over me to make sure that I'm fine. I-"
I snort. "That's for damn sure. You don't need anyone, it seems."
"Excuse me for being independent."
"There's a difference between being independent and being a stubborn ass."
"Oh, and you'd know?" she retorts. "Because I'm not seeing a lot of nuance between the two on your end."
"I might be stubborn, but at least I share what I'm feeling." I jerk the truck into gear and head out of the parking lot, cold fury in my brain. "And I guess that's the big difference between me and you, Ivy. I want to be in your life, and you just keep pushing me away."
She's silent. Her arms are crossed and she's quiet for so long that I think she's quietly plotting how she's going to chew my head off for the next round. "Are you taking me home?" she asks after a while.
"No."
"No?" She seems surprised by that.
"Nothing's changed," I tell her. "Just because I don't like how you push me away don't mean anything's changed. I'm still fuckin' crazy about you, Ivy Smithfield, and I'll be damned if I let you just go home to ignore me all over again for another week or month or however long you get it in your head."
"So we're still going to West Texas . . . ? For . . . your blow job?"
There's a teasing note in her voice and I look over at her, skeptical. "Maybe just because I wanna spend the weekend with you."
She's got a soft little smile on her face. "Fair enough. Can we just agree to disagree on all the other stuff? Please?"
I hate that this is her avoiding confrontation again. I want to know what's going on. I'm worried to hell and back about her, but there's nothing I can do if she won't tell me a thing. But I'm also a fool in love. "If that'll make you happy."
"It will."
Ivy
My other client is all too happy to reschedule, even without the promise of a car. After that, there's no excuse left to give, so it looks like I'm headed out with Boone for the weekend. I send my sister a note telling her I'm staying with a work friend, but I'm sure she'll ask questions. I'll figure something out before I get home. Until then . . . I'm with Boone.
As we drive west, the landscape flattens out until it looks as if we've left familiar Texas and somehow gone into the Texas of the movies, full of cactus, tumbleweeds, and endless dry, dusty roads. San Antonio is all buildings and color, and neither of those seem to apply the further west we head. "What's the name of the place we're headed to?" I ask.