Blake: A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

Chapter Nineteen

Ivy liked to cook. Blake only had a minimal amount of food in his pantry, but she had stopped on the way home to pick up ingredients for dinner: tortellini with a red sauce, Caesar salad and a nice bottle of red wine.

“Pajamas already?” he asked, smiling down at her as she began putting the ingredients for the salad in a big bowl.

“The first thing I do when I get home is change out of work clothes,” she said with a smile.

“Well, my work clothes are gym shorts and sneakers, so comfort isn’t something I have to worry about.”

Ivy raised a wooden spoon with pasta sauce to Blake’s lip and he tasted it. It was salty and robust and much better than whatever take-out he would have normally ordered. One of the benefits of training as hard as he did was the fact that Blake could eat anything and, in fact, needed to eat more than regular people to make up for all the calories he expended.

He reached over Ivy and grabbed plates and cups from the cabinets before stacking them on the counter. It was really just an excuse to stand near her. He put his hands on her hips and nuzzled her neck. She turned her head and kissed him lightly. They plated their food and ate at the kitchen table, a place Blake normally used to store his gym bag.

“This is good,” Blake said.

“Thanks,” Ivy answered. Their food was done quickly and Ivy opened a second bottle of wine as they sat in his darkened apartment, the skyline of Seattle lit up the room with a pale glow.

“So, what do you normally do on your nights?” Ivy asked him as she sipped her dark red wine.

“Normally, I just watch TV and chill out. But you’re here, so it’s not a normal night,” Blake answered.

“So what should we do?” Ivy asked.

“Want to play a game?” Blake offered. He reached behind him and opened a drawer on his side table. He reached in and pulled out a deck of cards. He pulled them out of their container and shuffled them quickly. “Do you know how to play blackjack?”

“Is that the game that goes to twenty-one?” She asked.

“Yes,” he answered barely managing to stifle a scoff. 

“Let me guess,” Ivy said. “You’re good at blackjack?”

“I’m not too bad,” Blake answered. In fact, playing cards was a bit of a hobby of his. He frequented tables in Vegas with five hundred dollar buy ins. He liked playing the tables. He liked the thrill of big pots; he was good at cards and good at reading the table. He was also good at recognizing when he was on a losing streak and he always got out before he got in over his head.

He put one card face down in front of Ivy and one in front of himself. He dealt another card to Ivy, a three. He dealt a card to himself, an eight.

“Hit me,” Ivy said, as he unfolded a king in front of her.

He dealt a card to himself, a nine. “You know what makes this more fun?” Blake asked. “Strip blackjack.”

“Really? And how does that work?” Ivy asked. The wine was causing her cheeks to flush and he knew they would be warm to the touch.

“Loser has to lose an article of clothes, first person naked loses.”

“Hit me,” Ivy said, looking him in the eye.

He laid a six down on her cards. “I’ll stay,” he said and she stayed, as well. Blake flipped over Ivy’s card first. She had a king, a three, and a nine. “Bust,” Blake said, smiling at her. He flipped over his own cards, a nine, eight, and a two: nineteen. “I win,” he said, smiling as he gathered his cards.

Ivy gave him a crooked smile and slipped her hands under her shirt. Using some bit of secret female magic, she removed her bra without taking off her shirt, holding it at arm’s length so Blake got a long look in as she finally dropped it onto his floor.

He won the next round and she wiggled out of her short shorts. But then she beat him with an exact hand of twenty-one. He slipped his shirt over his hand threw it to the side. He lost the next round and his gym shorts paid the price. Then he won with seventeen and Ivy took her shirt off and she sat topless on the other side of the table.

Her breasts were perky and her nipples were hard. Blake couldn’t resist and he reached over and stroked her breast with his hand running his thumb over her nipple. They were down to their underwear. Each one only had one piece of clothing left. It all came down to this.

Blake dealt the hands and Ivy stopped when she had sixteen showing and Blake stopped at eighteen. Finally, he flipped over Ivy’s card showing she had a four: twenty. He dealt flipped over his hidden card, he had a ten.

“I win,” Ivy said leaning back in her chair. “So strip,” she said. She settled back and sipped her wine as Blake stood up in front of her and dropped his boxer-briefs exposing his hard penis to the apartment. “Looks good,” Ivy said.

Blake walked over to her and he tilted her head up and he placed a deep kiss on her wine-stained mouth.

She kissed him back eagerly and desperately and he grabbed her arms and pulled her into a standing position and then lifted her up and set her down on the kitchen table. He spread her knees apart and settled between them. Ivy reached around Blake and felt the strong muscles of his back, going farther south to grab his firm ass.

He pushed against her and she could feel the head of his erection pushing against the wet crotch of her panties. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he grabbed a handful of her hair and he pushed her head back to look down into her eyes before he began to kiss her again. His tongue slipped into her mouth and Ivy sighed as Blake's firm hands held her close.

He stopped their kiss and, with a hand to the center of her chest, pushed her onto the table. He leaned down, hovering over her and kissed her breasts and the delicate skin between them. He licked and kissed her nipples while she gasped with an arched back under his attentions.

Ivy wanted him. She wanted him all of time. His strong body and his confident hands were driving her wild. Why had she denied her feelings to Blake? Why had she been fighting this. She wanted to spend the rest of her life splayed out on this table, with Blake kissing her collarbone and making her writhe as he licked the nape of her neck.

His fingers slid over her panties. She was already wet and she almost felt self-conscious about it, but then he was rubbing her through the fabric of her panties and she moved her hips and pressed herself harder against his hand and she forgot to be worried.

“Blake,” Ivy moaned. She reached up and ran her hand down his firm chest. “I want you,” she whispered. Blake groaned and pushed himself against her and she could feel the heft of his erection against her. She wanted him so badly. She wanted to please him and be pleased by him. She was desperate for his touch. Her body ached for him. She raked his skin with her nails and she tried to pull him even closer to her. She never wanted to be separated from him again.

Blake slipped his fingers underneath the waistband of her panties and slipped them easily between her wet folds. Ivy moaned and arched her back as his finger slid over her clit, slowly teasing her. “Do you like that?” Blake asked.

“Yes,” Ivy cried out, balling up her fists. He was teasing her, building her to an orgasm more intense than anything she had ever experienced. She was breathing deeply and her body was writhing underneath him, but, to her dismay, his touch was getting lighter and slower. “Why?” was the only word she could say as his fingers finally stopped, pressing gently on her clit.

“Let’s go to the bedroom,” he whispered. With that he swept up Ivy in his arms and she gave out a quiet squeal as she wrapped her arm around his neck. A man before had never held her like this; she simultaneously felt safe and strong in his arms. He could have done anything to her and she wouldn’t have stopped him. She trusted him and knew he would never hurt her.

He carried her to the bedroom and stood her in the center of the room. He knelt in front of her and he began to pull her panties down her legs. Ivy shuddered at his touch on her very delicate skin. She felt exposed, standing naked like that in the middle of the room. But then Blake lifted her one leg over his shoulder and she could feel his warm breath against her.

She grabbed onto his head for stability as his tongue slipped into her wet center. She shuddered and dug her hands into his hair as his tongue worked in circles over her clit. He was patient and slow as his hands gripped her thighs and held Ivy in place. She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his rough hands caressing the sensitive skin of her thighs.

In just a few seconds she was right on the edge of orgasm. She was struggling to keep her balance as Blake’s tongue made her legs weak. She arched her back towards him, desperate for his tongue to never stop what it was doing as he licked and sucked on her clit. Her skin was vibrating with energy, she wanted to finish and at the same time she wanted him to never ever stop.

“Blake, I’m so close,” Ivy said, throwing her head back.

And then he stopped. She cried out in frustration and he just smiled and took her roughly by the hands. He led her to the dresser and bent her over it. He kicked her legs a shoulder’s width apart and she heard him slip on a condom. “Are you close?” he whispered into her ear as he began to kiss her neck.

“Yes, so close,” she murmured.

“Good,” he said, taking his position behind her. “Don’t move your hands from where I put them.”

Her hands were flat on the dresser in front of her and she gasped as Blake entered her with one swift motion. She cried out as her body stretched to accommodate him. He put his hand on her lower back and she lowered herself until his cock slid easily in and out of her.

“Fuck, Ivy. You feel so good,” he said as he continued to thrust in and out of her. His cock was gently stroking her clit with every movement.

But it was a teasing and light tough and Ivy wanted more. She wanted Blake’s fingers inside of her, stirring her on. That’s when she understood Blake’s order to keep her hands on the dresser.

Her pleasure was building up slowly as his strokes went deeper inside of her. “Yes!” She cried out throwing her head back as she pushed against him, matching him thrust for thrust. She wanted him. She was desperate to come. Her body was screaming at her to touch herself, but she kept her hands where they were. She trusted Blake.

It was like a wave growing bigger and bigger inside of herself. She passed some invisible barrier and then she couldn’t stop herself; she needed to come; she needed that release.

Blake’s hands were on her hips, urging her to take more of his cock with every push back against him.

“Yes, Blake! Don’t stop. Please don't stop. That feels so good.” He sped up and she cried out loudly as his body rammed into hers.

His cock was grazing her clit and she was grinding against him and then that wave inside of her grew too big and with one final thrust it crashed on top of her and she screamed out his name as she rode him to completion. He moaned her name into her ear and pulled her back hard against her for a few final thrusts and then, they both leaned heavily against the dresser, drained and exhausted.

Chapter Twenty

He hated seeing her leave for work. She dressed quietly, her movements slow and careful as she moved around his bedroom. Their bedroom? There was nothing stopping him from calling it that. Ivy slipped so seamlessly into his life. It was like there was a slot open and waiting for her to fit into. It felt like his life had been a half-finished painting and Ivy had come to fill in and darken the lines and brighten the colors of his life.

She was fully dressed in a black pencil skirt and a white blouse. Her long hair flowed around her shoulders. She put her hand on his shoulder and leaned down to kiss him gently.

“I have to go,” she whispered.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said, raising his hand and caressing her cheek. She closed the door and walked out into the hallway. He heard the clicking of her heels against his hardwood floors as she gathered her things. Blake closed his eyes hoping to get a little bit more sleep before his training began.

He heard the front door open and close again. Ivy was still in the apartment. Her heels were clicking towards him on the floor. As she entered the bedroom Blake sat up and ran his hand through his hair. “What’s up?” he asked, his voice still rough from sleep.

“There’s...” she started, but then her voice wavered and she stuttered as if she didn’t know what to say. Her left hand pointed to the door, while her right hand nervously tugged at the hem of her shirt.

“What?” Blake asked jumping out of bed. He was at her side in a second, his hand on the small of her back. She was shaking, and he could see that she was barely holding back tears.

“The door,” she said with a shake of her head.

Blake walked towards the door. He prayed Darryl was there – Darryl the coward who hid behind mutilated stuffed animals and creepy voicemails. What would Darryl do when he was confronted by a real man, a man who knew how to fight and win? Poor little rich boy, he would be begging for mercy after the first hit.

The door was closed and Blake looked into the peephole to make sure the hallway was clear before he opened the door. His door was painted a pale yellow; it matched all the others in the building. But it didn’t match any more. Blake stepped back to take the whole thing in.

Words were scrawled across the door in bright red paint. It started up top, the words clear and the handwriting almost neat.

She always told me she hated card games.

I hate games

I hate you

I hate her more

Open the door.

Can’t you hear me

Don’t you know I’m out here

The handwriting became messier and sloppy as his eyes descended down the door. He could barely make out the words at the bottom. But in addition to the words written in some sort of order down the door there was other graffiti. These words ran around the edges of the door occasionally overlapping with the red letters.

Bitch, whore, useless, cunt, stupid.

It was like his door was some violent piece of misogynistic artwork. Blake looked up and down the empty hallway, but no one was there. It was just doors. Seemingly endless doors that could be hiding anyone. He wondered how many of his neighbors had seen this horrific masterpiece.

“Yes, I need an officer at 1441 Fairmount Drive, apartment 16A,” Ivy was talking to her cellphone. She had slipped out of her shoes and was now pacing the apartment barefoot as she placed the call with 911. She was running her hands through her hair, tugging on it, pulling at it in her desperations. “The police are on their way,” she said to him and Blake nodded in response.

Blake took a step back inside and slammed the door closed. He walked over to his closet and quickly opened the cabinet that held his gun. He had a license to carry it and he went to the range at least once a month. If Darryl wanted things to get scary, Blake could oblige him. He slipped the loaded gun, with its safety on, into a holster that went under his arm.

“What are you doing?” Ivy answered as Blake walked back out into the living room, pulling on a jacket to cover his gun.

“I’m allowed to have it, Ivy,” he said walking past her and opening the door again. But the hallway was still empty. He waited for a moment hoping Darryl was going to try and come back, but the hallway remained frustratingly empty.

“Blake, statistically you’re more likely to injure yourself or a friend than an intruder,” Ivy said.

“Those statistics include people who don’t know how to use a gun. I know how to use mine. Trust me, it’ll be much more dangerous for Darryl than for me.”

“Your neighbors are going to see the door. I’m so sorry,” Ivy said and Blake heard the hitch in her voice as she spoke. He looked over at her, standing alone in the center of the living room. She was wringing her hands as a tear spilled over her right eye. He closed and locked the door and walked over to her.

Blake pulled her into a deep hug as a sob wracked through her body. He rubbed her back and held her as she tried to get her tears under control. “You don’t ever have to apologize,” he whispered into her ear. “None of this is your fault.”

“Police! We received the call.”

Ivy jumped up at the sudden sound of the loud knock on the door. Blake caressed her arms and then walked over to the door and opened it, seeing two plainclothes police officers. One was a tall woman with curly dark hair and the other a slightly shorter man with glasses.

“I’m Detective Diaz; this is detective Miller. We’re here about the call.”

“Thanks for coming, Maria,” Ivy said as she walked over to the doorway and gave a weak smile at the detectives.

“Writing on the door is a new thing for him,” Maria said shaking her head as her partner pulled out a camera and began snapping pictures of the dark and dangerous notes.

“He could hear us,” Blake growled, shaking his head and crossing his arms. “We were playing a card game last night; he must have been standing at the door listening to us.” He felt disgust pour through his veins. He wanted to meet this creep who hung around outside of doors listening to how normal people spent the night.

Always, he was looking at Ivy. The need to protect her was paramount. She was so sweet and kind and generous and she didn’t deserve this. That wasn’t all that he was worried about, though. Blake was a professional fighter; sizing up people was part of his job. He would never say it to her, but she was so small and weak. She wouldn’t last more than a few seconds in a fight with a fully grown man. She could so easily be overpowered and kidnapped or hurt or worse.

Detective Miller pulled out a fingerprint kit and began to dust the door, letting a soft powdery layer of dust land on the paint-soaked door. He quickly began to dust and pull up the prints. “Most of these will be yours,” Miller explained, “but we’ll search for any that don’t match.”

“He always wears gloves,” Ivy said shaking her head. “We’ve done this before.”

“He might have gotten lazy,” Maria said. “This is the only way we’ll catch him, Ivy. We need to investigate and log everything that happens to you. I know it looks like nothing. But we’re building a case. I’ll find Darryl and question him, find out if his alibi holds up.”

Ivy looked at Detective Diaz. She had dark eyes and looked serious. For a moment their eyes met and he could tell they had the same goal. They both wanted to bring Darryl down. But how were they going to do it? How could they get someone who was always one step ahead of them? Blake glanced back at Ivy in the living room. How was he going to keep her safe?

The police left and Blake called the super who agreed to paint over the deranged words right away. Blake took a few pictures of the words for his own record. As the pictures snapped, he felt his rage building up inside of him. He was frustrated and angry and he had no outlet for it.

“What are you doing?” Blake asked.

Ivy had redone her hair and her makeup. To the average observer, she looked perfectly composed as if nothing had happened, but Blake knew her better than that. Her eyes were tinged red and her hands were still shaking slightly.

“I’m going to work,” Ivy answered as she picked up her briefcase.

“After everything that’s happened?” Blake asked incredulously. “How can you just go to work?”

“I have to,” she said with a shrug. “I can’t stop my life every time he does something like this. I have to live my life. I have to leave the house and go to work and try to ignore him as best I can.”

“You’re going to ignore this?” Blake demanded pointing at the door. “He was spying on us last night. He was right outside the door! What if you had tried to go somewhere, what if you had left the apartment and run into him? He could have hurt you or taken you. He knows where we are.”

“He’s just messing with me. He just wants to get a reaction. We need to ignore him and go about our day as best we can-”

“Ivy,” Blake interrupted, but she wouldn’t be stopped and she continued speaking over him.

“So just stop, Blake. Please. I don’t want to get all upset right now. I don’t want to spend the entire day hiding in this apartment and crying. Can’t you understand that?”

“Yeah,” Blake said. Nodding, forcing himself to calm down. He did understand what she was saying, but she didn’t understand how vulnerable she was. That was the problem. How did she not see it? He needed to keep her safe. He couldn’t protect her if she wasn’t with him. How was he supposed to just let her walk out that door when danger lurked in every corner?