Chapter 95 That Violent Man

Chapter 95 That Violent Man
Chapter 95: That Violent Man 

Andy

Ivy was practically asleep by the time I pulled into the driveway. Her head rested against the passenger window, lolling with every turn, body folded in on itself like she was trying to disappear. 

Her face was still puffy and red. Tear tracks had dried on her cheeks in uneven streaks.

Damn you, Leo. This was all his fault.

“She’s going to be sick,” Poppy muttered from the back seat. “I feel bad for her. She’s had the worst day.”

“She should never have gotten tangled up with Leo,” I said. “I told her it wouldn’t end well. I knew this was going to happen. But she was blinded by the—”

“Can you shut up already?” Poppy’s voice cut through the dark. “This is your fault too, you know. If you’d just kept your hands off her like Leo told you to, none of this would’ve happened. You have nobody to blame but yourself, Andy. You caused this.”

I gripped the steering wheel harder.

“Did I also instruct Solomon to hit Julia?” I shot back. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how Dad and Julia met.”

“Battered and bruised at a hospital. I know.” She spat the words.

“If she wasn’t so scared of Leo hating her, Solomon would already be in jail paying for his crimes. But no. She wanted peace. She wanted Leo.” I said.

“She knows he’ll never forgive her if she puts his father in prison,” Poppy said. “Solomon is Leo’s entire world. He doesn’t believe that man can do any wrong.”

“Leo’s a blind idiot. He hurt Ivy.”

“You must be happy then.”

“I never wished for him to end up in that condition,” I said, and I meant it. “All I wanted was for Ivy to know how I felt about her.”

Poppy let out a short, bitter laugh. “That’s a rather large heart you’ve got there, Mr. Romeo. Seems like you’ve got space for ten more.”

I turned in my seat and glared at her. “Get down.”

She rolled her eyes, shoved the door open, and slammed it hard enough to rattle the frame before stomping toward the house.

I sat there for a moment longer, watching Ivy’s slow breathing. Then I got out, walked around, and opened her door carefully. 

She didn’t wake when I unbuckled her. When I slid my arms under her knees and back, she made a soft sound and turned her face into my chest. Her arms came up loosely around my neck, holding on even in sleep.

That small, unconscious trust hit me harder than it should have. I smiled like a fool.

I carried her inside, past the living room, up the stairs. I didn’t stop at her bedroom door. I kept walking until I reached mine. She was too wrecked, too raw, too empty to be left alone tonight. At least that was what I told myself.

I laid her on my bed. She immediately curled onto her side, pulling her knees up. For a second I just stood there looking down at her. Then I noticed the faint shine of fresh tears at the corners of her closed eyes.

She was crying in her sleep.

Anger flared so hot and fast it made my hands shake. I had to step back and breathe through it. 

Leo had done this. Solomon had done this. The entire Teague family had chewed her up and spit her out, and somehow I was the one left holding what was left.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and carefully unstrapped her sandals. Her feet were slightly swollen. I rubbed my thumbs along the arches once, then twice, before setting the shoes aside. 

Her leggings and shirt were wrinkled and damp with dried sweat and tears. I hesitated, then worked the shirt up and over her head as gently as I could. 

She stirred but didn’t open her eyes. 

The leggings came next. I left her in her underwear and pulled one of my clean t-shirts over her head, guiding her arms through the sleeves. It swam on her. She looked smaller in my clothes.

She was mine for the night, whether she knew it or not. I wanted her to smell like me instead of him.

I sat back down beside her and brushed the hair away from her face. Her skin was warm and flushed from crying.

“I had a crush on you too, you know,” I said quietly. “I wasn’t lying when I said that. You were just too young back then.”

She didn’t answer. Not like she was supposed to.

“If Dad hadn’t given that letter to your father, I might have done something we’d both have regretted.” My voice stayed low. “I wanted to do every single thing you wrote in that letter. All of it.”

My hand rested lightly against the side of her neck, feeling her pulse.

“Did you ever figure out it was me who accidentally knocked you into the pool?” I asked the dark. “I never meant to hurt you. I just wanted to be your hero. Back then, you loved superheroes.” 

Silence.

I leaned closer, close enough that my mouth nearly brushed her temple.

“I’m still mad at you, Ivy.” The words came out rougher than I intended. “Mad that you keep rejecting me while you gave yourself so easily to him. What did you ever see in that violent bastard? He was never going to be careful with you. I would have been.”

She shifted in her sleep, turning slightly toward me. 

The hem of my shirt rode up, showing a strip of soft skin at her waist. I stared at it longer than I should have. My body reacted the way it always did around her—hard, hungry, stupid. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to stay still.

It would be so easy to do it now.

She was exhausted. Broken open. Already in my bed, already wearing my clothes. She wouldn’t wake if I did it gently and carefully. 

No one else was in the house except Poppy, and Poppy had gone to her own room in a rage. 

I could take what I’d wanted and she would never even know until morning. By then she might even be packing for California. By then it wouldn’t matter.

The thought made my stomach twist with something that felt too close to hunger and too close to self-disgust at the same time.

I hovered over her, braced one hand on the mattress beside her head and looked down at her face. Peaceful. Defenseless. Still the same girl who wrote me secret letters and made me the object of all her affections. 

“You’re leaving Weeping Willow again. You're leaving me,” I whispered against her hair. “Just like last time. Running the second things get hard.”

My free hand settled on her waist, over the fabric of my shirt. Not under it. Not yet.

“If I took what I wanted right now,” I said, voice barely audible, “would you hate me for it in the morning? Or would you finally understand that I’m the one who actually stayed?”

She didn’t wake. Didn’t move. Didn’t push me away the way she had in that bedroom earlier when I’d tried to comfort her and lost control.

I ran my thumb across her lips. Then I leaned in and captured her lips in mine, sucking on her bottom lip.

She didn’t resist. She just slumbered as I kissed her. I placed a hand on her neck, deepening the kiss as I squeezed her waist gently. 

I pulled away after sometime, stunned by how she didn’t wake up from that. “I’m still hot for you, Ivy.”

I dipped my head into her neck and breathed in, taking her scent. “I’m jealous of Leo. What did you ever see in that violent man?” 

My dick was still hard, rubbing her right there where I ached to fill her. I wanted to be inside her. 

Just like Leo had been. 

Why would she give him a chance, but not me? That was unfair. I stared down at her under me. 

She slept on.

I leaned closer to her ear and whispered. “You won't hate me for this, will you?”