“Luce…” I warn carefully.
Her hardened expression slips as she scans the room for a moment. “I won't go into the why I think you should, for obvious reasons.”
My skin prickles, leaving a ghost of goosebumps over the nape of my neck.
She flashes a wide smile again, waving me off and leaning back in her chair casually. “Parker isn't the greatest husband. We all know that.”
“Yes, but don't you think I should divorce him and not cheat?” I lift a brow, the silent conversation between us not so obvious to the surrounding people. How've I become the one judging now? That isn't me—at all. I couldn't care less what anyone did. So long as children are safe and racism dies.
She mumbles into her coffee. “Yeah, because that's an option….” She sighs, sensing my unease. “You don't love him, Ivy. His fingers are just so deep in you that you can't rip them out without tearing yourself apart along with it.”
I wince. “Okay, stop talking.”
She chuckles. “Fine. But only because I know I already hit the spot.”
She has. I don't want to go further into what she is leading to because we both know that not only are those words forbidden to say out loud, but we would run the risk of others hearing it.
I need to change the subject instead. “Let's spend money.”
* * *
Three hours later I kick the door closed behind me, hauling in bags of Louis Vuitton, Chanel and Van Cleef. As much as I hate to admit, my shopping addiction didn’t help with the distraction that I am going to run into Asher and Camille today.
Someone flies through the doors, holding a dish in each hand.
“I have an idea about the meals tonight, Miss Ivy, but I am not sure whether you will approve. Do you mind tasting?” Jasper says in German.
“Do you even have to ask?” I tease back, plucking broccolini off the plate. Garlic-infused butter slips down my throat. “Are you kidding?” I chew on the stalk, sucking the drop of grease off my thumb while looking up at him. “You always hit the spot.”
“Jesus, Ivy!” Punk winks as her shoulders brush mine in passing, pulling me out of my food orgasm. I don’t see him enter, but I can feel him.
I wipe my hand on the back of my Levi's. “Tastes really good, Jasper.”
“Good morning!” Luce grins at Punk, placing her bags beside mine as we both make our way to the dining room. “And what time did you kids get in last night?”
I don't know where the rest of the trio went, since it's only Punk who plonks on the dining chair, massaging her temple. “A few hours ago, I think. At least I did. Asher came home earlier.”
Luce carries the conversation with Punk, and I leave them to it. I need to go and unpack all my new trauma items anyway.
I round the corner that leads into the living room, and stop when I see Asher sprawled out over the sofa, scrolling on his phone casually. Dressed in a simple Givenchy hoodie and casual jeans, he’s effortless. I don’t know how he does it. He rolls out of bed, throws on his shit, and still manages to look more fuckable than ninety-nine percent of the human race.
That one percent is reserved for romance novels.
“And how didyousleep?” He doesn't bother looking up at me, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Nice?”
There is no way I'm getting out of this, and in a way, I'd rather rip the Band-aid off than dance around the angst of it. I’ve never been into the cat-and-mouse thing.
I opt for ignorance and continue walking past, but his fingers catch mine and my stomach hits the ground.
He keeps his hand in mine. “You're not playing fair, Venom.”
Sighing, I turn to face him. “Who said I wanted to play with you, Ash?”
His fingers interlock with mine. He pulls me down on top of him, widening his legs for me to slip in between. I go to push away, but his arm locks me in place as he slides my body up until my face hovers above his.
He looks between my lips and eyes. “You'd lose anyway.”
Giving up on my escape, I rest my chin against my palm, tapping at his tattoo. “Only when it comes to you.”
