“There are rules?”
“Of course there are rules!” She ticked them off on her fingers. “No sleep overs. No dates. No gifts. No holidays like Valentine’s Day. You know, that kind of thing.”
He didn’t know. He was lost. He put his hands on her shoulders and leveled her with a stare. “But we slept together last time.”
Her chin dropped as she averted her gaze. “That was a slip. And it was before we set the rules. It shouldn’t happen again.”
“But what if I want to ask you on a date?” His palm found the curve of her cheek, tilting her face up to his. “Like I was about to before you started throwing down rules like Cena throws down opponents.”
She swallowed, and he grinned, satisfied that he caught her off guard for once. “You were about to ask me on a date?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her lips because her nibbling on them was driving him crazy. “To the Fight for the Cure gala. I have to be in the corner with the guys when they fight, and I want a date so—” He backed her up until her legs touched the side of his bed and she sat down. Then he sank to one knee and her surprised gasp speared his heart. “Ivy Harrington, will you do me the great honor of going to the gala with me?”
He took a moment to fully enjoy the surprised look on her face. He had no idea why it was so shocking that he’d ask her to go with him. They normally would have gone together, and had gone to work related events together before. Then again, it had been weeks since things between them could be classified as normal. Normal had been tossed out the window when she’d cornered him in the hall and asked him to be her fuck buddy.
Well, he was happy to fuck, but he wasn’t looking for a buddy. “Ivy?” he asked when she continued to stare at him like he’d spontaneously popped a second head.
“I have nothing to wear,” she told him.
“Isn’t that Hope’s wheelhouse? Besides, you could wear jeans and a t-shirt for all I care. You look like a million bucks in everything.”
When she blushed at his compliment, he got up and eased her up the mattress. Careful not to crowd her, or get on top of her, he lay beside her, and gently tugged her pants down her legs, bending to kiss her navel, which he had learned earlier she really loved.
Nibbling along her ribs, he murmured against her skin. “Mostly, I really want you there, inmycorner.” He kissed his way to her stomach. “Will you come?”
She sighed and arched against his lips as he trailed his way down her body.
“Is that a yes?”
“I guess there’s always an exception to the rules,” she said, her words catching as he continued southward.
“Isthata yes?” he asked again, before dipping his tongue into the soft flesh between her legs, smiling against her hot skin when she moaned.
“Yes.”
* * *
Ivy jerked against the bed, but she couldn’t move. She was pinned, held down by a horrible weight. No matter how hard she struggled, she couldn’t push it off.
He was stronger. So much stronger. Between him and the mattress, she was trapped. Not only trapped, but completely, terrifyingly aware of what was about to happen. Tears streaked down her face as he told her what he planned to do, how he had friends waiting to take their turn. She choked on the saliva and mucus backing up in her throat. She had tried screaming, but he’d clamped his hand over her mouth, and it shifted when she did, covering her nose so she couldn’t breathe. Her vision blurred, and she hoped, prayed that she’d pass out—or die.
Darkness crowded her, and for a split second she thought her prayers were answered. Then he was there again, heavy on top of her, breathing his hot, disgusting alcohol stench all over her.
His hand covering her mouth lifted as he reached down to unzip his pants, and Ivy did the only thing she could. She sucked in a big breath and screamed.
“Ivy,” a voice in the darkness murmured, low but so commanding she had no choice but to hear it, listen to it, and follow it out of the black. “You’re with me, Sean. We’re in my bed, in my apartment. It’s just us. I’ve got you.”
Following the sound of his voice out of her nightmare, she came fully awake. She was naked, but the sheets around her were soaked in sweat. Blinking furiously, she gulped huge breaths of air and crawled backward, pressing her back to the headboard, pulling her knees to her chest.
Sean sat beside her, his face a mask of concern, and the familiar shame crept over her.
“See why sleepovers are a bad idea?” she muttered, her heartbeat thundering in her chest, echoing through her voice, making it sound shaky.
Sean said nothing as he moved closer, the sheets pooled around his waist, exposing his phenomenal torso. If she weren’t shaking so badly, she’d pause to appreciate every muscle, but going on past experience, recovering from a nightmare’s adrenaline spike took time.
“How often do you have nightmares like this?” he asked, his voice gentle and warm.
The emotions roaring through her responded to it, settling slightly, as if his calm steadiness gave them the traction to slow down. She shrugged. “Not as often anymore. Maybe three or four times a week.”
