Page 17 of Fractured Loyalties

Seventeen

ROMAN

I stayed away from Ivy for twenty-four hours.

After that, I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t stand Edward taking her to school or Irena picking her up, all happy mom smiles.

Disgusting.

She has no idea the threat they pose when they pretend to give a shit about her. It’s better when they don’t do that. Trust me.

Just like it’s best if my father doesn’t know that I’m carefully trailing Ivy and Irena all through the city on their apparent shopping spree.

I slip inside the boutique I watched them enter about ten minutes ago, and find Irena instantly, walking in a trail of retail associates who look absolutely terrified of her.

That tracks, but…

It’s Ivy I’m following, and she is like a fish out of fucking water right now. She’s trying to vanish into the carpet, and hunched in a way that makes her look half her size. She’s dressed like a prison librarian in a navy skirt, nondescript sweater, and zero jewelry.

She has no idea how to stand in a place like this or how to weaponize her presence. I watch the discomfort, and the way it ripples under her skin.

It’s delicious .

One of the assistants hands her a pile of dresses. She looks at them as if they’re medical waste, but Irena steers her to the fitting rooms with a smile that’s more threat than warmth.

I wonder if Ivy reads her mother like I do.

Still, I follow, keeping two displays between us.

The walls are mirrors. The entire place is designed to catch you in a thousand different reflections, none of them flattering.

I see a glimpse of myself in my black slacks and white shirt, looking like shit as usual.

My eyes look feral, even under the showroom lights.

Honestly… it suits me.

I slip into the men’s section, pretending to check out a display of jackets.

From here, I have a clear line of sight to the fitting rooms. A single bored assistant watches the hallway, and she’s glued to her phone.

A plan is already forming in my mind, assembling itself with the inevitability of a firing squad. I’ve done this dance before.

And I’ll do any fucking dance for Ivy.

Speaking of, the sound of Ivy’s voice drifts out, her tone uncertain. Irena is snapping orders, directing staff, spinning up drama over a minor hemline error.

I take a deep breath and wait, overseeing them all.

Like always, Irena’s attention is as fleeting as her patience. She spots a new arrival, a woman in a red Versace. The two lock eyes, and I’m pretty sure Irena recognizes the woman. Within seconds, she’s halfway across the boutique, the staff still trailing behind her like a school of lesser fish.

Aha. Here we go.

The bored assistant is now unsupervised, and her Instagram feed is clearly more important than anything that’s happening in the dressing rooms. I time my approach, waiting for her to look down, and then slip past the velvet rope with surgical precision.

The hallway of rooms is empty. I can hear Ivy fumbling inside the back cubicle, hangers clattering. I stop outside the door, press my palm to the smooth wood, and close my eyes.

Fast, Roman. You have to be fast.

My pulse pounds so loudly it nearly drowns out the boutique playlist, some shitty remix of The Stones. There’s no question in my mind.

I’m going to do this, and I’m going to love every fucking second of it.

I check over my shoulder. I knock once, sharp but quietly.

Ivy’s voice is a ghost. “Um… give me… give me just a second!”

I wait for the silence, then slip the lock with a credit card. It’s too easy. The door opens, and I slide inside, shutting it with a click behind me.

She’s halfway out of a dress, bare shoulders, bra askew. She freezes when she sees me in the mirror, her eyes growing wide.

“Roman?” she whispers, voice trembling. “What…what are you?—”

I move quickly, clapping my hand over her mouth before she can scream.

She tries to twist away, but the fitting room is barely big enough for a whole spin, and I press her back against the mirror, using my body as a wall.

She’s small, but she fights, a wild, silent panic that makes my cock harden instantly.

“Keep quiet,” I growl in her ear. “Unless you want every bimbo in the store to see you like this, hear you like this. You don’t want to get caught undressed with your stepbrother, do you?”

Her eyes are enormous, her pupils blown wide as she looks up at me. She shakes her head, her lips trembling under my palm.

I let my hand drift down, sliding under her bra, and cupping the breast I’ve been dreaming about for weeks. She tries to slap me, but I pin her wrist to the wall, savoring the helpless twitch of her muscles.

“Stop it,” she breathes, but it’s lost in my hand.

“You want me to stop?” I lean in, biting the lobe of her ear, and grinding my hips against her until she can feel what she does to me. “You’re the one who’s been dreaming about this. I heard you.”

She shakes her head no, but her body betrays her. She’s quivering, and I know it’s not just with fear. I can tell the difference. Her pulse thuds against my palm as I slide my hand lower, tearing the skirt at the thigh. The fabric gives with a soft, sick sound.

Let Irena cover that bill.

I push Ivy’s panties aside, my fingers dipping into the wet of her cunt. She bites my hand, but it just makes me throb harder. I push two fingers inside, twisting and curling against the roof of her pussy.

She gasps, her breath hot against me. “Roman…”

“Ivy,” I growl, and press my lips to her neck, biting hard enough to leave a mark. “I know you missed me.”

“ Roman, ” she repeats my name, her voice a whimper now. “Where were you?”

“Waiting for a good time,” I murmur into her neck, desperate to have her as I rub her clit with my thumb. My cock is throbbing, aching to be inside her, but I want to make her come first, to prove that she’s mine in every way that counts.

And that’s something I’m patient enough for.

I work her clit, relentless and unforgiving. Her eyes start to glaze, her hips bucking despite herself. The air is electric, and the risk of exposure makes it ten times hotter. Every time a voice drifts down the hall, she stiffens, but I only go harder, driving her up and over the edge.

Her head tips back against the glass, and reaches out for me, her nails digging into my skin, as her body tenses around me.

“Good girl,” I whisper into her hair. “There it is. I know you want me, Little Lamb.”

She shudders against me, the orgasm silent but explosive, her cunt squeezing around my fingers like a vice. I let her ride it out, then lift her up, lining her pussy up to my cock.

“You look so pretty like this,” I whisper, unzipping my slacks and freeing my cock. I don’t even bother to pull her panties off, just shoving them to the side. I line myself up, then slam into her, letting her hang onto my shoulders.

I fuck her hard and fast with no tenderness, just pure, unfiltered possession as we hold each other’s gazes. And suddenly, my chest feels an explosion of something so primal it aches.

I want you so bad, Ivy. To protect you from this world.

Her pretty lips part, and I lean in then, taking her mouth in a kiss. She lets out a moan, sucking my tongue into her. She clings to me like I fucking matter, and I realize it’s the first time in my life I’ve ever felt… needed.

“You’re mine,” I groan quietly, holding her gaze as her mouth pulls from away. “ Mine. ”

And just like that, she comes again, helpless, the tremors running up her back to her fingertips. I follow seconds later, emptying myself into her, biting down on her shoulder to stifle the groan.

When it’s over, I pull out and fix my clothes, looking at her shaking in the mirror. Her dress is a mess, her breasts free from a bra that’s disheveled on her chest.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Especially when she’s ruined—or maybe not ruined.

I lean in, my lips brushing her ear. “You’re so good, Ivy. You know that?”

She whimpers, and it causes my dick to jump to life again, but I put it away.

“See you tonight.” I lean in, almost kiss her, but then decide not to push my luck.

However, Ivy doesn't. As I head for the door, she grabs the sleeve of my white shirt and jerks me back to her. Our mouths collide with force, and I kiss her, tasting a hint of copper. After a moment, I pull away—no time for a make-out session when we might get caught.

“Roman…” She peers up at me, her lips swollen. “Don’t scare me again.”

I furrow my brow, unsure what she means. “It’s best for this to happen outside of the house.” I hate the honesty I’m giving her, and I hate the confusion on her face.

But also… I hear voices in the distance.

I give her one more light kiss and slip out of the fitting room, shutting the door behind me. The hallway is empty. The assistant is still glued to her phone, oblivious.

Thank God.

I walk out into the main room, calm and collected, and find Irena still locked in a contest of wills with her unknown Versace rival. I pretend to browse, waiting for Ivy to emerge, red-faced and broken, but dressed to kill.

When she does, she’s in a tight little red number, and as Irena and the retail associate gloat, Ivy’s distracted, scanning the room. She finally finds my eyes, and I see it.

Relief.

Silly, Little Lamb. I smile. I’m not going anywhere.

That’s how you keep a family together.