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Ivy
My mom used to say when something is becoming too much for you, Ivy, don't chalk it up as paranoia. Instead, step back and see if you need a break or to run away.
I miss her.
And in moments like this, when Rafael has spent all morning making me feel nothing but special, I can't help but feel out of place. Everything is moving so fast, and it's getting to me.
“Are you okay?” Rafael asks me.
He’s beside me on the bed, still naked after he carried me here and made me go down on him. He went down on me right after, too, and then collapsed, laughing like a teenage boy. I won't say his happiness over our situation isn't contagious. But it's also all too much.
He squeezes my arm, glancing at me in concern the longer I don't say anything to him.
“Yeah, I think I just need to get home.”
He nods and sits up. “Come here,” he says, offering his arms to me.
“Rafael,” I start to protest.
“Please, Ivy.”
I give in to his request and crawl into his open arms. He draws me close, inhaling my scent as he hugs me. “You can take the day off,” he says, kissing my forehead.
It's at the tip of my tongue to turn him down and tell him that I don't want to slack off at my job because we're now involved, but he cuts me off.
“I'm not taking no for an answer, now get your sweet ass out of here if you don't want me pinning you down and filling you in the next minute.” He grinds his already hard dick into me for emphasis.
I playfully squeal, tap his chest, and jump off the bed. When I'm at the door, I turn to face him, a sincere smile on my face as I call his name. “Thank you,” I say.
“For what?” he asks.
I shrug. He's been beyond perfect, but I'm not going to tell him that. “Bye.” I wave.
“See you tomorrow.”
I close the door behind me and change back into the clothes I wore last night. As I walk out of the house, I understand what it means to be doing the walk of shame. I feel as though all eyes are on me when, in reality, no one's paying me any attention.
I let out a huge breath of relief when I finally get in front of my apartment and push the door open. The first thing I'm doing is running a bath. I'm going to soak myself for at least two hours and put all my worries aside until I call Roxanne later in the day and give her the latest update.
I received more than ten messages from her this morning already. I only responded to one, assuring her that I'm still alive.
Forgetting that my sister is around, I start to remove my clothes at the entrance.
“Someone's had a busy night,” her voice comes from the couch in the middle of the room.
I freeze, trying to think of what to tell her. She doesn't come home that frequently. I was at dinner with Rafael when her message came in last night, informing me she was around. I had to tell her I was out and would be back soon. I didn't remember to inform her I wouldn't be making it home after all.
Shit.
“Where were you?” she asks in a tone that would easily make anyone think she's older than me. But she's not. She's five years younger than I am. She rarely acts her age, though. At nineteen, Tara’s ambitious. Her lifelong dream has always been to be a nurse, and even though it puts big holes in my account, I'm funding that dream.
“I was out,” I say.
She doesn't so much as blink at my words.
“Yeah, I figured. With who?” She gets on her feet, looking at me sternly as she puts her hands on her hips.
I scoff.
