Page 35 of Start With A Slap

A petal crumbled in her fingers. There was a third option. A way to avoid both Paris and the detonation of her marriage.

She talked herself into it during Huey’s early evening walk, growing more determined as she exited the elevator on the twelfth floor and passed the wall that brought back the delicious sensation of his kisses on her neck, his breath in her ear, his body pressed against her back...

Jason was still at the office, but not for long. It was now or never. She searched recent calls for his number and pressed “call” the moment she got inside her apartment.

“No visit, love?” Sever teased her, clearly unable to answer his phone with a customary Hello. “I always find it easier to get my point across in person... don’t you?”

“And give you the chance to violate me again?” She bolted the door. “Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Oh, now. I did nothing of the sort, and you know it.”

She returned Huey’s leash to its hook and shrugged off her jacket. “Spoken like a true date rapist.”

“Careful, now. You’re insulting me again.”

“Good,” she said, en route to the couch. “Because for someone who claims he isn’t crass and isn’t interested in taking me by force; wow, that was quite the contradiction last night.”

“It was not.” The clang and flare of his Zippo lighter gave her ears an ASMR tingle. “I was proving a point.”

“Ah.” She dropped her shoes, tucked her feet underneath her. “I must have missed the point somewhere between the throttling and the forcible dry-humping.”

“Mm,” he said on an inhale. “You were too busy mewing like a horny kitten. Whichisthe point. Where are you?”

“At home. What does it matter where I?—”

“Where is he?”

“Still working.”

“Are you in your bed?”

“No!” She scoffed. “I’m sitting on the couch. Are you gonna ask me what I’m wearing next?”

“Would you tell me if I did?”

“It’s neither pink nor slinky,” she said tersely. “I didn’t call you for phone sex, Sever. I called you for a reason.”

“The reason being you can’t get enough of me. I understand and I feel exactly the same way.”

“Sever, I?—”

“Tell me something. Do you ever wear stockings, or are those obsolete now? I don’t know why, but I’ve been imagining you slinking about in these nude pantyhose and me like, savagely ripping them from your bum. ...Maybe it’s the working girl thing.”

Momentarily derailed by his whimsy, she managed to get back on track: “Sever. I’m not going to Paris with you.”

“Ivy. You have to.”

“No. I don’t. Not if I tell him everything tonight. Which is the plan. There goes your blackmail and there goes the last time I ever have to put up with your harassment. Goodbye, Sever.”

“Hang on,” he said, and she hung on. “Is it that you don’t trust me, or you don’t trust yourself?”

That was a great question, and it was frankly an equal ratio. “You, Sever. I don’t trust you.”

“Then you’ve nothing to worry about. I’m going to make you a promise, Ivy, and I’m a man of my word, all right?”

“This oughta be good.” She reclined and stretched out. As he spoke, she absently ran a hand down her exposed thigh.

“I promise that for the duration of the trip, I won’t touch you. I won’t taunt you. I’ll treat you like a colleague I have no physical interest in. We can play bloody Scrabble on the plane if you like. Better yet,” she heard his fingers snap, “I’ll teach you how to play chess.”

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