Page 56 of Poisoning Ivy
Only problem is, the expensive shit doesn't come with a twist off cap, and I can't see any reason my parents would have a corkscrew down here. It's not like they're slipping down to the cellar to enjoy their bottle in the dark. That doesn't stop me from looking, though, running my hands along the wet bar where the servants used to pour my grandfather's spirits. I laugh when I feel the corkscrew and wonder whether our caretaker hasn't been slipping down here to enjoy my father's private selection in the wake of his death.
When I get the cork loose, I take a long swig, my eyes burning as I deprive myself of air a moment too long. As the rim leaves my lips, my stomach lurches, the wine threatening to come back up, but I keep it down and close my eyes, feeling it work through me.
I found out the hard way that wine has a pretty potent alcohol content, but tonight, that's exactly what I need. I let it warm a path to my stomach, and then I drink more of it until I can feel it sloshing around inside my empty stomach with each step I take back to the totes that I left open on the floor. I pull out a fur coat that's too warm for the dead of summer and decide against it. I'd love the pockets for a place to stash the corkscrew, to keep it close and at the ready, but it's too bulky, so I settle on a fur shawl... mink, I think. I feel bad for the poor animal that died to be made into this garment for some rich bitch, and then I feel bad for assuming that the woman who owned this garment was a bitch. Again, I giggle, because that animal that was skinned was also more valuable than me... a whole ass human.
The bottle opener is one of the discreet kinds, meant for waiters and bar staff, so it's sleek enough to slip into the space between my cast and my arm. It's ridiculous, and so tightly packed that when I try to reach for it, I probably won't be able to even get it out, but it's the only place to hide it.
I don't know how long I'm down there by myself, but I know that the dark gets darker. I feel lighter with each second, until I feel like my sanity is abandoning me completely as I find myself sitting on the steps by Cody, tipping my head back so that I don't have to look at him as I speak to him.
"I'm sorry it ended like this." I say, blowing out a long breath, appreciating the way it makes my lips tingle. "You were a shit husband, but I didn't want you dead."
I clamp my mouth shut, trying to keep at bay the words that are on the tip of my tongue, but they spill off before I can stop them.
"That's a lie, actually. I did want you dead. So many fucking times," I giggle. "I pictured your blood on the ground... imagined slipping antifreeze in your whiskey. God, I wanted you dead." I laugh, unburdened by speaking the truth I've never let myself acknowledge. "I fucking hated you from the moment your father took me for you, and I hated you more when he fucked me to make sure I was agood fitfor you."
Saying it out loud feels liberating, and I'm not done yet. "Even though it was your dad who did it, I hated you before I even knew you because you were too big of a pussy to find a woman yourself. Of course, now I know why. You never could have attracted one on your own, and you were never man enough to take me yourself. So, I just hated you when your daddy pulled my strings, when he took me to the doctor to check my virtue knowing damn well he'd already fucked me more than once. I hated you more on our wedding night when you fucked me dry and came after three thrusts, and I hated you more each time you worked late, and your dad dropped by to 'check on me'."
I laugh louder than before, tears building in my eyes with the force of my humor.
I sit up so I don't choke on my laughter and once it subsides enough, press the bottle to my lips, draining the last few drops. Iflip it over with a frown, sad that it's gone, but there's more when I'm ready for it. Only thing is, I really need to pee, and I don't want to move yet, so I hold off a minute. In the silence, I decide to give Cody another confession.
"But you know what? At least your dad didn't think I was fucking disgusting! At least your father knew how to make me come, whether I wanted to or not."
God, this feels fucking divine. Why did I never do this when he was alive?
The satisfied smile slips off of my face when a voice asks, "What do you mean, ‘whether you wanted to or not’?"
Chapter thirty
Theo
Ivy sucks in a deep breath, going rigid for a moment. I think she is going to pretend she didn't hear me, staring up at the ceiling, but she turns around to face me. "I didn't hear you open the door."
Monty is at my side, the two of us effectively blocking out most of the light trying to flood into the basement, but it's enough to see her sitting on the stairs above her husband's dead body. She doesn't make a move to rush at us, to try to escape, and I wonder for a minute why. But then I see the wine bottle in her hand. I want to laugh, but I'm too bothered by what she said about her husband's father giving her orgasms whether she wanted them or not.
"Don't avoid the question, Poison." Monty says, taking a step down toward her.
Even in her wine haze, she must realize it's stupid to be vulnerable around us, because she sits up, an arm pressed against her stomach like that will help her keep herself together.
"What?" She laughs, shrugging. The strap of her dress slips off her shoulder, and I have to laugh at how ridiculous shelooks. Like a child playing in their mother's closet, except there's nothing childlike about her apart from her innocence. Even now, I can see how innocent she still is, how uncorrupted despite all that's happened. And apparently, a lot has happened. "You guys can do it, but no one else can?" She sneers, shaking her head. "Fuck off, both of you."
Monty bristles like she's slapped him, but her words don't deter me. I brush past him on the steps to get to her, where she's blinking up at me with those big green eyes so full of accusation. Jesus, she smells like a whole damn winery, fruity and bright and so fucking tempting. She's a drug. When I'm inside her, she's in my veins, but the effect fades too fast, and I find myself needing another hit.
"You gonna walk your tight little ass up the steps, or do you need me to carry you?"
She clenches her jaw and crosses her arms beneath her breasts, pushing them up to nearly slip out of the silky fabric draped over them. I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean, but I'm done waiting. I snatch her around the waist and throw her over my shoulder. I'm not delicate, pinning one of her tits awkwardly between my shoulder and her body and pulling a little moan out of her that I'm pretty sure she didn't mean to sound so excited. Her breath hits the back of my neck, sending shivers down my spine, but I don't stay to contemplate it, moving up the steps with her slumped over my shoulder and Monty behind us.
As we approach the top of the stairs, the silky fabric of her dress rides up beneath my palm, and I help myself to a handful of her ass, enjoying the way she huffs at me but is helpless to fight it off.
"No panties in the basement, huh, Tiger Lily?" I tease, letting a finger slip between her cheeks just enough to make her yelp. Iset her down on the grand piano, her ass perched on the edge so that I can stay between her legs for a moment longer.
Killian chuckles, drawing our attention to find him eyeing her. "You look like a proper high society lady, Miss D’Aquino. Not the sort of girl who associates with men like us."
"You're not men." She snaps, but I don't miss the way her throat works hard to swallow the lie before she says, "You're monsters."
"Tell Killian what you told us in the basement." I tell her, tipping my head toward our brother.
"I told you to fuck off." She crosses her arms again, like that will prevent us from seeing how hard her nipples are under that thin fabric.
