Page 3 of The Claiming Series: Collection 1
I need to move past this obsession with Ashton.
Maybe I'll join a dating site. But how many men are looking to date an overweight virgin? Besides, the thought of being intimate with anyone except Ashton is wrong. Not to mention, Mom would probably have a coronary. She wants me to be independent, but she also thinks the world is full of predators who will club me over the head, drag meback to their cave, and make me their sexual prisoner. Somehow, that doesn't sound like such a horrible idea with Ashton on the other end of the club.
The evening drags on. The more I try to ignore Ashton, the more aware I am of him. Every time my eyes find him, he's already watching me with a frown. I can't help but notice Rebecca, one of Mom's divorced friends, is sniffing around him. The sight of her pawing at him makes my stomach churn. Pretty sure I've heard Mom moan about her being high-maintenance, which is one of the reasons she's divorced. The other being she was banging the guy next door.
I deliberately move to the other end of the room to escape the sight of them, but seconds later, Ashton has closed the space between us again, Rebecca trailing on his heels.
I'm done. I need a few minutes to myself. I've drunk more alcohol than I usually do, and I’m a little dizzy and nauseous. The room is suddenly too hot, and I need some fresh air.
I quietly slip away while Ashton's back is turned, heading through the large kitchen to the decking out back. Kicking off my shoes, I walk barefoot toward the summer house at the bottom of the garden,enjoying the sensation of the cool grass beneath my feet.
I sit on the swing, shielded from the house by the ivy-covered trellis that wraps around one end of the small porch. This is my favorite place when I need some thinking space and a little peace and quiet. The combination of the wine and the fresh air has my head spinning, and I rest it against the swing. I'm almost dozing off when the sound of approaching footsteps warns me I'm about to have company.
"Thought I saw you sneak out," Brent says, appearing around the trellis. He sits on the swing next to me, sliding an arm along the back and around my shoulder.
"What are you doing?" I ask, looking pointedly at his hand resting on my shoulder and then back at him. He looks fuzzy, and I'm beginning to feel… peculiar. My head is heavy as if my neck can no longer support its weight.
"You okay? You look wasted," Brent replies, ignoring my question and narrowing his eyes on me.
I try to stand up, but the world sways around me, and bile crawls up my throat. "No. I don't feel well," I reply, my wordsslurred.
"Don't worry, baby. I'll take care of you," he purrs, his voice dropping suggestively as his arm tightens around my shoulders.
"I need to get back inside," I say, trying again to stand up. I groan, leaning forward as my stomach revolts at all the wine I've drunk.
"Why don't we go inside the summer house, and you can have a little lie down on the sofa," he says, helping me to my feet and urging me through the door.
Blackness creeps in around the edges of my vision, and I stumble. A soft surface cushions my back as he lays me on the sofa.
"Did you think I wouldn't notice how you looked at Ashton?" Brent says next to my ear, and I crack my eyes open to see him looming over me. "He's the one, isn't he, Ivy? The reason I wasn’t good enough? You want him, don't you? Got a thing for older men, eh? Hate to break it to you, but you don’t stand a chance with a man like him. Tell you what, I’m gonna do you a favor and pop that cherry you’ve been guarding because no other fucker will be brave enough to fight their way through allthat fat," he says nastily.
I want to hit him. I want to punch his teeth down his throat. But I can't seem to move. My body is heavy and sluggish.
"Fuck off, Brent," I sigh, letting my head flop back on the sofa.
It's a fight to keep my eyes open while nausea rolls in my stomach. There’s a sudden tug at my chest, and cool air wafts across my skin. Brent has yanked my dress down, exposing my breasts.
His hands move to his belt buckle. "I usually like my women a little smaller, but I’m going to make an exception for you," he grunts, squeezing my breasts.
I try to push him away and open my mouth to yell at him to take his fucking hands off me, but my limbs are heavy, and I can't seem to form words. I want to sleep.
I hear a loud crash, and my eyes pop open momentarily. Brent is gone, and Ashton is standing over me, his face a mask of rage.
Then there's nothing.
Chapter Four
Ashton
I'm becoming more pissed off by the second, watching that asshole trail around after Ivy. Seems obvious to me all he wants is to get inside her panties.
Isn't that what you want, too?My conscience whispers.
I frown. No, that's not all I want. I'm not going to lie; having her lush curves beneath me while I fuck her raw has been an obsession of mine for years, but she's not a one-and-done deal for me. If I give in to the temptation that's been burning a hole in my gut for longer than I care to remember, I won't be able to walk away.
Rebecca, Kathy's friend, sidles up to me again, unloading episode twenty-four of 'Rebecca's Terrible Divorce' on my uninterested ears. A movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, and I see a flushed Ivy making her way through the kitchen and out back. The urge to follow her is overwhelming. I know it's not a good idea, but I'm done with good ideas. I want to indulge in some very bad ideas. With Ivy.
I make my excuses to Rebecca and head for the back door, but another of Kathy's friends waylays me. I exchange polite pleasantries with the middle-aged woman for a moment until I see the guy who's been buzzing around Ivy all evening also heading outside.
