“I’m still here because I’m as sick as you.”
“Ivy,” I say, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. “It’s just a fantasy.”
“If we’re not doing it tonight”—she looks up at me—“then why am I here?”
“To negotiate. That’s why I like you, Ivy. You said that yesterday. You’re a negotiator. If there’s something off limits in these pictures, then say so and we’ll negotiate it.”
“I think I’m here because I’m inexperienced. I think you want to take advantage of me. I think I’m an easy target.”
“You’re smart to think that. It’s all true. But that’s not why I like you, Ivy. I want you. You. Not because you’re innocent, but because you’re smart. You’ll be able to tell the difference between the fantasy and the reality. That’s why you’re here.”
She’s silent.
“And I want to fuck you. Not like this,” I say, tossing the last drawing aside. “Just a good, old fashioned, semi-vanilla, hard fuck.”
Chapter Twenty-Six - Ivy
Semi-vanilla, hard fuck. What the hell does that even mean? I’m so out of my league. So, so, so out of my league. Nora was right, guys like Nolan are not for me. He’s way too much.
“Nolan—”
“Ivy.” He’s got his hand under my waist, lowering me down the bed, positioning himself over the top of me, his knees on either side of my hips. “Just enjoy it.”
But I don’t know which part of this I’m supposed to enjoy. Having my hands tied? Being a nude model for his sick fantasies? Or the fact that he will be fucking me again, no matter what?
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes to keep him out.
He leans down and kisses me on the lips. It’s so soft and so tender. “Ivy.”
“What?” I can barely speak. I have no idea what’s happening.
“If you don’t like the terms then renegotiate.”
I open my eyes and look at him. His face is hovering less than an inch from mine.
“It’s fluid, Ivy. Changes can be made at any time. Any time. You can say yes and then say no. You can say no and then say yes.” He smiles. Because Nolan Delaney wants me to stop saying no and start saying yes. “We can stop right now and go to the races. They started without us. We can go the club and have a nice dinner. We can walk on the beach if you want. Buy ice cream cones and stop at a bar and get a drink.”
I picture this alternate reality afternoon in my head. Putting our clothes back on and going over to the track. That would be exciting. I’ve never been to Del Mar. We’d make bets and cheer. Talk about work. Maybe I’ll tell him my plan for the Hundred Palms Resort. After the races we’ll watch the sunset and hold hands. And come back here and all the awkwardness would be back.
We’d be thinking about this moment when I said no.
He’d be wondering if I’ll always say no or if this was a one-time rejection.
I’ll make an excuse and a car will come or he’ll drive me himself. Take me to the airport where I will get on his jet, or some jet, or book my own ticket. We’ll say goodbye. Maybe pretend we’ll stay friends on Facebook. And I’ll never see him again.
It’s what I want, right? Escape?
But the word renegotiate changes things. I’m pretty sure what he likes to do in the bedroom is way over my head. And I’m pretty sure he wasn’t kidding when he drew the red mark on my face from his slap. Why would he kid about that?
But he’s asking me to give him limits.
So… Not a rapist.
“I don’t think I’ll like the slap.”
“No?” he asks. “You’ve never tried it, obviously. Would you like me to explain it? Why some girls like it?”
I nod. Because I just don’t understand.
Off in the distance I hear a bugle. Nolan turns his head and looks out the window where down below people are living their lives, wholly unaware of what is happening up in this bedroom, high above them on the hill.
“You know when you’re watching a horse race?” he says, looking back down at me. “And they’re coming down the home stretch. Each horse jockeying for position, going all out for the final furlong, just trying get to the finish line first. People are fucking screaming. The bettors who think they’re going to win a trifecta, or the owners who are hoping for a little bit of money to keep their stable going, or the claimers who want to buy that winner and change their luck.
“But the horses are excited too, Ivy. And the jockey has a crop in his hand. He’s reaching back to smack his horse on the ass or wave it in front of his face, give him one more reason to try harder. Driving him home. They don’t use the crop in the beginning of the race. It’s only a signal, Ivy. A way to harness the excitement the horse feels, his energy—or lack thereof at this point in the race. A way to focus the horse on the win.”
He stops talking as I picture this in my head.
“That smack on the ass—or the face—is only a signal, Ivy. To focus you on the sex and the way we’re going to come together. That’s all. The winning horse could give a fuck about that spanking he’s getting at the end. He doesn’t even feel it. He’s so pumped up on adrenaline, that smack is the last thing on his mind. And when I’m fucking you, Ivy, and I reach down and smack your face, you’ll only feel what you want to feel. If you’re scared, I did it wrong. If you’re not turned on, then I did it wrong. If you don’t want me to do it again later, then I did it wrong. Do you understand me?”
I nod, unable to speak.
“Do you want me to untie you?” he asks. “Or would you like to renegotiate? Because I really do want to fuck you right now. And if you want to fuck me too but have limits you need to make clear, then now is the time to do that.”
“I don’t want to be hit. Not right now.”
Nolan smiles and a small laugh escapes. “I’m not going to hit you right now, Ivy. Don’t be crazy.”
“You’re the one who’s crazy,” I say. “And don’t laugh at me. I have no idea what’s happening.”