Read Where the Ivy Hides for Free Online

may stay away from drugs, me having a drink again is probably in my near future. I never thought alcohol was one of my demons, I haven't had just a few drinks before and hit rock bottom. I know, it may sound like excuses to you, but I'm only fucking twenty-one. And a life without any substance to self-medicate, even though I'm already medicated, is not a fucking life for me, not one I want to live.
    Ryker walks through the old front door of his garage apartment with the last three boxes. "What room do these go in, love?" he asks.
    I watch as his tall frame invades the small space of the living room and wonder in awe how the hell I was the girl he decided to strap himself to. "In the bedroom, baby, I'll unpack it when we finish with these."
    He heads in the direction of one of the only two doors inside our apartment and sets the boxes down in our room.
    As I look around at all the boxes Delilah FedEx'd over yesterday, I'm surprised at how much shit I've accumulated as a druggie vagabond. I know eight dream catchers, three two foot bongs, and five autographed posters by various one hit wonders aren't considered important possessions to most people, but this shit is mine. And that means something.
    "Ivy," Ryker calls from twenty feet away in our bedroom as he's walking towards me with a pair of glass slippers hooked to his middle and pointer fingers. "Why in the hell do you have a pair of glass slippers?"
    After winking with a smirk, I never miss a beat answering, "To wear when I finally meet my prince charming, of course. How would he find me if I don't leave one behind?" I go back to unpacking my dream catchers.
    Before I can gently lay down the one in my hand, it's hitting the floor and beads bounce before scattering everywhere. My hip bones are slammed against the hard edge of the foyer table and both of his hands are gripping mine, shoving my palms against the mirror on the wall behind the table. Our piercing gaze stays locked in the reflection as he runs his nose from the crook of my neck until his lips are brushing against my left ear.
    "Don't move your fucking hands from that mirror, love." His voice is so rough and his Irish lilt is so fucking thick it causes my knees buckle. Oh, but my hands... my hands never move and our intense stare never wavers. He grips the flesh of my hips until it hurts, before yanking my cut off sweatpants down my thighs. Then he kneels behind me and alternates kissing my chill bumped skin and scraping his teeth up my side until he bites my ribs just beside my right breast. "I need ya, love. Bloody hell, do I need you," he speaks around his clenched teeth before softly kissing his mark.
    "Been gentle with ya." His callused hands barely skim the surface of my skin on their way up, and I can't help myself.
    I beg.
    "Fuck. Please, Ryker."
    Just as his nails score the flesh covering my hip bones at the top of my panties, he demands, "Fuck. What?"
    His nails rake down my legs, pulling my panties and shorts off, and by the time he's towering over me with his eyes locked on mine I'm at the point again where I'd lay down my life to keep him from stopping.
    It's the point of no return, the point of no words. That's where we are, and that's when it hits me, I don't need any other high. He is...Fucking. Everything. And this...this is what I crave most. Him.
    Every moment before this has been soft, sweet and tender. Every time before this he's worshipped my skin on the alter of his love and it was perfect. But this...his anger and frustration and my submissive acceptance and appreciation for it…this is what we need right now.
    When his hands sink into my hair and jerk my head back, I cry out and whimper. Not because it hurts or because it frightens me, but because I know I'm finally going to have what I've always only ever wanted.
    His urgency tells me he needs me. That he hasn't been doing everything in his power to keep me happy and alive because I'm a poor little girl who needs someone else's help, he