HIS ENTERTAINER

Chapter 23

NO ONE'S POV.

Norman sat on Genevieve's side of the bed for the seventh night in a row, a statue carved from grief and guilt. His gaze was vacant, his eyes focused inward on a landscape of pain. Thoughts of Genevieve, his partner, his love, swirled in his mind, a relentless tide. He shook his head, lifting a beer bottle to his lips-empty. He couldn't even remember drinking it. He sighed, a sound heavy with despair. His mind was a battlefield, a chaotic mess. He should be plotting revenge, immersed in the intricate web of his plan, riding the wave of his anger. But he was adrift, lost in a sea of sorrow. A vital part of him was missing, shrouded in a fog as thick as the rain outside.

The phone lay in his hand, its presence as unexpected as its arrival. He looked down at the empty beer bottle lying on the floor, a silent testament to his numb state. He dialed a number etched into his memory, his hand trembling slightly. He waited, holding his breath, the silence amplifying the turmoil within.

"Hello," a voice, smooth and chilling, answered.

"I want to kill Sebastian Rodriguez," Norman said, his voice a low growl.

"You dare quite alot," the voice countered, "a pin on Godfather's head is no joke, what could you possibly offer in return?" The voice sharp and unwavering.

Norman paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath. "I can give you what Mr.Grants desires most." He spoke the words, but a cold dread coiled in his guts. He was broken, his spirit fractured. He craved revenge against a man he couldn't defeat, yet here was a chance, a dangerous, desperate chance, and he couldn't afford to squander it.

There was a pause then the voice asked surprisingly.
"Ivy Silver?."

_______________________________________________
IVY SILVER POV.

A week had passed,
and I'd barely left my room. Carlos had checked on me a few times, and Hermann hadn't left my side. I'd seen Miguel downstairs, his face etched with sorrow, and Norman avoided my gaze entirely. I understood his anger, his hatred. He blamed me, and I knew it was okay. His anger was a mask for his own pain, his alcoholism a self-inflicted wound. Hermann insisted on keeping me under close watch.

Genevieve was constantly on my mind. I'd asked Hermann about her, but he'd refused my request to see her, his tone firm, his denial absolute.

Rain lashed against the windows. I sat on the bed, my arms wrapped around my knees, a prisoner of my own grief. Hermann emerged from the bathroom, clad only in trousers, his tattooed torso exposed. His gaze softened as he looked at me.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice gentle.

I drew a deep breath, the words catching in my throat. "Do you think my mother is alive?"

"Ivy, I promise you-I'll bring her back to you," he said, his voice filled with a quiet determination.

"If she's dead?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

"Then I'll bring her bones back for a proper burial," he replied, his eyes locking with mine, a fierce intensity in their depths. He approached me, his presence both comforting and unsettling. His arms encircled me, pulling me close.

"I promise," he whispered, leaning down to press a soft kiss to my lips. I responded, my lips meeting his, a desperate need for connection. His hands moved over my body, exploring, caressing. I leaned into him, my body aching for his touch. His strong hands gripped my waist, drawing me closer. His lips found mine again, a deeper, more passionate kiss.
He held the hem of my oversized shirt and gently lifted it off my body, the cool air a sudden contrast to the warmth of his touch. My breasts were exposed, and his gaze lingered on them, a mixture of admiration and desire in his eyes. He caressed them with his hand, his fingers tracing the delicate curves, his touch sending shivers down my spine. He pinched my nipples gently, and I moaned, a low, throaty sound. He leaned forward, his lips finding the sensitive skin of my neck, his tongue tracing a delicate path that ignited a fire within me. I arched my back, my body yearning for more. He pulled me back to him, our lips meeting in a deep, passionate kiss. My hands ran through his hair, my fingers tangling in the thick strands. His hands moved to my waist, his touch possessive, demanding.

He pulled away from the kiss, and I whimpered in protest, my body already aching for his touch. His eyes were dark, intense, and he seemed to be toying with me, savoring my anticipation. He stared at my naked body, his gaze lingering on every curve, every detail. I bit my lip, my desire for him growing stronger, more desperate. I wanted him, needed him, but he didn't move, prolonging the exquisite torture. I tried to hide my eagerness, but my body betrayed me, my moans escaping my lips.

A slow smile played on his lips, a smirk of triumph. He helped me lie down, his eyes still fixed on me, his gaze both admiring and possessive. He unfastened the buttons of his trousers, slowly, deliberately, his movements teasing, tormenting. He pulled his pants down his legs, his body revealed in all its glory. His hand moved down my stomach, his fingers tracing the delicate line of my hip, before settling between my legs. He buried his face between my thighs, his lips finding my clitoris. I gasped, a sharp intake of breath, my body convulsing with pleasure. His tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, his touch sending waves of sensation through me. His fingers found their way inside me, and I cried out, a mixture of pain and pleasure. He moved his fingers rhythmically, expertly, his touch sending me spiraling into a vortex of intense pleasure. I arched my back, my body writhing beneath him, my fingers digging into the sheets.

Then, he entered me, a single, powerful thrust that took my breath away. I moaned, tightening around him. He moved inside me, slowly at first, then faster, harder, his rhythm perfectly matching my own. I gripped his back, my nails digging into his skin, my body convulsing with each thrust. We moaned in unison, our bodies intertwined, our breaths ragged. The pleasure intensified, building to a crescendo, until we reached a simultaneous climax, a shared explosion of sensation. He remained inside me, still and motionless, his body heavy against mine, as we both came down from the heights of our passion.

We lay there, entwined, our bodies slick with sweat and passion. He ran his fingers through his hair, catching his breath, his chest rising and falling with each labored breath. After a few moments, he looked at me, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice low and husky.

And I was more than eager to see.

Thank you lovelies for reading this chapter. Your support is strength.