12. Ivy #2
I’m a mess, dripping with him, stretched and oversensitive, but when Ethan commands, my body obeys before my mind catches up.
I slide off his lap on shaking legs and turn for him, crawling up the mattress until I’m on all fours.
My chest sinks into the bed while my ass stays high, exposed and flushed, and I hear the way he groans behind me. “Fuck, baby.”
His hand grips my hip. The other spreads me open, fingers parting my swollen folds. “You’re leaking all over the sheets. Look at that, my cum dripping out of this perfect pussy.”
I whimper, face buried in the mattress. Then he’s there, thick, somehow still rock-hard, dragging the head of his cock through my wetness.
He rubs it up and down, teasing my entrance, smearing his own cum back into me.
I try to rock back, desperate to feel him again, but he grabs my hip and holds me still.
“Nuh-uh. You take what I give you. Nothing more.”
My breath hitches as he lines up again. This time, the first thrust is slower. He sinks in inch by inch, stretching me wide all over again. My moan is long, shaky, helpless.
He starts to move, hips rolling. I cry out with every thrust, pushing back, chasing the drag of his cock over every nerve ending. He fucks me like he owns me. Like he’s not done proving I belong to him.
“You wanted it rough,” he growls, one hand sliding up my back, pressing me down deeper into the mattress. “So take it. Let me fuck you open again.”
He thrusts harder. Deeper. My ass slaps against his hips with every movement, loud and wet, my moans climbing higher.
“Touch yourself,” he says suddenly.
I obey, fingers sliding between my thighs, circling my clit. My walls flutter around him as I rub fast and desperate, already close again.
“That’s it,” he says, panting. “Get yourself off while I fuck this pussy raw.”
I’m babbling now. Can’t hold still. Can’t hold back.
“Please, Ethan. Please, I’m gonna?—”
“You come when I say.”
I whine, biting the sheets.
He shifts his angle, one hand gripping my shoulder, the other sliding under me to cup my breast, squeezing it roughly as he fucks up into me from behind. His cock hits deeper now, curved just right, dragging over that spot that makes me scream.
“Now.”
I shatter. The orgasm tears through me, hard and fast, pleasure crashing down like lightning, everything pulsing and convulsing around him. I scream his name into the sheets as I come, cunt milking him in waves.
Ethan groans like I’ve broken him all over again. His hips slam forward, cock throbbing inside me, and he comes again with a guttural sound that makes my spine arch.
Hot, thick pulses flood me again. His grip on my hip tightens as he empties into me, cock twitching until there’s nothing left. He collapses over my back, both of us breathless, soaked in sweat, completely spent.
Ethan doesn’t pull out right away. He stays inside me, chest pressed to my back, his hand splayed across my waist like he’s anchoring himself. Or maybe me.
His breath is warm against my neck. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest, the way it shudders every few seconds like he’s still coming down from the high.
Neither of us speaks, not until he leans in and presses a kiss between my shoulder blades.
Soft. Slow. Nothing like the way he just fucked me.
“You okay?” he murmurs against my skin.
I nod into the sheets, voice still shaky. “Yeah.”
“You sure?”
There’s something in his voice now. Rough, but quieter. Protective. I’ve heard him growl. I’ve heard him command. But this is different.
I turn my head, just enough for him to see my face. “I’m more than okay.”
His lips twitch at the corner like he doesn’t believe me yet, like he needs more than words.
So I reach for his hand where it still grips my hip and lace my fingers through his. He squeezes back immediately, grounding me.
“I didn’t hurt you?” he asks, quieter now.
I smile, breath still catching around the edges. “Only in the ways I wanted you to.”
That earns a small, rumbling laugh. He finally pulls out, slowly and carefully, and I bite my lip at the oversensitive drag. I feel his cum trickle out of me the moment he’s gone. My thighs twitch. I’m a mess.
My whole body aches in places I forgot existed. And yet, this is the most alive I’ve felt in all this year, maybe ever, except when I learned I was going to be a mom. A sob rises to my throat, but I swallow and push it back.
I want to tell him. Not because I have to. Not because I’m running out of time or options. But because somehow, impossibly, I trust him.
But what if I’m wrong? What if the moment I open my mouth, the moment I hand him the truth, it’s over? What if he pulls away, says the wrong thing, looks at me differently? What if the heat in his eyes turns to distance, or worse, pity?
And God, what if he stays, only for Daniel to sink his claws into him the way he’s sunk them into me?
Daniel doesn’t need love to hurt someone. He doesn’t need a weakness to exploit—he creates one. And Ethan, with all his strength and silence and shadows, might be more vulnerable than he even realizes.
If Daniel knew, if he found out that Ethan is the father, he’d weaponize it. And maybe I’m not just afraid of what Ethan will do when I tell him. Maybe I’m terrified of what Daniel will do if Ethan chooses to stay.
I want to stay in this moment, in the warm, tangled quiet we’ve made between us, but the ache between my thighs and the rising tide of thoughts in my chest are already pulling me out of it.
“I should shower,” I murmur.
He doesn’t answer right away, just presses one last kiss to the back of my neck, then sits up, shifting off the bed to grab the blanket from where it slipped onto the floor.
I slide out from under him slowly, wincing a little as I move, but he’s already at my side, helping me steady myself without making a big deal of it. There’s something careful in the way he touches me now, like he knows I’m still riding the edge of something I haven’t named.
The bathroom is small and steamy within seconds, and as I stand under the water, letting it run over my body, I press a hand to my belly, where joy still lingers like a quiet reminder.
When I finally emerge, skin damp and hair piled into a loose bun, the room is dim but somehow warmer. Ethan’s pulled the comforter back into place and lit the lamp on the nightstand. He stands by the window, shirtless, one hand cradling a mug, the other tucked into the back pocket of his jeans.
When he sees me, his gaze softens.
“You okay?”
I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. “Yeah.”
He walks over and holds out the mug. It’s warm in my hands, sweet and rich, and the first sip tells me it’s some kind of decadent hot chocolate.
I didn’t even know there was chocolate in the fridge, but damn, is this good.
Not the instant kind. Real, thick, too indulgent for this hour of the night cocoa.
“You didn’t have to?—”
“You looked like you needed something comforting.”
I manage a quiet laugh, the kind that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “You’re not wrong.”
We stand there for a moment, not touching, just breathing in the quiet space that’s filled with so many unsaid things. I sip from the mug again, watching him over the rim. He doesn’t press. Doesn’t push. Just waits.
“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” I say finally. My voice is soft, hesitant. “But just for tonight, okay?”
He gives me a rueful little chuckle. “Okay.”
“I’m serious, Ethan.” I try to hold his gaze, even though it hurts to say it. “It’s just for tonight.”
He nods. “I know.”
He doesn’t ask for more, doesn’t try to negotiate space that I’m not offering. Instead, he takes the mug from my hands, sets it aside, and wraps the comforter around my shoulders, tucking it gently under my arms like I might unravel if he lets go.
“Come here,” he murmurs.
I let him pull me toward the bed, his hands warm and steady as he guides me beneath the covers. When he lies down beside me, it’s not possessive. It’s quiet. Careful. His arm slips around my waist again, just like before, palm resting low over my belly.
I settle into him, letting the tension drain slowly from my shoulders, even as the pressure behind my ribs remains. My hand drifts down, covers his, and I close my eyes. In this quiet moment, with Ethan’s breaths brushing the back of my neck and the city sleeping outside, I let them live inside me.
The baby is yours.
You’re the father.
And I don’t know what will happen when I say it.
I don’t know if you’ll stay.
I don’t know if this thing between us is strong enough to survive it, or if it’ll crumble under the weight of everything we never said.
But I want to believe it could be different this time.
I want to believe that telling you the truth won’t ruin everything, that maybe it’s the only way we get to something real.
And still, the fear sits heavily in my chest, curling tightly around my ribs.
Because if I’m wrong and if you leave, if Daniel finds out, if this ends the way every other thing in my life seems to—then I won’t just lose you. I’ll lose this fragile, terrifying hope I’ve been clinging to.