Chapter 12 Ivy #2
"You didn’t know you liked that, did you?"
"No," I gasp. " I didn’t… fuck, I do."
"I know you do," he says, mouth at my ear now. "You’re such a good little slut when someone finally gives you what you need."
Something inside me snaps.
It doesn’t feel like a climax… it feels like breaking open.
Like something raw and hidden inside me just tore loose and came surging to the surface, too big to contain, too sharp to name.
I come around his fingers with a ragged sob, thighs locking around his wrist, hips jerking in wild, uncontrolled rhythm. My muscles seize, tight and trembling, like they’re trying to trap the moment and never let it go.
Everything goes hot. Wet. Right.
I’m slick and pulsing, clenching down on him like I don’t ever want him to leave, like my body recognizes his touch as something it’s been starving for and finally, finally got.
My body bucks against him, hard, like I’ve lost control of my own skin. Like all I can do is ride the waves as they crash through me, fast and brutal and beautiful.
My chest is heaving. My breath won’t come in full. It’s all gasps and gasps and gasps… shallow and sharp, like I’m sobbing through every pulse of release.
The car feels too small. The air too thick. Everything is fogged, blurred at the edges, except for him. The weight of his arm braced behind me, the firm grip of his other hand between my thighs, soaked and unrelenting.
I claw at his shoulders without meaning to, nails catching in his shirt, like I need something to ground me or I’ll float out of my body entirely.
And still, he doesn’t pull away.
He keeps his fingers inside me, slow now, dragging through the oversensitive mess of me with a reverent kind of rhythm that makes me whimper and twitch with every flick.
Like he wants to feel every last ripple of it.
Like he’s savoring it.
Savoring me.
I tremble, undone, overwhelmed, mouth slack, body flushed to the tips of my toes. The aftershocks roll through me in stuttering waves, leaving me raw and aching and so fucking alive I could cry.
And when he finally withdraws his fingers, slow and careful, I let out a broken breath and collapse against the seat.
Wrecked.
Ruined.
Lit up from the inside.
"Fuck," Timothy growls, watching me. "You’re so hot when you fall apart."
I’m still trembling when he shoves his jeans down just enough, breath harsh against my neck. The space between us is tight, urgent. His cock is hot and thick between us, and there’s no pause, no question, no barrier… just need.
He grabs my hips, pulls me into his lap, and I straddle him in the narrow, steaming hot back seat, knees braced on either side, thighs shaking as I lower myself down. Slow, aching inches.
He slides in hard and deep in one perfect thrust.
I cry out, loud and ragged, as I take every inch. I swear I see stars. My walls stretch around him, greedy, clenching, desperate to keep him locked inside me.
"Damn," he groans, head falling back. "This pussy… fuck."
My hands fly to his shoulders, nails digging in like I might float away without him to anchor me. I roll my hips, needy and reckless, rocking against him like I’m trying to crawl out of my own skin.
The angle is filthy, deep enough to make me ache, to make me swear he’s splitting me open and rearranging everything inside.
He grips my ass with both hands, spreading me wider, using me, guiding my rhythm with bruising control as he thrusts up into me with sharp, possessive snaps of his hips.
"You were made for this," he grits out. "You were made for me."
"Yes," I gasp, voice wrecked. "Yes… please, don’t stop."
"Not gonna stop," he growls, "until I fuck the smart mouth right off your face."
I whimper. Actually whimper.
And that gets his attention.
His eyes go darker. His mouth curves into something feral.
"Ohhh," he laughs, low and hot. "That’s what does it for you."
I try to shake my head, to deny it, but he thrusts up again, deep and merciless, and I cry out… a strangled, needy sound that betrays everything.
"You like this," he says, voice velvet wicked. "You like being taken. Used. You want to be good… but fuck, baby, you love it when I’m not gentle."
My whole body clenches at his words.
"You love hearing how filthy you are. How perfect you feel… like this."
He thrusts again, harder. "A mess in my lap. So wet for me. So fucking desperate to be filled."
"I… I didn’t know I liked…" I stammer, barely able to form words.
"I know," he whispers, kissing the side of my neck, his breath hot and shivery against my skin. "That’s what makes it so fucking beautiful. You're learning what you are." He licks a slow line just under my jaw. "And what you are right now is mine."
The pressure builds again, fast and wicked and sharp.
My legs are trembling. My heart’s in my throat. I can feel the slick mess of us with every grinding roll of my hips, the raw friction of skin on skin, just him, just me, just this terrifying, wild heat between us.
And then he kisses me.
He kisses me… deep and slow and sweet, like he’s flipping the switch again, showing me the other side of it.
The tenderness under the filth.
The wanting under the use.
Like he’s saying: I see you. I choose you.
It undoes me.
I come with a sound that doesn’t even feel human… high and broken and full body. My back arches. My walls clamp down around him, desperate and pulsing and greedy.
"Fuck," he snarls, burying himself as deep as he can go.
He comes with a rough groan, hips jerking, arms banded tight around me, like he needs to hold me together even as we fall apart.
Everything is sweat slicked and shaking and real.
The windows are fogged beyond recognition.
My breath is coming in ragged gasps.
My thighs are sticky with proof of what we just did. My body’s sore. Used. Claimed.
And I feel alive.
He strokes a hand down my spine, slow and warm and grounding.
"You okay?" he whispers, mouth brushing my temple.
I nod, forehead still pressed to his. "Yeah," I breathe. "More than okay."
It should scare me.
It does scare me.
But it also makes me want to do it again.