Chapter 46 Ivy
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Ivy
Freddie: Meet us at The Hollow for drinks?
I glance up from my phone to spot them in the back corner of the bar. Freddie, nursing something dark. Mitchell, leaning back with his usual don't screw with me slouch. Timothy, quiet and watchful, like he’s already ten steps ahead of whatever conversation they’re about to have.
When I slide into the booth, they all look up at once.
“Woah,” Tim laughs. “That was quick.”
I offer him a one shouldered shrug. “Sounded like a fun party.”
Freddie’s the one who answers the unspoken question in the room. “It’s done.”
I blink. “You mean… Trina?”
I know that’s what they were trying to sort today.
He nods. “She signed. Took the check. Walked out.”
I sit back, staring. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” Timothy says. “That about covers it.”
I look at Freddie. He’s not gloating. Not celebrating. He looks… tired. Wrung out. Someone who just cut off the last infected limb and is waiting to see if the fever breaks.
“Are you okay?”
He shrugs. “Not really. But Penny is. That’s what matters.”
I nod, slow. There’s nothing to say that doesn’t feel small. So I don’t say anything. Just sip my drink and let the silence be what it is… earned.
The boys drift into lighter topics. Mitchell tells some wild story about a guy who wanted a full chest piece of a velociraptor holding a margarita. Tim corrects the details twice. Freddie chuckles, a real one, but it doesn’t reach all the way.
By the time we’re getting ready to leave, it’s close to midnight and the rain’s turned to a mist that clings to everything.
Mitchell tosses a couple bills on the table and jerks his chin toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s go home. Ivy, you in?”
“Yeah,” I grin. “I’m in.”
I ride with them back to Mitchell’s house, a small little rancher tucked away in a hallow. I love it. It suites him and his reclusive lifestyle, but I don’t have time to register any details before we’re rushing up the steps and pushing into the house.
The door clicks shut behind us, a trigger pulled.
Mitchell’s on me before the sound even fades. His hands find my waist, then slide lower, possessive and sure. His mouth crashes into mine, hot, ravenous, no pretense, and then he’s turning me, pushing me back toward the bed, he needs me there.
His fingers grip the hem of my dress, dragging it up in one sharp, hungry motion. His breath stutters when he realizes.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice already unraveling. “You’re not wearing panties?”
I smile against his mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Didn’t see the point.”
The dress slips off my shoulders, like it wants to be taken. It puddles at my feet with a whisper, and the temperature in the room spikes. The air turns electric.
Freddie’s suddenly there, sinking to his knees beside the bed, all heat and shadow and intent. His hands slide under my thighs, strong, calloused, urgent, as he pulls me to the edge.
I brace on my elbows, breath caught, pulse hammering. His eyes meet mine as his scruff brushes the inside of my thigh.
“You want efficient?” he rasps. “Efficient is making you fall apart before they even get to touch you.”
Behind me, Timothy’s fingers skim down my spine, light, teasing, knowing. His mouth follows, slow and deliberate, trailing fire over skin. When he reaches my back, my bra unhooks with a practiced flick. The lace slides down my arms in a sigh.
“Let him show off,” Timothy murmurs, voice thick with anticipation. “We’ve got all night.”
And then Freddie’s mouth is on me.
Hot. Skilled. Starving.
He licks me, memorizing me. I’m his favorite sin. Every stroke of his tongue is precision filth, slow enough to tease, firm enough to make me gasp. He doesn’t rush, until he feels it. The tremble in my thighs. The breath that catches. The moment I start to climb.
Then he devours me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
It’s deliberate. It’s messy and greedy and obscene. He eats as if he’s dying and I’m the only cure.
I cry out, back arching, body already strung tight. Mitchell’s there in a flash, gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head, holding me down, like he knows I might fly apart.
“Damn, Ivy,” he growls, voice hoarse and ragged. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”
I fall apart, hips jerking, thighs shaking, a desperate moan ripping from my throat as pleasure crashes over me in a storm surge. Freddie doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He holds me through every wave, tongue relentless, fingers digging into my thighs, he likes how hard he’s wrecking me.
I barely catch my breath before they’re moving again.
Mitchell strips. He’s done waiting. Shirt gone, jeans shoved low, cock hard and flushed, glistening at the tip. My mouth actually waters. The look he gives me is molten.
“You look like a fucking dream,” he mutters, wrapping a fist around himself. “And I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”
Timothy’s already sliding in behind me, bare and solid, pressing kisses down my neck, like he’s writing a promise there.
Mitchell’s mouth crashes into mine, hot and claiming, his hands already at my wrists, dragging them above my head.
“Stay there,” he commands, voice low and rough. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
He pulls his belt from his jeans in one smooth motion. The sound makes me shiver. He wraps it tight around my wrists, binds me to the headboard.
Freddie watches from the edge of the bed, still shirtless, still wrecked from eating me like he was starving. There’s a flush across his chest, his jaw tight with restraint.
“You love this,” he says, almost talking to himself. “All tied up for us. Dripping already.”
I whimper, arching my back, aching for contact. “Please…”
Timothy leans over me, mouth grazing my ear. “Tell us what you want, sweetheart. Use your words.”
“Touch me. Fuck me. I don’t care who goes first, just, please.”
Mitchell growls, positioning himself between my legs. “You will care. You’re going to take us all, just like this. Helpless. Spread. Owned.”
His cock pushes inside slow. A stretch that makes my toes curl. I’m soaked, pulsing, still oversensitive from Freddie’s mouth, and the belt around my wrists only heightens the ache.
“Please, yes,” I gasp, hips straining against the bed.
Mitchell sets a brutal pace, fucking into me with hard, possessive strokes that make the headboard slam into the wall. He’s rougher now. Meaner. One hand closes around my throat, not choking, just holding, making everything sharper. Brighter.
Freddie cups my cheek, his thumb brushing my lip. “Open.”
I do.
He slides into my mouth, thick and hot, his voice breaking on a curse. “Fuck, Ivy.”
His hand tightens in my hair as I suck him slow and deep, every inch of him, every pulse. The angle’s tight, Mitchell still fucking me deep, Timothy pressed behind me, hands steady on my hips.
And then Timothy slides inside my rear with the slick, thick heat of his cock.
My scream is muffled around Freddie as Timothy sinks in.
“Feel that?” he growls. “So full. So fucking tight. You were made for this.”
Mitchell holds my thighs apart. Freddie fucks my mouth with careful control, eyes blazing. Timothy drives into me from behind with deep, devastating thrusts.
I’m nothing but sensation.
Every inch of me is owned, filled, held, claimed.
I’m wrecked.
I’m worshipped.
And when I come again, I swear I black out for a second.
The orgasm crashes over me in a damn tidal wave, violent, raw, endless. I shake, sobbing around Freddie’s cock as my body clenches hard around Timothy, around everything.
Mitchell’s hand is on my thigh, gripping tight, his voice ragged. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of us.”
He pulls out with a groan, fisting himself over my belly. I barely register the hot splash of his release before Timothy growls and slams in one last time, spilling deep with a hoarse curse.
Freddie’s the last, his hips jerking, fingers tightening in my hair as he comes in my mouth, gasping my name as a prayer.
When it’s over, I collapse into the sheets, wrists still bound, lips swollen, body shaking and spent.
They take care of me after, slow and sweet.
Mitchell unties my wrists and kisses each one. Timothy wipes me clean with warm water, murmuring soft praise. Freddie gathers me into his arms and lets me curl against his chest, his hand stroking my back until my breathing slows.
I lie there in the center of them, raw, flushed, marked and absolutely, completely claimed.
And for once, there’s no ache in my chest. No doubt clawing at my ribs.
Only this deep, aching certainty that I am exactly where I belong.