3. Ivy
IVY
I can't breathe.
Not from panic—from the sheer absurdity of still being able to feel my pulse everywhere. My thighs, my wrists, the back of my neck. Roman's weight is gone, but the impression of him lingers like a brand.
I blink up at the ceiling, chest heaving, and try to remember what normal breathing feels like. My body doesn't seem interested in the memo.
Everything is hypersensitive—the brush of air against my bare skin, the dampness between my legs, the pleasant ache settling deep in muscles I didn't know I had.
I just had sex.
With my stepbrother.
And his brothers are still in the room.
The thought should trigger some kind of crisis. Shame, maybe. Regret. Something appropriately mortified. Instead, all I feel is the electric hum of my own heartbeat and the startling realization that I want more.
Which is insane.
Completely insane.
"My turn."
Knox's voice cuts through the haze, warm and unhurried, like he's suggesting we order pizza instead of?—
Oh God.
I turn my head and there he is, leaning against the arm of the sofa, all six-foot-seven of him looking at me like I'm the most interesting thing he's seen all year. His grin is slow, easy, the kind that makes my stomach flip even though I'm still trying to remember how to form coherent sentences.
"You good, sweetheart?"
The pet name slides over my skin like honey. I should bristle. I should say something sharp and cutting, reestablish some kind of boundary before this spirals further out of control.
Instead, I hear myself say, "Define good."
His grin widens. "Still talking. That's a start."
I push myself up on shaky elbows, hyperaware of how exposed I am. My nightgown is somewhere on the floor. I'm naked, sprawled across the sofa like some kind of?—
"Don't."
Knox shifts closer, one hand reaching out to cup my jaw. His thumb brushes over my lower lip, gentle enough to make my breath hitch.
"Don't what?"
"Whatever you're thinking right now. That look on your face—stop it."
"I'm not?—"
"You are." His eyes crinkle at the corners, impossibly warm. "You're trying to talk yourself out of this. I can see it happening."
Busted.
I swallow hard, acutely aware of Roman somewhere behind me and West standing silent near the window. Three pairs of eyes. Three men who just watched their brother take my virginity and are now waiting for?—
"Hey." Knox's voice drops lower, pulling my attention back. "Stay with me."
"I am with you. I'm right here."
"Your body is. Your brain's doing laps." He leans in, close enough that I can smell him—clean soap and something darker underneath. "Let me help with that."
Before I can ask how, he kisses me.
It's nothing like Roman's kiss. Where Roman devoured, Knox savors. His mouth moves over mine slow and thorough, like he's memorizing the shape of my lips, the taste of me. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth and I open for him on instinct, the sound that escapes me embarrassingly needy.
He hums his approval against my lips. "There you go."
My brain is definitely not doing laps anymore. It's stopped functioning entirely.
Knox pulls back just far enough to meet my eyes, his hand sliding from my jaw down the column of my throat. "Want you on my lap, baby. Think you can do that for me?"
The question is casual, conversational, but the heat in his gaze makes it clear there's only one acceptable answer.
I nod.
"Use your words."
My face flames. "Yes. I can—yes."
"Good girl."
The praise hits me. I feel it everywhere, a rush of heat that makes my thighs clench. Knox notices—of course he notices—and his grin turns downright filthy.
He shifts back on the sofa, spreading his thighs in blatant invitation. I stare at him, my pulse hammering, and try to figure out how to move when my legs feel like they're made of water.
"Need help?"
"No. I'm fine. I can—" I push myself upright and immediately regret it. My inner thighs protest, a pleasant soreness that makes me acutely aware of what I just did. What I'm about to do again.
Knox watches me, his expression a mix of amusement and hunger. "Take your time. We've got all night."
I somehow manage to crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs, and the position makes me feel vulnerable in an entirely different way than I did with Roman. I'm fully exposed like this, every inch of bare skin on display, and Knox is looking at me like I'm something precious.
His hands settle on my waist, warm and steady. "You're shaking."
"I'm not—" I glance down and realize he's right. My hands are trembling where they rest on his shoulders. "Okay, maybe a little."
"Nervous?"
"Should I be?"
"Not with me." His thumbs trace slow circles against my hipbones. "But I'm bigger than Roman."
The statement is delivered so matter-of-factly that it takes me a second to process. When I do, my eyes drop between us and?—
Oh.
He's not exaggerating.
"That's—" I swallow hard. "How is that supposed to fit?"
Knox laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest into mine. "It'll fit, sweetheart. Trust me."
"You say that, but?—"
"Look at me." He waits until my gaze snaps back to his face. "I'm not going to hurt you. We're going to take this slow, and you're going to tell me if anything doesn't feel good. Understand?"
I nod.
"Ivy."
"Yes. I understand."
"That's my girl." He reaches between us, wrapping one hand around himself, and I can't look away. He strokes once, twice, his breathing going rougher. "Touch me."
"Where?"
"Anywhere you want."
My hands slide from his shoulders down the solid planes of his chest. His skin is hot under my palms, muscles shifting with each breath.
"You're stalling," Knox murmurs, but there's no impatience in his tone. Just warm amusement.
"I'm exploring."
"Mmm. Explore faster."
My hand replaces his, wrapping around the thick length of him, and he hisses through his teeth. The sound sends a bolt of satisfaction through me. I did that. I made him react.
"Fuck, baby. That's good." His hips lift into my grip. "Little tighter. Yeah, just like that."
I stroke him the way he was stroking himself, learning the weight and heat of him, the way his breathing changes when I twist my wrist at the top. His hands tighten on my waist, fingertips digging in just shy of bruising.
"Knox—"
"Right here. I've got you." He shifts his grip, lifting me slightly, positioning me over him. "Let me in, sweetheart. Nice and slow."
The blunt head of him presses against me and I freeze, my body clenching instinctively.
"Breathe," Knox says, his voice low and soothing. "You're so tight. Just breathe and let your body open up for me."
I force myself to inhale, to relax, and he pushes in another inch. The stretch is immediate and overwhelming, different from Roman but no less intense. My nails dig into his shoulders.
"That's it. Good girl. Look how well you're taking me." He rocks his hips in shallow pulses, working himself deeper by degrees. "Can you feel that? Feel how perfect you are?"
I can't answer. Every nerve ending in my body is focused on the place where we're joined, on the slow, devastating slide of him filling me. My head drops forward, forehead pressed against his.
"Talk to me, Ivy. Tell me how it feels."
"Big," I manage, the word coming out half-strangled. "You're—God, you're so big."
"And you're taking every inch." His hands slide from my waist to cup my ass, guiding me down further. "Almost there, baby. Just a little more."
I sink down the final distance and we both groan. He's fully seated now, stretching me in ways that should be impossible, and I can't move, can barely think past the fullness.
Knox's breathing is ragged against my ear. "You okay?"
"I don't know. Ask me later."
He huffs a laugh. "Fair enough." His hands squeeze gently. "Whenever you're ready. Set the pace."
I lift experimentally, just an inch, and the sudden drag of his thick cock along my inner walls sends white sparks across my vision.
The stretch burns in the most exquisite way, every ridged inch of him scraping against hypersensitive flesh that still feels too full, too invaded. When I sink back down, gravity and sheer need driving me, Knox’s fingers dig into my hips hard enough to leave marks I’ll feel for days.
A guttural breath punches out of him, hot and ragged against my throat.
“Fuck, sweetheart. Do that again.”
The command curls low in my belly, dark and velvet-rough. I obey, rising and falling in a slow, deliberate roll that lets me feel every devastating centimeter of him.
The wet, filthy sound of my pussy swallowing his cock fills the humid air between us, undeniable and obscene. Each repetition grows smoother, my body surrendering, learning the brutal width of him until the ache melts into liquid, pulsing pleasure.
His hands map me greedily—palming my ass, spreading me wider, guiding the rhythm until I’m grinding down with shameless little circles that make my clit kiss the base of his shaft.
Knox’s mouth follows the frantic beat of my pulse, sucking open-mouthed kisses down the column of my throat, teeth grazing the delicate ridge of my collarbone.
The scrape of his permanent stubble rasps against sweat-slick skin, sending electric shivers racing straight to my core.
“There you go,” he murmurs, the words vibrating straight into my bones. “Look at you. So fucking beautiful like this, riding your stepbrother's cock.”
The praise cracks something open inside my chest, a sweet, terrifying fracture that makes my breath hitch and my eyes sting. I move faster, chasing the coiling heat low in my belly, thighs flexing and burning with every slick slide.
He matches me perfectly, powerful hips snapping up to meet each downward stroke, the wet slap of skin on skin growing louder, more urgent.
Those big hands are everywhere at once—squeezing my waist, palming the heavy sway of my breasts, pinching a nipple until I whimper—then sliding between our sweat-slick bodies to find where we’re obscenely joined.