3. Ivy #3
“Please what?” He grinds his pelvis against my clit with deliberate cruelty, the coarse hair there rasping against my swollen folds. The friction sends sparks shooting up my spine. “Please stop? Please more? You have to be specific, Ivy.”
“More. Please—God—more.” The words tumble out before I can cage them, my voice hoarse and trembling.
“Since you asked nicely.”
The rhythm shifts, becomes slower, deeper, each stroke dragging along every sensitive ridge inside me until I feel like I am coming apart at the seams. My head thunks back against the wall, baring the frantic flutter of my pulse.
West’s mouth latches on instantly, teeth grazing, tongue soothing, the wet heat of his kisses pulling desperate little sounds from me that I barely recognize as my own.
My thighs burn from gripping him so tightly, but I can’t let go. Can’t do anything but take what he gives.
“You’re shaking again,” he murmurs against the damp skin of my throat, the observation so quiet and certain it feels like he is peeling back another layer of me. “You always shake when you’re close. Did you know that?”
I hadn’t. His hand wedges between our slick bodies, two calloused fingers finding my clit with devastating precision. The first circling stroke wrenches a broken cry from me.
Pleasure coils tighter, sharper than before, almost frightening in its intensity—like standing at the edge of a cliff with rocks at the bottom.
“Come on, Ivy. One more. You can do it.”
“I can’t—” The protest dissolves into a sob as his thumb presses firmer, faster, never letting up.
“You can.” His breath ghosts hot over my ear, voice dropping into that low, certain register that wraps around my thoughts and refuses to let go. “You’re going to come on my cock and you’re going to say my name when you do. Understand?”
I nod so hard my neck aches, words beyond me now. The pressure builds like a storm surge, different this time—darker, heavier, threatening to drown me. My inner walls flutter wildly around his relentless length, squeezing him, milking him, the obscene wet sounds growing louder with every thrust.
“Say it.”
“West—” It comes out a whimper.
“Louder.”
“West!” The orgasm crashes into me with violent force, tearing through every muscle, every thought. My vision whites out. I scream his name, my entire body convulsing so hard I would fall if he weren’t holding me pinned to the wall.
Waves of blinding pleasure roll through me, leaving me limp and shuddering, my slick arousal coating his cock and dripping down my thighs.
He follows with a deep, guttural groan that vibrates against my chest, hips stuttering as he spills hot and thick inside me. The sensation of him pulsing, filling me, sends aftershocks rippling through my exhausted body.
For long moments we stay like that, locked together, our ragged breathing the only sound in the room. My cheek rests against his shoulder, the scent of sex and skin and him surrounding me completely.
I feel raw, claimed, and strangely safe in the cage of his arms—emotions I don’t want to examine too closely swirling behind my closed eyes.
West finally eases back just enough to study my face. Those usually unreadable blue eyes have gone soft, almost tender, as they trace over my flushed cheeks, my swollen lips, the wild strands of black hair stuck to my damp forehead.
He leans in and kisses me like he is drinking me in—slow, deliberate, unhurried. The gentleness of it after everything we just did makes my chest tighten painfully, a sweet ache blooming behind my ribs that has nothing to do with the delicious soreness between my legs.
When he pulls away, the loss of his mouth feels physical, like someone has carved something vital out of me. He lowers me carefully to my feet, one big hand steady at my waist when my knees immediately buckle.
The cool floor beneath my toes grounds me somewhat, but my body still hums, every inch of me marked by their hands, their mouths, their claim.
“You good?”
“Define good.” The words slip out on a shaky exhale, my usual sarcasm the only shield I have left.
That earns the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth—an almost-smile that feels like a reward. “Still got your sense of humor. That’s something.”
Knox materializes beside us, already in those loose gray sweatpants that hang indecently low on his hips. The warm scent of him—something darker, richer than West’s—wraps around me as he slides an arm behind my back. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you to bed.”
I blink at him, brain still floating somewhere above my body. “Bed?”
“Unless you want to sleep on the sofa.”
Sleep.
The concept feels foreign, almost laughable after the way they unraveled me. My legs feel like overcooked noodles, threatening to fold with every tentative step.
Knox’s arm tightens when I stumble, then, with an amused huff that ghosts warm against my temple, he simply bends and scoops me up against his broad chest.
The effortless way he cradles me makes fresh heat lick through my veins despite how thoroughly spent I am.
“I can walk,” I protest, though the words lack any real conviction. They sound slurred even to my own ears.
“Sure you can.”
His heartbeat thuds steady and strong beneath my cheek as he carries me down the hallway. The distant murmur of Roman’s low voice drifts from the living room, but I can’t focus on it.
All I feel is the solid heat of Knox’s body, the faint stickiness between my thighs, and the overwhelming certainty that whatever line we just crossed, there is no going back. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.
His bedroom is down the hall from mine, bigger and darker, the massive bed in the center looking like heaven. Knox sets me down on the mattress and I sink into it with a grateful sigh.
The sheets are cool against my overheated skin. I should probably shower. Should definitely process what just happened.
Instead, I close my eyes.
The bed dips beside me. Knox's arm comes around my waist, pulling me back against his chest. He's warm and solid, his breath stirring my hair.
"Sleep, Ivy."
I should argue. Should say something sharp and defensive, reestablish the walls that came down tonight.
But I'm so tired.
And he's so warm.
And for the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel safe.
My eyes drift closed. Knox's breathing evens out behind me, slow and steady, and I let it pull me under.