7. Ivy #2
Knox crouches down, one hand braced on the grass beside my shoulder. "You knew we'd see you."
"Maybe."
"Not maybe," West says. Quiet. Certain. "You knew."
I sit up, propping myself on my elbows. Look at each of them in turn. "So what are you going to do about it?"
Silence.
Then Roman moves.
He kneels beside me, one hand sliding under my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb brushes my bottom lip, and my breath stutters.
"You sure?" he asks.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"That's not an answer."
I hold his gaze. "Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I'm sure."
His grip tightens. Just enough. "Good girl."
Heat floods through me, sharp and immediate. Knox laughs, low and filthy, and shifts closer. West stays where he is, watching, that stillness he has settling over him like a second skin.
Roman kisses me.
Not gentle. Not testing. Just takes, his mouth hot and demanding, his hand sliding into my hair. I open for him, let him in, and the sound he makes—low, possessive—sends a shiver down my spine.
Knox's hand finds my thigh. "Look at you," he says, voice warm. "Already shaking and we haven't even started."
I pull back from Roman just enough to glare at Knox. "Shut up."
"Make me."
I reach for him, but Roman catches my wrist. "Not yet."
"Not yet what?"
"Not yet anything." He releases me and sits back on his heels. "West. Come here."
West moves. Not fast, but deliberate, crossing the grass until he's kneeling beside me. His hand finds my ankle, thumb pressing into the hollow beneath the bone, and I suck in a breath.
"You're nervous," he says.
"I'm not."
"Liar."
Roman's hand slides down my stomach, fingers spreading wide just above the waistband of my underwear. "She's not nervous. She's turned on."
"Same thing," I say.
Knox grins. "Not even close, sweetheart."
Roman's fingers dip lower. Not inside—just enough to make me arch, make my breath catch. "Tell us what you want."
"You."
"Us," Knox corrects. "All three."
I nod.
Roman's eyes darken. "Say it."
"I want all three of you."
"Good girl," he says again, and this time I don't have the presence of mind to argue.
He hooks his fingers into my underwear and pulls. I lift my hips, let him strip me, and then I'm bare except for the bra. Knox reaches for that next, unclasping it with one hand, sliding the straps down my arms until there's nothing between us but sun and air.
"Christ," Knox breathes. "Look at you."
West's hand is still on my ankle. He drags it up, slow, over my calf, the inside of my knee, my thigh. Stops just before he reaches where I'm aching.
"Tell us," he says.
"Tell you what?"
"What you want us to do."
I swallow. "Touch me."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
Roman leans down, mouth brushing my ear. "Be specific."
My brain short-circuits. I can't think when he's this close, when Knox's hands are on my ribs, when West is watching me like I'm the only thing in the world worth looking at.
"I want—" My voice cracks. "I want Roman inside me. I want Knox's cock in my mouth. I want West to?—"
"To what?" West asks.
"To watch. To tell me what I look like."
Silence. Then Roman groans, low and rough. "Fuck. Okay."
He shifts, positioning himself between my legs, and I hear the sound of his belt, the rasp of his zipper. Knox moves to my side, one hand cupping my jaw, tilting my head toward him.
"Open," he says.
I do.
His cock slides between my parted lips, thick and velvet-smooth, stretching my jaw until the corners of my mouth burn. I seal my lips around him and hollow my cheeks, tongue pressing up along the heavy underside as he sinks deeper.
The salty musk of him floods my senses, warm skin and clean sweat and something darker that makes my pulse throb between my legs. Knox’s fingers twist tighter in my hair, not yanking, just anchoring, and the low rumble that vibrates through his chest feels like praise I can taste.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Just like that. Fuck, my stepsister's mouth is perfect.”
Roman’s broad palms clamp down on my hips, dragging me backward across the sun-warmed grass until my knees scrape lightly.
He lines himself up, the blunt, scorching head of his cock nudging my soaked folds apart, and then he drives in—one long, merciless glide that forces every inch of my walls to yield.
The sudden, overwhelming fullness rips a broken moan from my throat that vibrates straight around Knox. My eyes water; my thighs tremble.
Knox curses, hips stuttering forward before he catches himself. The salty tang on my tongue intensifies as he throbs against the back of my throat.
“Easy,” Roman growls, voice gravel-rough and strained. “Let her breathe.”
Knox eases back just enough for me to drag in air through my nose. His thumb strokes my cheekbone, almost tender. “You good?”
The worry in his tone melts something deep in my chest even as my body screams for more. I nod frantically around him, saliva already slicking my chin. His grin is audible. “Yeah, you are.”
Roman begins to move.
At first the strokes are deliberate, dragging that thick length along every sensitive ridge inside me until my toes curl into the grass. Then the pace turns punishing.
Each thrust punches the breath from my lungs and sends sparks exploding behind my eyelids. The wet, filthy sound of him slamming into my dripping pussy fills the air between our ragged breaths. My clit throbs untouched, aching, sending liquid heat spiraling higher with every impact.
West’s large hand finds mine where it’s fisted in the grass. I latch on like a lifeline, nails digging into his tattooed knuckles. He squeezes back, steady, grounding, while his low voice curls around me like smoke.
“Look at you. Taking both of them so deep. So fucking pretty when you’re stuffed full.”
The words lance straight through me. A helpless whimper vibrates around Knox’s cock. My inner walls flutter and clamp down hard on Roman, and he hisses through his teeth, fingers bruising my hips.
“She likes that,” Roman says, almost accusing, almost proud.
Knox’s laugh is dark, breathless. “She likes a lot of things. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
I can’t answer. My mind has fractured into pure sensation—the relentless drag of Roman’s cock stretching me open, the heavy weight of Knox sliding over my tongue, the cool grass against my overheated skin, the sun beating down on me.
Every nerve feels lit up, raw, exposed. Pressure coils tighter and tighter in my belly until my thighs shake violently and tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
Roman’s rhythm fractures. “Fuck—Ivy?—”
I try to beg around the thick shaft filling my mouth. “Come.” It emerges a wet, desperate garble, but they understand. Roman slams deep one final time, burying himself to the hilt as he erupts.
The hot rush of him spilling inside me triggers my own shattering orgasm; my walls spasm wildly, milking every pulse from him while white-hot pleasure crashes through me in brutal waves. My scream is muffled, but my body tells them everything—clenching, shuddering, dripping down my thighs.
Knox swears savagely and pulls free. A moment later thick ropes of his release stripe across my breasts and collarbone, hot and sticky against my flushed skin. The scent of sex thickens the air, heady and obscene.
They ease back, chests heaving.
I’m still trembling, still clenching around nothing, when West’s hands close on me. In one fluid motion he flips me onto my stomach. Cool blades of grass press into my sensitive nipples and the mess on my chest.
He yanks my hips up high, knees spreading me wide, and I feel the blunt pressure of his cock nudging my swollen, cum-slick entrance.
“My turn,” he says, voice low and certain, like the words have already come true.