Chapter 43 – IVY
Chapter
Forty-Three
IVY
It all starts with a kiss.
One second they're in each other's faces, snarling about something stupid and the next Whiskey's mouth is on Plague's and the entire room shifts.
I sit up straighter in my nest.
Oh.
Whiskey kisses like he does everything else.
Full throttle, no brakes. His hands are fisted in Plague's turtleneck, dragging him closer, and Plague is letting him.
Plague's long fingers twist in Whiskey's flannel, knuckles white against the red plaid, and I watch his pale eyes flutter closed as Whiskey devours him.
Heat pools low in my belly. My thighs press together and my scent spikes. Even I can smell the honeysuckle flooding the room.
They stumble toward the loveseat, still bitching at each other.
Whiskey forcefully guides Plague backward until they hit the loveseat in a tangle of limbs, furniture creaking ominously.
Whiskey ends up on top, grinning down at the other alpha.
His thighs are like tree trunks bracketing Plague's lean hips.
Despite Whiskey not being that much taller than Plague, the size difference between the two alphas is immense.
It’s fucking hot.
His hands go to Plague's turtleneck. "This needs to go."
"Absolutely not." Plague grabs his wrists.
I tense, waiting for the fight. Waiting for Whiskey to push, to insist, to take what he wants anyway.
"Okay," Whiskey says simply. No argument. "Pants though?"
Things progress from there. Belt. Button. Zipper. Plague's cock springs free, flushed and hard against his stomach, and Whiskey just stares like Plague’s giving him a gift. And then Whiskey's mouth is on him and I watch the ice prince of the Ghosts completely lose his mind.
"Did you learn to give head in a tornado?" Plague chokes out.
I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my laugh.
Whiskey pulls off with an obscene pop. "You complaining?"
"I'm providing constructive criticism."
"Here's some constructive criticism for you."
He swallows Plague down again—deeper—and Plague keens. Back arching, head thrown back, dark hair spilling loose over his shoulders, throat bared. His hands fist in Whiskey's hair as he cries out and snarls at the same time.
The sound goes straight to my core. I'm slick already, heat or no heat, because fuck watching all that ice crack might be the hottest thing I've ever seen.
He comes with a snarl that might be Whiskey's name, might be cursing in three different languages at once. His whole body shakes through it, and I watch him shatter.
If he can let go like that, maybe I can too.
The thought catches me off guard.
They bicker through the aftermath. Whiskey smug and insufferable as always, Plague trying to recover his dignity while still lying there with his cock out. Then Whiskey's pants come off, revealing a fucking huge cock, thick and flushed dark, precome already beading at the tip.
His turn.
My mouth actually waters.
I watch Plague take him into his mouth with some difficulty, letting out a muffled grunt when Whiskey’s thick shaft stretches his jaw. Even giving head, they can't stop competing. There's teeth involved at some point. I can tell by Whiskey's snarl and the way his hand tightens in Plague's hair.
"Watch it," Whiskey growls, yanking Plague closer.
The energy shifts. Sharper. More dangerous.
"No fighting," I warn them.
They both freeze, eyes snapping to me.
The whole point was proving they could control themselves. And they stopped the moment I spoke. Even now, even this far gone.
Another point for these two alphas.
"Hey, Ivy," Whiskey says, voice strained but somehow still casual. "You can touch him if you want. Show you it's safe."
My heart stutters.
Plague turns to look at me, and gods, he's wrecked. Dark hair wild around his face, those usually cold and impassive eyes nearly black with want, lips swollen, face flushed. All that composure completely shattered.
"It's fine," he manages. "If you want to."
And fuck me, I do want to be part of whatever this is instead of just watching from the sidelines.
I slide off the bed and approach slowly. When I'm close enough, I reach for him.
"Good boy," I purr.
His whole body shudders. His cock twitches hard against his stomach.
Oh. That's useful information.
What follows is a blur. My hand wrapped around Plague's cock, learning what makes him gasp and writhe. Whiskey shoving his cock back into Plague's mouth, the angle deeper now, more intense. The three of us tangled together in ways I never planned for.
Plague's cheekbones are flushed pink, his dark lashes fanned against his skin, lips stretched obscenely around Whiskey's thick shaft. The wet sounds he's making are making me squirm, pressing my thighs together to relieve the building pressure in my throbbing pussy.
My thumb caresses the head of Plague's cock and he snarls around Whiskey, hips jerking up into my grip.
"He is beautiful," I admit, watching Plague take everything Whiskey's giving him. My words make Plague’s hips stutter and his throbbing cock jerks in my hand.
Oh yeah. Plague definitely likes to be praised.
"Yeah," Whiskey manages. "Kinda is, isn't he?"
He is. Hot and heavy in my palm, twitching every time I stroke, broken sounds from his stuffed throat slipping past Whiskey's cock.
Whiskey comes first with a stuttering roar. Plague swallows around him, and I speed up my strokes until he follows, spilling over my hand with a muffled snarl.
"Beautiful," I praise him again, working him through it.
They collapse against each other, breathing hard.
Whiskey says something, or maybe it’s Plague, but I’m not even paying attention right now.
It takes everything I have to not start touching myself in front of them, and I only hold back because I need to think for a second.
I sit back on my heels, heat pounding through me, and let the realization settle.
I want these two alphas.
Not just because my body needs it. Not just because I know they’re Wraith’s pack. Not just because they’re my scent matches.
But because watching them together made me realize I want to be part of whatever this is. Doesn’t have to be any more complicated than that right now.
And honestly?
It would be fucking fun.
"As long as there are no strings attached," I find myself saying, meeting their eyes as they stare at me like their lives hang on my every word, "I'll let you get me through my heat."