Chapter 24
Ryder remained on his knees between Ivy’s thighs, hands still locked around her, his forehead against hers.
He was still processing what the fuck just happened.
She slumped back against the cushions, chest rising in uneven bursts.
He hadn’t touched another woman since Miranda. But watching Ivy break apart in his hands—seeing her eyes go wide, hearing his name on her lips like it had been dragged from the depths of her soul—it awoke something he’d buried so deep he’d almost forgotten it existed.
He rocked backward, pressed his lips to the inside of her leg, lingering there while his heart slowed.
Her skin was fever-hot, salt-sweet. He could still taste her and feel the aftershocks shaking through her as if her body hadn’t learned how to hold itself again.
Her fingers slipped into his hair, stroking slowly, soothing. Christ. He froze under the gentleness, soaking it in. It had been years since anyone had touched him without asking for something back. No need or demand. Just care.
Outside, the storm continued its assault, but in here, there was only firelight and the uneven drag of their breath. He could stay like this forever—on his knees holding her while she came back to herself.
But then she moved, tugging insistently at his shoulders. “Come here,” she said, her voice husky.
He resisted, muscles locked. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he could handle more of this without losing his fucking mind. But she kept pulling, coaxing, until he let her draw him up onto the couch next to her.
But instead of curling into his side like he expected, she swung one leg over his lap and straddled him.
For a second, he just looked at her.
Flushed and glowing, firelight dancing over her skin. Loose, damp strands of hair clung to her temple, and he reached up without thinking—brushed them back, fingers taking their time.
Her eyes fluttered closed under his touch, lashes casting shadows in the gilded light.
She looked like something out of a dream, and yet he was wide awake.
Jesus. She was breathtaking.
His hands found her hips, but every muscle in his body tensed.
He didn’t do this. Didn’t let anyone close enough to climb his defenses. Close enough to take.
“Your turn.” Her hands flattened on his chest, heat blazing straight through to his bones. Her eyes locked on his, the same way he’d studied her.
She was mapping him now.
When she kissed him, it wasn’t soft or tentative. It was deep and confident. His blood surged south so fast it made him dizzy. She was staking her ground, and fuck if that didn’t make his cock harder than he’d been in years.
Her nails scraped lightly over his abs, and he groaned into her mouth. But when her hands reached for his belt, he caught her wrists, breathless.
“Ivy.” His voice came out almost a growl. “You just went through hell.” He turned her hands palms upward, exposing all the nicks and cuts. “You should rest.”
She didn’t flinch. Just looked at him with the same determined expression.
“I want this.” She framed his face with her palms. “I want you, Ryder.”
Her words made his breath stall. The way she looked at him—like she wasn’t letting go, maybe never.
“Christ, Ivy.”
She smiled—soft, but victorious too. Then her hands were on his belt, and this time he let her.
He didn’t move—couldn’t—as she stripped him down to want and the truth he couldn’t dodge, that this wasn’t like anything else.
She lifted onto her knees, giving him room to shove his jeans down. Then he dug into the pocket with fingers clumsy from need, the foil packet crinkling loud.
Her brows arched. “Planned ahead?”
“Fucking Caleb,” he muttered. “Don’t ask.”
Her laugh slid right through his chest—light and easy after the storm of everything else, it cut through the intensity wound tight inside him.
He tore the wrapper with his teeth, rolled the condom on with shaking hands. Actually fucking shaking.
Three years of celibacy. Three years of convincing himself he didn’t want this, didn’t need this. And now Ivy was about to blow all of that to nothing.
She rose higher, and when she sank down onto him, they both gasped.
Christ.
Tight. Hot. Wet.
The slow, deliberate way she took him had his vision whiting out at the edges.
He let her set the pace, too damn aware of her bruised ribs. She started slow, deliberate, every roll of her hips driving the breath from his lungs.
It wasn’t just his body she was taking. She was reaching into the parts of him locked down since Miranda left.
Her nails dug into his shoulders as she adjusted, rolling her hips, testing, and then again, harder. She panted and bit her lip as if she was holding back a sound.
“Fuck,” he ground out, his hands clamping to her hips.
“Let me,” she whispered, voice rough with want.
Two words. Let me.
She was waiting for him.
So he did. He let go.
Her rhythm grew more sure, faster, and his control fractured. He bucked into her, a groan tearing out of his chest, brutal and helpless. His fingers dug into her flesh, hard enough to leave prints.
She leaned down, kissed him messy and gasping, teeth hitting his. All that was left was surrender. She saw it. He knew she did because her eyes darkened with understanding.
“That’s it,” she murmured against his mouth. “Let me see you.”
Her pace picked up, and he was gone. Lost in her heat, in the sound of her breath, in the way she refused to let him hide behind the careful control he’d built his life on. She rode him as though she was his and he was hers.
Maybe that was exactly what this was.
She clenched around him. Head back, mouth open, his name ripped from her—and fuck, that was it.
His hands slid up to cup her breasts, weight and softness filling his palms like they’d been molded for him.
Her skin was damp with sweat, glowing in the firelight, and every grind of her hips turned him inside out.
She was so goddamn beautiful it hurt. And he couldn’t look away.
Ryder followed her.
A primal sound ripped from his chest.
Pleasure exploded through him, violent and unstoppable, smashing the walls he’d lived behind for years.
He couldn’t hold back. Couldn’t keep anything from her.
She slowed, hair tumbling forward, and finally sagged against him. Her weight settled into him, her breath evening out by degrees.
Ryder locked his arms around her, holding tight, burying his face in her hair like she might vanish if he let go. She smelled of sex and firelight, and the need to keep her there burned so fierce it scared the hell out of him.
He wanted to mark her as his, never let her walk away.
That should’ve terrified him. But it didn’t.
Instead, when she nestled in tighter, her heartbeat thudding against his, he let it be.
He didn’t let people in. Hadn’t in years. But Ivy was already there—under his skin, where it was supposed to be safe.
Outside, the storm raged. But inside the circle of firelight, with her warm weight on him, Ryder felt something he hadn’t in a long damn time.
Peace.