19. Ivy
Chapter 19
Ivy
M y breath is still uneven, my body still thrumming, every nerve buzzing in the aftermath. My thighs are slick, my pulse pounding between them. I just came in the truck. With Wyatt and Hank right there.
What the hell is happening to me?
"Easy, darlin'," Holt says, his voice a low rumble that somehow steadies my erratic breathing. His hand brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, gentle and yet possessive in a way that stirs me further.
I lean into the touch before I can stop myself, my body still caught in the haze of pleasure, in the heat of what just happened. Holt’s palm lingers, thumb stroking slow against my cheek, and for a second, I think I could melt right here.
My eyes stray to where Hank disappeared. He’s long gone. Already inside, already putting space between us like he can shut the door on whatever just happened.
I should let him.
Instead, I keep looking, searching the empty space he left behind like I’ll find some kind of answer there. Like it’ll tell me why my body feels tight, why the absence of him stings more than it should.
I have Holt’s warmth still wrapped around me, Wyatt’s gaze still pressing into my skin. I should be grounded in this moment, in the fact that I already have more than I ever expected. More than I should want.
But the way Hank walked away—like he needed distance, like he couldn’t stand to be near me—won’t leave my head.
I don’t know what I was expecting.
I just know that this…this hollow ache settling inside me wasn’t it.
I drag in a breath, force myself to look away from the door Hank disappeared behind. I’m being ridiculous. I just had a delicious orgasm—which was already a surprise.
Although, I guess it shouldn’t be at this point. These two have never had a problem making me come. Hard. Caleb could never be bothered. I’d been less girlfriend and more glorified blow-up doll.
I’d always thought the problem was me. He’d said as much, more than once. Turns out it was just another way Caleb was lacking.
I shouldn’t be getting used to them either, though.
After all, this isn’t real.
It’s temporary.
I’ll find another place soon enough, ride out the media storm, and go back to my life—whatever that even looks like now.
So, why does the thought of leaving feel so wrong?
I like it here. I like them. For the first time in longer than I care to admit, I feel like myself. Like I belong. Even if they don’t see me the same way.
And I know they don’t.
Hank looks at me like I’m a nuisance he can’t wait to be rid of. And Holt and Wyatt? This is just fun for them. A good time, nothing more. The way they flirted with every woman on the dancefloor tonight made that painfully clear. I had no right to be hurt by it. There was no reason for an ugly pang of jealousy to coil in my stomach.
But it had.
And that makes me feel stupid.
I have no claim to them. None at all.
Maybe I’m just too raw, too sensitive after what Caleb did to me. Maybe that betrayal is still too fresh, twisting my perception, making me see things that aren’t there.
Or maybe I’m already in too deep.
"Hey." Wyatt's voice pulls me back. His hand is gentle as he tilts my chin, guiding my gaze away from the closed door and back to his blue eyes.
Wyatt leans over the seat, his warm breath brushing my ear. “Don’t worry about Hank,” he murmurs. “He’ll come around.”
I want to believe him. I shouldn’t care if he’s right or not. But I do.
I nod, though doubt gnaws at me. Holt pushed him too far. And I’d let him. I’ve never done anything like that before. Caleb always complained about how boring I was in bed, how I wasn’t adventurous enough.
Well, look at me now, asshole .
Wyatt’s lips brush against mine, gentle at first, then firmer, more certain. He tastes like whiskey and heat, and for a moment, I lose myself in it.
His kiss feels like a promise even though I know it's not.
When he pulls back, his grin is all mischief. "Night's still young," he says, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through me. "Don't know about you, but I'm not ready for it to end."
My heart flutters like a trapped bird, pounding against my ribs. I bite down on my lip. I can taste the nervous energy buzzing on my tongue. When he pulls back, his grin is all mischief.
Instead, the shake of my head is slow, almost reluctant. A wordless answer. A reckless one. It feels like an admission, a secret spilling out without a single word.
Wyatt’s grin stretches wider. “Good answer.”
Before I can blink, his hands grip my waist, and the world tilts as he hoists me effortlessly over his shoulder. A surprised yelp escapes me, but he just chuckles, his palm smoothing over the back of my thigh like he’s done this a thousand times.
“Guess that means we’re headed inside,” Holt says, his voice laced with amusement as he falls into step behind us.
Wyatt gives my ass a playful slap. “Damn right, we are.”