23. Ivy
Chapter 23
Ivy
H olt and Wyatt have been insatiable. And, honestly? So have I.
There’s not much else to do up here. No internet, no cable, just a handful of paperbacks I picked up in town. And as much as I love a good reread, even I have my limits. After the third time through, the words start to blur, I already know what the ending is, and I find myself closing the book in frustration.
So, sex. And blowjobs. And more sex.
We've been going at it like wildfire consuming dry brush—fast, hot, unstoppable. My body hums, alive with each touch, each kiss. It's all-consuming, this hunger, not just mine but theirs, too.
It’s become our favorite pastime, a way to chase away the boredom, to pass the time until the snow finally lets up. But it’s more than that now. It’s not just about keeping warm or killing time. It’s about pushing boundaries, testing limits, and right now, we’re all focused on one particular limit—Hank.
Holt and Wyatt have come to an unspoken agreement, and I’m right there with them. We’re going to do everything in our power to make him break.
And if that means fucking in full view of him, so be it.
Like right now. I’m spread out on the floor by the wood-burning stove, legs spread, Wyatt’s face buried in my pussy.
Wyatt's tongue is relentless, tracing patterns of fire across my sensitized skin.
I moan and arch into Wyatt's mouth. He's a master at this, as he is with everything else that has to do with sex. His tongue flicks and strokes against me, and I know I won’t last much longer. My thoughts are scattered, lost in the haze of pleasure.
Holt's heated gaze burns into me, never leaving where Wyatt’s tongue is circling my clit. I watch him, his hand moving along his length, lips parted, breath hitching with each stroke.
He reaches into his pockets, the sound of fabric rustling briefly cutting through the haze of desire.
"Shit," he mutters under his breath and then bolts from the room.
From somewhere down the hallway, his frustration echoes with his shout of, "FUCK!" The walls seem to shudder with it.
Wyatt hesitates, his lips leaving me cold for a split second before he dives back in, doubling his efforts. I can't think, can't focus on anything but the sensation swirling in my core.
Another shout, louder, edged with urgency. "Fuck!"
Wyatt doesn't stop—he can’t, not when I'm this close, not when every flick of his tongue sends sparks dancing behind my closed eyelids.
"Keep going," I pant, reaching for Wyatt, urging him closer. His hands grip my thighs, fingers pressing deep, anchoring me to the present as everything else falls away.
Holt's heavy steps thunder back into the room, his face a mix of anger and desperation. He stands there, chest heaving, cock still out, eyes darting between Wyatt and me.
"Condoms," he gasps out, "none in my room, none in Wyatt's. We didn't get more... we didn’t…shit."
He looks at my pussy with a desperate wanting, his face crumpling with frustration as he runs his hands through his hair.
Wyatt’s grip tightens, and when he looks up at Holt, there’s a silent exchange—one heavy with frustration and something else.
I force myself to take a breath, the pulsing need momentarily forgotten.
“None?” Wyatt is incredulous.
“Fucking none,” Holt grits out. “I’d raid Hank’s room, but I doubt Captain Celibate has any.”
Silence settles between us, thick and weighted.
“I’m clean,” I say, the words slipping out without hesitation. My words drop like stones into water, rippling outward.
Both of them freeze.
Then, as if pulled by the same invisible string, they turn to look at me.
“I’m clean and I have an implant. I was just tested before I came up the mountain.” I had just seen my gynecologist before I found out about Caleb and the cheating. She always insists on doing STD testing every year because “you never know”, and I’m glad she did this time. I’m clean as a whistle.
Silence stretches, thick enough to touch.
Wyatt's gaze locks with Holt's, another silent conversation passing between them. Their eyes flick back to me, uncertainty shadowing their features. This is new, uncharted territory for all of us.
“I haven’t had sex without a condom since the last time I was tested,” Holt says. “Wyatt?”
“I’ve never had sex without a condom,” he responds.
“Are you sure about this, Ivy?” Wyatt’s voice is steady but cautious, the weight of his question settling heavy in the air.
Holt nods, echoing Wyatt's concern. "No going back once we do this."
Heat flares within me, my body tightens with a mix of nerves and excitement. I nod, my pulse thrumming, my body already answering before I find the words.
Holt’s gaze sharpens, his tone gentle but firm. “We need your words, baby. We need to hear you say it.”
I swallow, heat curling low in my stomach, anticipation winding tight in my chest.
“I’m sure.” My voice is clear, unwavering.
The corners of my mouth lift into a smile, dimples carving into my cheeks as I meet their intense stares. “I want this. I want you. I want to feel your cum dripping from my pussy. Fill me. Fuck me raw, please.”
The air is charged with our collective desire. We are tethered to this moment, to each other, bound by a fervent need that words can't fully capture. But it's my words that tip us over the edge, into a place where caution gives way to primal instinct, where we are nothing but flesh, heat, and insatiable hunger.
They both make a strangled sound, low and rough, like they’re barely holding on. Then Holt moves, his grip firm as he grabs my leg and spreads me out beneath him.
I feel fingers tightening around my thighs, spreading me open as Holt positions himself at my entrance. There's a moment of pure anticipation before he thrusts inside me—bare, unshielded, and more intimate than anything I've felt before.
A guttural groan spills from his lips, echoed by my own moan. The sensation is overwhelming, my nerves are raw and alive. His cock pulses within me, each stroke dragging a shiver from my depths.
It's so good, so goddamn good. Sex has never felt like this. I can barely handle it.
"Fuck, Ivy." Holt's voice is strangled, thick with lust. He sets a punishing pace, hard and fast. It’s a claiming.
I can't think, can only feel as he drives into me, each thrust stoking the fire that burns hotter, brighter. My body clenches around him, welcoming each invasion, craving the violence of his need.
"God, yes!" I cry out as he pounds into me. I'm close, teetering on the brink when he stiffens, a low growl ripping from his throat as he spills himself inside of me.
Before the waves of pleasure can recede, Holt withdraws, and Wyatt moves in, flipping me onto my hands and knees without a word. His hands grip my hips, steadying me.
Wyatt doesn't hesitate. He sinks into me from behind, and it's all raw power and primal hunger. His pace is just as relentless, just as desperate. I brace against the couch, muscles tensing as Wyatt takes what Holt has left, claiming it for his own.
"More!" I gasp, the word torn from me as I meet his thrusts. The slap of skin against skin echoes through the room.
"Fuck, you feel incredible," Wyatt grunts, and I hear the strain in his voice, the edge of his control slipping.
I'm lost in the sensation, in the push and pull, the give and take. We're a tangle of limbs and desire, moving together toward a crescendo that threatens to undo us all.
It's an unhinged sort of intimacy, each thrust more possessive than the last. I cry out as my body responds, tension coiling tighter around me like a vice. It's too much, too soon. I'm on the edge again.
And then I’m coming, my body clenching hard, a scream tearing from my throat. Wyatt’s rhythm falters, then quickens, his movements turning desperate until he’s buried as deep as he can go, spilling into me, filling me to the brim.
Hands roam my body, lips trace over my skin, but I can’t feel a thing. I’m pretty sure I’m floating. Holy. Shit.
I am so fucked.