Chapter 10 - Ivy
I've never been this wet, never been this hazy with pleasure. My mind is foggy, focused only on the man in front of me, the sensations coursing through my body, the desperate need for more.
Phoenix pulls back just enough to yank his shirt over his head, and I can't help myself. My hands immediately reach out, running down the hard planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his six-pack abs. He's all muscle and ink, scars and strength, the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
He's real. This is real.
Then he's positioning himself above me, settling between my thighs. I can feel his cock rubbing against my entrance, thick and hard, and my whole body clenches with anticipation.
"You sure?" he asks one more time, and God, I love that he keeps asking. Keeps making sure I want this.
"Yes. Please, Phoenix. I need you."
He guides his cock inside me, and I tilt my head back, my hands flying up to grip my own breasts, still slick with his saliva from earlier. He's so much bigger than Cole, filling me in a way I've never been filled before.
Fuck.
I love it.
And he doesn't complain at all. Cole used to complain constantly. He said I was too wet inside, that his cock kept slipping, that I needed to do something about it like it was a problem I could fix. He made me feel broken, defective, wrong.
But Phoenix doesn't say a word. He just keeps pushing in, inch by glorious inch, until he's fully seated inside me. His size makes no difference to how wet I am. He's big enough that it doesn't matter, that he fills me completely regardless.
And he doesn't rush.
Cole always rushed, pounding into me like he was trying to finish a race. But Phoenix starts slowly, rocking his hips like a soft wave crashing against the shore.
It feels like I'm in a dream. Like none of this is real, like I never actually ran away and I'm going to wake up back in that dirty bed in the Vipers' clubhouse, Cole passed out drunk beside me, my body aching from whatever he'd done the night before.
How could my life have changed so much in twenty-four hours?
But when I force myself to open my half-lidded eyes, to keep them open for a few seconds despite the pleasure threatening to drown me, Phoenix is right there. On top of me, looking down at me, his dark eyes locked on mine.
His breathing is hard. There are lines creased in his forehead from concentration. Sweat is dripping from his hair, sliding down his temples. His mouth is half-open, and I can hear each ragged breath he takes.
He's here. He's real. This is happening.
"You look beautiful taking my cock," he says, his voice strained.
I reach up, placing my hands on both sides of his face, feeling the scrape of stubble against my palms.
"Harder," I whisper. "Faster. Please, Phoenix."
A smirk crosses his face, dangerous and so fucking sexy I almost come right then. He braces his arms on either side of my head, turning them into pillars that cage me in. Then he changes his pace completely.
The gentle rocking transforms into hard, fast thrusts. He's giving me exactly what I asked for, his hips snapping against mine, his cock driving deep with every movement.
"Yes," I gasp. "Yes, just like that."
The rain outside is harder now, pounding against the roof in rhythm with our bodies. The bed is creaking beneath us, the frame protesting the force of Phoenix's thrusts.
I have no idea if the other bikers can hear us. The clubhouse isn't that big, and the walls probably aren't that thick. They probably know exactly what we're doing up here.
I don't care.
It's only us in this bedroom. Only Phoenix, me and this perfect moment that's eclipsing every bad thing I've ever experienced. I need this so much. Need to moan his name, the name of the man who's protecting me, who promised to keep me safe, who's giving me pleasure I didn't know existed.
"Phoenix," I moan, loud and shameless. "God, Phoenix, don't stop."
"Not stopping," he grunts, his rhythm never faltering. "Not until you come again. Not until I've made you feel so good you forget your own fucking name."
His words, the promise in them, the intensity of his gaze, it's all too much and not enough at the same time.
"Keep going," I beg. "Please keep going."
And he does. He doesn't tire, doesn't slow, doesn't show any sign of stopping. He just keeps fucking me with a stamina that should be impossible.
Cole would have finished by now. Would have gotten his, rolled off me, and gone to sleep without a second thought about whether I'd enjoyed it. But Phoenix isn't tired. Isn't even close. He's completely focused on me, on my pleasure, on making sure this is everything I need it to be.
I'm loving it: loving the way he feels inside me, the way his muscles flex with each thrust, the way he looks at me like I'm the only thing that matters in the world.
But I don't want him to do everything. Don't want to just lie here and take it, passive and powerless like I always was with Cole.
I want control. Want to show Phoenix that I can give as good as I get.
"Slow down," I say, my hands pushing gently against his chest.
He stops immediately, concern flashing across his face. "You okay? Did I hurt you?"
"No." I smile up at him. "I just… I want to ride you. Can I?"
"Fuck yes, you can."
He pulls out, and I feel the loss immediately. But then he's rolling us, flipping our positions with an ease that speaks to his strength. Now I'm straddling him, my hands braced on his toned, tattooed chest. His cock is still hard beneath me, throbbing and wet with my juices.
I grind my pussy against it, teasing us both, and Phoenix groans.
"Don't torture me, sweetheart."
I smile, feeling powerful in a way I've never felt during sex. I'm in control. I get to set the pace, decide how fast or slow, how deep or shallow. I reach down, gripping his cock and positioning it at my entrance. Then I slowly slide down onto him.
I can feel every inch of him as I take him inside, and I tilt my head back, savoring the sensation.
Absolute control. This is what it feels like.
Phoenix's hands come up to grip my hips, but he doesn't try to move me or control my rhythm. He's just holding on, letting me take my time.
Cole used to demand during sex. Would grab my hips and force me to bounce faster, harder, exactly how he wanted regardless of what felt good to me. Would complain if I slowed down or stopped, would sometimes just flip me over and finish himself if I wasn't performing to his standards.
But Phoenix isn't demanding anything. He's letting me have this, letting me explore what feels good at my own pace.
"That's it," he murmurs, his voice rough. "Take what you need. Use me however you want."
The permission in his words makes me want to prove to him how glad I am that I came here. I start to move, rolling my hips in slow circles, grinding down on him.
It feels incredible. Different from when he was on top, but equally good. I can control the angle, can find the exact spot that makes pleasure spike through me.
I pick up the pace gradually, lifting and dropping, finding a rhythm that works. Phoenix's hands tighten on my hips, and I can see the strain on his face. He's struggling to let me control this, fighting the urge to take over.
"You feel so fucking good," he grits out. "So tight and wet."
I lean forward, changing the angle again, and nearly cry out from how good it feels. My breasts press against his chest, my hands braced on either side of his head.
"Touch me," I whisper. "Please, Phoenix. Touch me."
His hands immediately leave my hips, one sliding up to cup my breast while the other tangles in my short hair. He pulls me down into a messy and desperate kiss, our tongues tangling as I continue to ride him.
When he breaks the kiss, he trails his mouth down my jaw to my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks.
"Marking you," he murmurs against my skin. "Showing everyone you're mine."
Mine. The word should scare me. Should trigger all my trauma about possession and control and being treated like property.
But it doesn't.
Because when Phoenix says it, he doesn't mean ownership. He means protection. Commitment. The kind of claiming that comes with responsibility instead of entitlement.
I ride him harder, chasing the pleasure building inside me. My thighs are burning from the exertion, but I don't care. Don't want to stop, don't want this to end, but I’m so close. Can feel the orgasm building, coiling tight in my core. Just a little more, just a little—
"Phoenix," I cry out as it hits me.
The orgasm crashes over me in waves, stronger than the first one. My pussy grips his cock, and I can hear Phoenix cursing beneath me.
He sits up suddenly, wrapping his arms around me, holding me close as I shake apart. His mouth finds mine, swallowing my moans, grounding me through the pleasure.
When the waves finally subside, I'm boneless against him, my face buried in his neck.
"You're amazing," he murmurs, his hands stroking up and down my back. "So fucking amazing."
I pull back enough to look at him, and I can see he's still hard inside me. Still hasn't finished.
"Your turn," I say, my voice hoarse.
"You don't have to…"
"I want to." I kiss him. "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."
Phoenix groans. "You keep talking like that and I'm not going to last."
"Then don't." I start moving again, ignoring the sensitivity. "Come for me, Phoenix. Let go."
He grips my hips hard, probably hard enough to bruise, but I don't care and starts thrusting up into me.
"Fuck, Ivy," he grunts. "I'm going to—"
"Do it," I urge. "Come inside me."
His rhythm stutters, and then he's there. I feel him pulse inside me, feel the warmth of his release, hear my name torn from his throat like a prayer.
We stay like that for a long moment: tangled together, hearts racing, both of us struggling to catch our breath. Eventually, Phoenix lifts me off him and lays me down on the bed. I immediately miss the connection, the fullness.
He disappears into the bathroom and returns with a warm washcloth. Then, gently and slowly, he cleans between my legs.