Chapter Twenty-One
Thorne
Shutting off the car, I don’t go inside. My hands grip the steering wheel, staring at nothing. I should go to my room. Shower. Sleep.
But my mind won’t shut off. I need a distraction.
I did the right thing.
This is my mantra as I pull through the gates.
But the truth is, I did what Dad would have done. I handled a problem the Blackstone way—with money, leverage, and a handshake that bordered on extortion.
The only difference is I tried to make it cleaner. Tried to leave Williams with options, with a defense attorney, with something resembling dignity.
Dad would have crushed him completely. Would have enjoyed it.
So maybe I'm different. Maybe I'm not.
I wipe a hand roughly down my face. He's dead. But he's still here, in every choice I make and every line I cross.
As I get out of my car, my gaze lands on my newest motorcycle. A surprise for Ivy. I paid them double to prioritize it, and it arrived yesterday—two weeks ahead of schedule. Every detail exactly as I specified.
My gaze shifts from the bikes to the door to the house. Half of me hopes she is pacing, waiting for me. The rational part of me wants her to be sound asleep.
I think I’d like somebody—not somebody. I’d like her to worry about me.
But this isn’t realistic for a man like me.
And it’s not like I can tell her what I’ve done. She wouldn't understand. She'd see it as witness tampering, obstruction of justice. And sure it is those things, but it’s also protecting my brother, hell, my whole family, and our employees from my father’s actions.
Unlike her, I can’t afford to be noble.
Sometimes I need to do what needs to be done and live with the consequences.
I come in from the garage with no idea what to do or where to go. Drink? No. Work out? Maybe. Find Ivy—
Rustling from the family room stops me. A shadow gets up from the large leather sectional and comes closer.
It’s Ivy in cotton sleep shorts and a tank top. I rub my eyes to make sure I’m not dreaming. “Ivy?”
“Where did you go?” she asks.
Instead of answering, I reach for her. My hand slides around the back of her neck, fingers threading through her hair as I pull her against me.
Our mouths collide without finesse or careful seduction.
Just raw need. I angle her head back, deepening the kiss, pouring everything I can't say into the press of my lips, the sweep of my tongue.
She gasps against my mouth, softening, melting.
Her fingers twist into my shirt, clutching the fabric like she's afraid I'll disappear.
I need this. Need her. Need to shut out everything from Williams to all the choices and mistakes I've made. This is familiar territory, losing myself in physical sensation, using sex to silence the noise in my head. I've done this before, with other women, in other beds.
But it's not only about escape this time. It's the way she tastes, familiar now in a way that undoes me. The small sound she makes when I tilt my head just right. With her, it's more than sensations; it's her specifically that I want, and that realization should terrify me more than it does.
I walk her backwards, my lips never leaving hers. Her hip catches the edge of the sofa, and we stumble slightly, my hand steadying her at the small of her back.
"Thorne—"
"Not stopping," I murmur.
We keep moving, my shoulder brushing the archway as we leave the living room. In the hall, we knock into a table, and I catch a wobbly lamp without breaking the kiss, setting it back with one hand while the other keeps her pressed against me.
By the time we reach my bedroom, we're both breathing hard. I kick the door shut behind us and guide her to the bed, already imagining her spread across my dark sheets.
"Thorne..." She pulls back enough that I can see the crease between her brows, her fingers still twisted in my shirt, but her body hesitates. “What happened with—”
“Not now.” I ease her down onto the bed, following her. “Right now, I need you.” I pause, searching her face even as everything in me screams to keep going. “Do you want me to stop?”
She pulls me down to her. "I need this too."
The tension in my shoulders releases, and I capture her mouth again, harder this time. Thank God. Because I don't know what I would've done if she'd said no.
I take off her thin tank top. She isn’t wearing a bra. I press kisses to the newly exposed territory. "You're so beautiful," I murmur against her collarbone. "Do you know that?"
Her breath hitches. "You might have mentioned it once or twice."
I smile against her skin, though I’m a little unsettled. She is becoming my center, my anchor, when everything else is spinning out of control.
The realization makes me uneasy, so I focus on her. I take one nipple into my mouth. She arches into me with a sharp inhale, her fingers digging into my shoulders. The taste of her skin, the way she responds to every touch. It strips away everything else until there's only this. Only her.
I remove her pants, her underwear, until she's bare beneath me.
Standing at the end of the bed, I drink in the sight of her while I work my shirt buttons free.
Christ. Every time feels like the first time.
I take in the curve of her waist, the flush spreading across her chest, the way she's watching me like I'm something she wants to devour.
She tracks every movement of me undressing, her gaze dark with desire. With my shirt off, I undo my belt. The leather slides through the loops with a whisper that makes her squirm. “Do you like the show, or do you want me to do something with this?” I hold up the belt while kicking off my shoes.
“Both.”
With that admission, so many deliciously dirty thoughts race through me. Turn her plump ass pink with the slap of leather against flesh? Tie her wrists together? Or…
I turn toward my closet and retrieve two more belts. Her eyes widen. “What are you going to do?”
“Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” she replies without hesitation.
I still, the belt loose in my hands. My throat tightens, and I have to swallow hard. She shouldn't trust me this easily, not with my track record, not with my past. And not with the deal I made tonight.
But she does. And maybe I can actually be that man instead of just pretending to be him.
I duck my head, staring at the belt in my hands until the tightness in my throat eases. When I look at her, her eyes are still on me, patient and sure. "I'll take care of you,” I promise. “Put your arms above your head.”
She does as I demand. Coming around the bed, I loop a belt around her wrists and tie the length between the slats of the headboard. “Are you okay?”
She nods and her heavy breathing is doing amazing things to her tits. I bend over, taking one of her nipples into my mouth, playing with it until she is panting and squirming. Then I straighten, smiling at the pout she gives me.
“Spread your legs.” She does a little. “Wider,” I command.
She hesitates, her cheeks flushing deeper. Her thighs tremble slightly as she inches them apart, but she stops well short of where I want her.
"Are you uncomfortable? Do you want me to stop?"
"No, not with what you're doing." She bites her lip, looking away. "It's just... being on display like this, with all the lights on. You looking at me like that. Could you maybe turn off a light?"
“If that’s what you want, but Ivy, you are fucking beautiful. And not just your tits and perfect, pink pussy, but the curve of your hips, your thighs. Hell, even watching your breathing turns me on.” I shove down my slacks and boxer briefs until I'm as naked as she is.
"God, Thorne," she breathes.
I wrap my hand around myself, stroking slowly while her gaze follows the movement. “I’ve barely touched you and look how hard I am for you," I rasp. "I don't know where to start."
She spreads her legs, making my dick jump. “Finish tying me up and then decide where to start.”
“Lights on or off?” I ask.
“Keep them on.” A slow, wicked smile curves her lips. “I need to see you.”
I take the first belt and wrap it around her ankle, securing it to the bedpost. I press a kiss to the delicate bone, loving the way her pulse jumps beneath my lips.
Moving to her other side, I strap her second ankle to the opposite post, then pause to admire my work—her legs spread, restrained, completely open to me. She squirms, testing the restraints.
"Thorne..."
I kiss my way up her calf, the inside of her knee, the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. By the time I reach the apex, she's breathing in shallow pants, her hands flexing against the restraints above her head.
I look up at her, our eyes locking. "I could worship you like this for hours."
"Please," she whispers.
I lower my mouth to her heat, and she arches off the bed—or tries to. The restraints hold her in place, and she makes a sound that’s half whimper, half growl. My cock throbs in response. God, I love that she can't control this, can't do anything but take what I give her.
"Thorne...”
"I've got you," I murmur against her thigh. "Just feel it."
Without her hands in my hair, guiding me, without the ability to shift or move, every sensation must be amplified. I take advantage of that, using my tongue in slow, deliberate strokes.
"God, I can't—I need to touch you," she gasps.
"Not yet. Just take what I give you."
Her broken pleas, my name on her lips, demands that turn into whimpers. This is different than before. More intimate. She's completely mine like this, surrendered in a way that goes beyond physical.
Her thighs begin to tremble against the restraints.
Her breathing turns ragged, punctuated by small, desperate sounds.
I don't let up, working her higher until she breaks.
Her whole body goes taut, straining against the belts, her back arching off the bed.
My name tears from her throat, raw and unrestrained, echoing off the walls.
The satisfaction that rolls through me is primal, possessive.
When her body turns liquid with her orgasm, I kiss my way up her body, stopping at her stomach, ribs, breasts, until I'm hovering over her.
I slide inside her and my breath catches, not only from the heat of her nor the perfect fit, but from something else, something that makes my chest ache.
I freeze for a heartbeat, overwhelmed but not sure why, before I start to move.
"Ivy," I breathe against her neck.
"I'm here." She kisses my ear, then cheek.
My lips find hers as my hips rock into her—sometimes rough, sometimes tender, unable to decide which I need more.
She meets me thrust for thrust, anchoring me to this moment, to her.
And when she tightens around me, my vision goes white.
I bury my face in her neck, her name breaking from my throat as I come so hard my whole body shudders.
For several seconds, I can't move, can't think, just feel her heartbeat racing against mine.
Then I pull out slowly, both of us shuddering at the loss.
Her eyes are half-closed, drowsy with satisfaction.
I reach up and work the belt free from her wrists.
Pink marks circle her wrists where the leather held her.
She trusted me enough for this. Me. I don't know what to do with that except kiss each mark like in apology and gratitude.
“Don't move.”
She's sprawled across my sheets, sated and pliant. Perfect. I untie her ankles next, kissing each reddened impression, massaging gently where the restraints held her. In the bathroom, I run warm water over a washcloth, and bring it with me to the bed.
Her gaze is soft and unfocused as I clean between her thighs with gentle strokes, then wipe away the evidence of us from my skin.
"You don't have to do this," she murmurs.
"I want to." And I do. Taking care of her like this, seeing her relaxed and satisfied because of me, is its own kind of high.
I toss the washcloth aside and lie back down beside her, pulling her against my chest. The adrenaline that's been driving me since I left Williams's house is finally draining away, leaving bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.
She traces lazy patterns on my chest, her touch gentle, soothing. My eyes are already drifting closed.
"Thorne?" Her voice is soft, drowsy.
"Mmm?"
"I'm glad you came back."
Something in my chest tightens. I press a kiss to her hair. "Me too."
Her breathing evens out, the patterns she's tracing slowing, then stopping. Her body goes heavy against mine, fully relaxed.
I should get up. Carry her to her room. Maintain the boundaries we've carefully constructed.
And I will. But I can't move. Don't want to.
My eyes fall shut. I’ll get up in a minute.