Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thorne
The ride back to the small town are the longest miles of my life.
Every second of it, she's pressed against me, arms tight around my waist, hands sliding under my T-shirt. I slow to take the turn into the inn's long driveway, gravel crunching under the tires. Then we’re moving fast.
I park. Ivy jumps off the back, pulling off her helmet. I do the same. Neither of us speaks. What is there to say? Words would just get in the way of what we both need. Right now, our bodies are doing all the talking that matters.
The place is small and elegant, tucked into the trees like a secret. Weathered stone foundation, timber beams, ivy climbing the walls. I take her hand and we rush toward it.
Inside, the elderly clerk smiles. "Welcome! Do you have a reservation?"
"No," I say. "What do you have available?"
“Hmm. The inn is booked, but I may have…” She taps at her computer. “Yes, we have one glamping tent available for tonight. King bed, full bath, climate controlled—”
“We'll take it," I pull out my black Amex.
Five minutes later, we're making our way down a stone path through the trees, a key card in my pocket. Halfway to our destination, I twist to face her and wrap my free arm around her, pulling her against me. My lips crash against hers, and she kisses me with the same desperation.
“Thorne, if you don't get me inside that tent right now—”
Hand in hand, we damn near run down the path.
The tent comes into view. It’s sleek and modern with clear panels on the front, facing the forest, and on the roof.
But right about now, I’d be happy with a ratty, old two-person tent as long as Ivy and I fit in it.
I slip the key into the lock, turn it, and step inside.
There’s a king bed in the center of the room. Behind it is another door that I assume leads to a bathroom. Late afternoon light streams in golden and warm, but the heat is blocked out by the massive trees on all sides.
Ivy steps in behind me. I set my helmet on the floor.
Take Ivy’s and do the same. Then her mouth is back like she’s starving for this, for me.
It’s like we've been holding our breath for six weeks and can finally breathe again.
My hands are in her hair, on her waist, pulling her against me like I can absorb her into my skin.
"Thorne," she gasps against my lips, her fingers working at the zipper of my riding jacket. "I need you.”
I’m pulling at her jacket too, our hands tangling, getting in each other's way. “I know, baby. I know.”
Her jacket hits the floor. Mine follows. She's tugging at my shirt. I help her, yanking it over my head while her fingers move to my belt. There's an urgency in me that goes deeper than lust. I have to touch her to prove this is real, that we're really here, together.
I pull her shirt off. Black lace bra. My focus narrows to one thing: getting my hands on her bare skin. I slide my palms up her ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts, and she makes this sound—half moan, half sigh—that goes straight to my dick.
"I've missed touching you.” I kiss down her neck. "Missed the sounds you make."
"Then don't stop." Her fingers trace down my chest, nails scraping lightly. "Don't ever stop."
I reach behind her, unhook her bra, and drag it down her soft skin, kissing her shoulder. Her breasts are full and soft. Leaning down, I take one nipple into my mouth. She arches into me, fingers digging into my shoulders. Touching her is as necessary as breathing.
"Your jeans," she breathes. "Off. Now."
I pop the button and pull the zipper. She pushes them down along with my boxer briefs. I step out of them, kick them aside. She's still in her jeans, and I reach for them, but she catches my wrist.
"Not yet." She lets go and points to the bed. "Lie on your back."
I'm a man used to giving orders, not taking them. But for her? I'd do anything she demands.
I lie against the white sheets. Above me, through the transparent ceiling, the sky's shifting from gold to amber through the clear ceiling, but she has all my attention.
She hooks her thumbs in the waistband of her panties, black lace matching the bra on the floor. "You want these off too?"
“Yes,” I growl.
She slides them down, never breaking eye contact, stepping out of them. Standing before me, naked and gorgeous, I take my fill of her. Not that I’ll ever get enough. I take in every curve, every inch of skin I want to taste.
"Get over here before I come get you myself."
Her grin is wicked as she moves to the end of the bed. Keeping her gaze on me, she starts at my feet, hands sliding up my calves, my thighs. Her mouth follows, pressing kisses that are too light, too teasing. By the time she reaches my hips, I'm so hard it hurts.
“Ivy...”
"Shh." Her breath ghosts over my dick, and I nearly come off the bed. Then her mouth is on me and the air punches out of my lungs.
She takes me deep, her tongue sliding along my shaft in a way that makes my vision blur. Her hand wraps around what her mouth can't reach, working me in perfect rhythm. It's too good, too much, too everything.
"Fuck," I groan, my hands fisting in the sheets.
She hums around me, the vibration making my hips jerk. Her teeth scrape lightly, and I know she’s smiling. She pulls back, her tongue swirling around the head of my cock.
"I need to feel you," I manage to get out. "Come here."
She releases me with a wet sound that nearly undoes me. "What do you want?"
"Turn around," I tell her. "Straddle me."
Understanding lights her eyes. She moves, swinging one leg over me, but facing away. Her knees bracket my head and I can see how wet she is, how ready. My hands find her hips, pull her down to my mouth.
The first taste of her makes me groan. She's sweet and heady and uniquely Ivy, and I'm starving for her. I lick up her center, slow and thorough. Her whole body shudders.
Then she takes me into her mouth again and I nearly lose it.
We find a rhythm. Her mouth on me, mine on her. I explore her with my tongue, learning her all over again. What makes her gasp. What makes her rock back against my face. I slide two fingers inside her and she moans around my cock.
"Don't do that," I warn, pulling back just enough to speak. "Or this will be over way too soon."
She doesn't listen. Instead, takes me deeper, all the way to the back of her throat. It's too good, too much, my whole body is strung tight.
My groan is deep and guttural, vibrating against her, and she pulls off me just long enough to gasp, "I felt that everywhere."
Then she's back on me, her hand cupping my balls, rolling them gently. The dual sensation is overwhelming. I try to focus on her, on making her feel as good as she makes me feel, but then she does something with her tongue, and her fingers squeeze just right, and my orgasm blindsides me.
My back arches off the bed, hips jerking up as I spill into her mouth.
I can't even warn her. It hits like a freight train, stealing my breath, my vision, everything. She doesn’t pull away, takes all I give, and the sensation whites out sight, sound, and thought.
My fingers grip her thighs hard enough to leave marks while my whole body goes rigid, then shudders through aftershock after aftershock. I make a sound that’s raw and guttural.
She turns, her eyes are feral with want. Climbing up my body, she grabs onto the headboard without me telling her to.
“Ride my face.” I grab her hips, pulling her down the rest of the way. She tastes like heaven and my favorite sins.
She's always taken what she needs from me. I’m finally understanding why I love surrendering to her. This is what I've been craving without knowing it. Giving her control. Letting go.
I eat her like a starving man, wanting her dripping down my face, wanting to drown in her. My tongue circles her clit before sucking it between my lips, and her hips jerk.
"Thorne," she moans.
I dig my fingers into her flesh, probably too roughly, but she presses closer. So I pull one hand back and slap where my fingers were.
She groans, loud and unrestrained. "Harder."
I do it again, the sound sharp in the quiet of the tent, and her whole body stiffens. Her orgasm is close, so I don't let up, licking and sucking while she uses me for her pleasure.
"Again," she demands.
I slap her ass again, harder this time, and she shatters. Her climax makes her body shake so violently that I have to hold her steady. She doesn't stop moving until the aftershocks finally fade and she's trembling above me.
Feeling her come undone and lose control is the hottest thing I've ever witnessed. My dick is already hard again, aching.
She rolls off me, boneless and breathing hard, turning so we are side by side. I move over her, kissing her neck, nibbling on her collarbone the way she likes. I work my way down to her breasts and pause there.
"I love your tits," I tell her, cupping them both. “They fill my hands just right. And this birthmark…” I lick the spot next to her left areola. “Is perfection. They're perfect."
"I love when you play with them," she says, arching into my hands.
I take the hint and knead them. I’m gentle at first, then firmer, watching her face for every reaction. When I take one nipple into my mouth and suck hard while pinching the other, she cries out. I switch sides, giving equal attention, licking and sucking and biting just enough to make her gasp.
Her nipples are hard peaks, and I roll them between my fingers while my mouth trails up to her neck. She's writhing beneath me now, her hands clutching at my shoulders.
"Please," she reaches between us, wrapping her hand around my cock. "I need you inside me."
I cover her hand with mine, move it aside, and take over. Sliding into her slowly, her eyes flutter closed, her mouth opens on a silent gasp. She's tight and wet and mine. When I'm fully seated inside her, we still.