Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Ivy
Dane stands opposite, one shoulder propped against the wall, eyes fixed on me with unnerving calm. He looks utterly at ease, like he’s been here a hundred times before—in this elevator, in this kind of moment.
The thought unsettles more than it should.
“Stop watching me like that,” I say, aiming for light, the tension threading through my voice.
He raises an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Like you’re about to lure me into your dungeon and kill me.”
His mouth twitches—half amusement, half warning.
“Believe me, Ivy, killing you is the last thing on my mind.”
His tone dips, playful but edged.
“Kidnapping, maybe. Locking you in my sex dungeon.”
I blink. “You have a sex dungeon?”
That earns me a genuine laugh, deep and warm in a way that catches me off guard. It’s rare to see him like this, his usual armor loosened enough to let the man beneath show through.
He studies me for a heartbeat longer, the corner of his mouth still curved. Then something in his expression slips, darkening.
“If you really want to know,” he murmurs, pushing off the wall.
In two steps, he’s on me, pinning me to the cool metal of the elevator. The chill bites into my back. I don’t move. I can’t. His fingers trace my jaw, tilting my face until I’m forced to meet his gaze.
“My only thought,” he says quietly.
“Is you...”
His mouth hovers just shy of mine. I can feel the heat of it, feel myself leaning in without meaning to.
“These beautiful lips...”
His teeth snag my lower lip, stretching gently.
“—how they’ll taste when I fuck you...”
“So if there’s any confusion,” he breathes against my mouth. “You better run now—while you still can.”
Before I can react, his mouth crashes onto mine, tongue sweeping past my lips, stealing my breath and any illusion of control. He pins my wrists above my head as he devours me, licking a slow path up my throat before returning to my lips hungrily.
For a moment, I can’t speak. I can hardly breathe.
“Christ,” I manage on a swallow, “have you ever thought about easing into things slowly?”
That draws another laugh from him. And God help me—I really enjoy being the reason for it.
“Not with you,” he says, his thumb ghosting along my swollen lips.
The elevator chimes. He steps back, giving me space to breathe again, but the fire in his eyes promises I won’t get much of that inside.
“After you,” he says softly.
My heart pounds as he unlocks his apartment to unveil a space that’s pure, effortless luxury. Everything is clean lines and deep tones—black leather, dark wood, soft light spilling over steel and glass. It’s masculine, expensive, Dane Black carved out of bricks and mortar.
Then I see the view.
One entire wall is glass, Manhattan sparkling beyond like something out of a dream. I press my fingers against the cool surface, transfixed by the East River below and the endless sea of lights beyond it, my reflection merging with the skyline.
I don’t realize he’s moved until I feel him—the warmth of his chest at my back, his breath skimming my neck, the unsteady rhythm of his heartbeat matching mine.
“Wow,” I murmur. “The view is stunning.”
“There’s only one view I’m interested in,” he breathes, his knuckles brushing slow, idle paths on the bare skin of my back.
A shiver slides through me as I turn my head slightly. “Oh, yeah?”
His fingers toy with the zipper at my back. He doesn’t pull it yet—just traces the metal teeth, lingering, testing my patience.
“Last chance to run, Ivy,” he warns softly.
I don’t.
He lowers the zipper with agonizing care. Cool air skims my skin, chased immediately by the heat of his mouth as he traces the newly bared line of my spine. The dress slips free, pooling at my feet.
His hands roam lazily, mapping my waist, the dip of my back, before his mouth returns to my neck, teeth grazing enough to make my pulse race.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down my arms. “Now put your hands on the glass.”
I obey, palms flattening against the window. My breath fogs it faintly. His hands come around me, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing my nipples until I arch into him, a soft moan escaping.
“Look,” he commands, gripping my chin and tilting my face up.
Our reflection stares back: my wide eyes, his body caging me in.
“How fucking beautiful you are,” he groans, control slipping.
I watch, mesmerized, as his hands slide over the flat plane of my stomach, then down, fingers slipping inside me—one, then another—curling expertly.
I cry out as he gathers the slickness, spreading it.
“So fucking wet,” he whispers, lips at my temple. “So desperate to come for me.”
“Yes,” I choke out, my hips pushing back, head falling back on his shoulder.
He sinks to his knees like he’s worshipping me, spreading me open. The slow, devastating drag of his tongue steals the ground from under me. He teases me, tracing lazy circles over my clit before drawing it into his mouth. Then, his tongue creeps higher, teasing the tight furl of my ass.
Oh, sweet fucking Mary.
The world narrows to the feel of his mouth, the scratch of stubble, the wet, obscene sound of his mouth on me, the coil of pleasure tightening, tightening... I’m right there—right there—when he pulls away.
“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he says calmly.
I almost scream. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I think we should stop,” he says, punctuating it with one last infuriating stroke of his tongue.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” slips out before I can cage it.
He rises with a quiet laugh, his fist tangling in my hair, tipping my head back until I’m forced to meet his gaze in the glass.
“Wouldn’t want anyone accusing me of coercion.” He tsks, his grip tightening enough to make the point. “Would we, Ivy?”
“God, you can be a real je—”
His teeth clamp my ear, sharp and punishing, ripping the word away.
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Oh?” I manage, breathless but defiant. “I thought you knew everything.”
A dark chuckle vibrates against my throat, his thumb finding my pulse and lingering there, feeling it jump beneath his touch.
“I don’t,” he murmurs. “But I’ll tell you what I do.”
His fingers return, slipping between my thighs, crooking just right, teasing me, never quite giving me enough. My forehead drops to the glass.
“I know,” he continues quietly, like it’s simply a fact, “that if I play with you here...”
His fingers slow, teasing enough to make it unbearable.
“...you’ll beg.”
I try to hold on. I really do. But my resolve cracks, then gives way entirely.
“Fuck, please, Dane.” The word leaves me soft on the exhale. “Please.”
He stills. Just for a beat.
Then he withdraws and turns me to face him. He drags his tongue slowly across his slick fingers, eyes blazing like he’s barely clinging on.
“Take my shirt off, Ivy.”
My hands lift, trembling as I work the buttons of his dress shirt, slipping it off his broad shoulders, my fingers gliding over the hard planes of his chest, the light smattering of hair, the defined ridges of his abs, skimming the honed V disappearing into his waistband.
“Unbuckle me,” he groans, jaw clenched tight.
I work his belt and fly with clumsy haste. And then... Jesús. He’s hard, thick, and straining, heavy in my hand.
Without breaking eye contact, he pulls a condom from his pocket, rips the foil with his teeth, and slides it on with practiced ease.
“I also know,” he whispers, lifting me until my back thumps against the glass, legs locking tight around his waist, “you’ll come for me when I tell you to.”
My eyes pop when he grinds the huge head of his cock against my swollen clit, grazing along my slick seam.
His heavy-lidded eyes watch me in awe as he guides himself to my opening and eases in, inch by inch.
Every glide of friction sparks a rush of heat so intense my head falls back with a helpless whimper.
He cups my chin, fingers firm, drawing me back to him.
“I need to see those blue eyes, Ivy.”
The second my gaze lifts to his, something in him breaks.
He slides out and slams back in. One deep thrust that steals the air from my lungs.
I cry out as his hips surge forward. The stretch of his size is overwhelming, but in the best way possible; every drive, hitting places I didn’t know could feel this good.
My back slaps against the cold glass as he fucks me with a raw, primal force, the pleasure so intense it borders on pain.
He buries his face in my neck, teeth scraping, licking, sucking, his mouth moving greedily over my skin.
The sensation builds, twists, tightens until I’m barely holding on, my moans echoing in the vast room.
I bite my lip, digging my nails into his rigid shoulder muscles. But his rhythm is too perfect, too relentless.
“Dane,” I gasp, my voice breaking.
“Yes, baby,” he grunts, eyes glazed with pleasure. “Fuck, I’m so close, you feel too damn perfect.”
Each thrust grows stronger, more urgent, his eyes never leaving mine. His fingers slide up to grip my throat, the sensation feeding the storm tearing through me.
“I need you to come for me, Ivy, right fucking now.”
He drives forward, pounding that spot again—harder, deeper—and I shatter, my body convulsing so hard I swear my heart stops. He just keeps going, fucking me through the climax, kissing me slow and rough through each wave until his eyes roll back and he follows with a loud, throaty groan.
We collapse together, his forehead dropping to my shoulder, both of us breathing hard.
“Jesus, Ivy, you okay?” he murmurs, lifting his head to brush his lips against mine, fingers threading through my hair.
I nod, still not capable of coherent speech.
Damn. So this is what fucked senseless feels like.