Her long dark hair falls around her, spilling around her breasts, the dark silk brushing my skin. And when she rises onto her knees and lowers herself onto my cock, I can’t look away. The sight and feel are almost too much.
“Christ, Ivy,” I groan, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples with my thumb and index fingers.
She bucks and demands, “Harder.”
I comply, sitting up and replacing one hand with my mouth, but continuing with the roughness she craves. The combination of her whimpers, the ways she’s rocking against me, her nails digging into my back, is snapping what’s left of my control.
And then she’s shaking, biting onto my shoulder, and I do snap. I push her onto her back and pound into her. She meets me thrust for thrust. Her bed is bolted to the wall, but the headboard keeps slamming against it.
“Yes, like that. Don’t stop!” she begs, as if I could. Her orgasm and mine are barreling toward us faster than the train we’re on.
She comes apart around me, crying out, and that’s all it takes. My release rips through me, and I’m right there with her—loud and completely out of control.
I collapse on her then roll onto my side, sucking in deep breaths to help with my racing pulse. Giving myself a minute, I remove the condom and toss it into a nearby trash can. I focus on evening my breathing, keeping my expression carefully neutral when I finally meet her eyes again.
“Damn,” she sighs.
“What?”
“You’re right.”
“About…”
“That was good.” She runs her fingers up and down her torso. I follow the movement.
“Just good?”
“Men and their ego that always need stroking,” she mutters.
I smirk. “I’ve got something else you can stroke.”
She looks down at my hardening cock. “Already!”
I shrug. “I like fucking you. And we have two more condoms.” The pad of my finger trails around her areola, and her nipple tightens. “Does me being right mean you’ll think of me when you’re in your Kentucky man’s bed?”
It’s her turn to shrug. “Maybe.”
Screw maybe. I’ll make sure of it. “Get on your stomach.”
She does as I tell her without question, which makes my dick go from half-hard to rock-hard. I begin kissing from the top of her spine, moving lower.
We only have this one night, and I’m going to make sure she won't forget it anytime soon. Because, if I'm being honest, I won’t.
Chapter Three
Thorne
The minister finishes his closing remarks and the organ begins playing softly. People start to drift from their pews, but no one's in a hurry to leave. They cluster in small groups. Some head toward my mother to offer condolences; others linger in the aisles, talking in hushed voices about business deals and bourbon futures, as if this were a networking event.
I loosen my tie. The formal service is over, but we're still trapped here for at least another half hour of this performance.
My gaze shifts to the back corner. Madison.
I might have been preoccupied with a woman who had me coming so hard I forgot my own name—and the one I gave her. But on the way here, I googled my half-sister. There wasn’t much. Dad did a good job of keeping her hidden, but I found a few pictures.
And there she sits in the back of the church in a black dress, oversized sunglasses, sitting ramrod straight like she's afraid to take up space. She sat through the entire service, but she hasn't moved. Hasn't approached. Just sits there while people mill around, oblivious.
Or maybe not oblivious. I catch a few glances her way, whispers behind hands. She's young, alone, and doesn't belong to any of the usual Kentucky families. People will talk.
