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.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ivy
Sunlight slices through the gap in the curtains, hitting me directly in the eyes. I blink awake, disoriented. Why didn’t I close the damn curtains last night?
It’s then that I register the arm draped across my waist. The warm body pressed against my back. The steady breathing against my neck.
Thorne.
