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I take more, slide down farther, use my tongue and lips and hands until his breath catches and his fingers flex against the couch cushions.

“Fuck, Ivy.” His voice is rough. “You don’t have to?—”

I pull back just enough to murmur, “I want to,” before sliding him back in.

And after that, he doesn’t speak.

He just breathes, deeply and unevenly, as I work him with my mouth—sucking, stroking, letting my fingers trail along the base, cupping him gently, then sliding lower until I feel him twitch.

He doesn’t last long. He’s too tense, too wound up, and when I glance up and meet his eyes, the look on his face ruins me.

It’s not just lust or heat but a raw, reverent adoration that is explicit in its unguardedness. His hands are still in my hair when I lift my head. His chest is rising and falling hard beneath me, his abs flexing under the weight of each breath, and there’s this raw, beautiful look in his eyes that makes me ache everywhere. He’sstill hard—maybe harder than before—and his cock glistens, flushed and twitching, resting against his stomach.

I shift into his lap before I can stop myself, legs spreading over his thighs as my dress hikes up past my hips. I feel the press of him through both my clothes, thick and hard beneath me, and something in his eyes snaps.

“Ivy,” he says, voice rough and tight, already dark with warning. His hands settle on my waist.

I lean in and kiss him, not gently. My lips crash into his, open and hungry, my tongue sliding against his as if I’ve needed this for years. He groans into my mouth, low and guttural, and the sound goes straight through me.

His hands are everywhere now, dragging down my spine, gripping the backs of my thighs, pulling me tighter against him until I feel the full length of his cock pressing against the thin cotton of my panties.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmurs into the kiss, voice shredded with need.

“Yes,” I breathe, lips brushing his. “I do. I want you. Now.”

“Fuck, you’re soaked,” he mutters, dragging the head of his cock through my folds. The sound is wet and eager, my breath catching as he finds my entrance and pauses, barely holding himself back.

He doesn’t take my panties off, just bunches the fabric to a side before he grabs my ass with both hands and yanks me flush, grinding me down until the blunt head of his cock catches against my soaked entrance. The sound that escapes him is a broken groan, thick with hunger, like the effort of holding backmight tear him in two. Then he drives up into me in one rough, ruthless push, and my cry splits the silence, my lips parted, eyes blown wide like I’ve been shocked into pleasure.

He moves again, deeper this time, dragging me down with him as if my body belongs to him entirely. Each movement is unrestrained, raw, a deep press that rocks me open and makes my spine arch like he’s knocked the air from my lungs. My panties are still pushed to the side, a soaked little scrap bunched at the crease of my thigh, and it only makes the friction filthier. The wet slap of flesh against flesh, the slick slide of his cock plunging inside me, echoes off the cabin walls.

“Good girl,” he growls, breath hot against my throat, his voice frayed at the edges. “Look at you, taking it like you were made for this. So fucking deep already.”

I whimper, hips rolling down to meet every punishing push. My fingers claw into his shoulders, trying to keep up with the pace he’s setting. It’s rough, messy, loud. The slap of our bodies and my own moans is all I can hear, joined by the filthy drag of his cock inside me, the hot brush of his breath against my neck.

His fingers dig into my ass as he lifts me and slams me back down, over and over, using me the way I begged him to. Each thrust hits deep, making my thighs shake and my lips part wider with every desperate moan.

“You wanted this,” he pants, dragging his mouth across my collarbone, licking the sweat from my skin. “You got on your knees like a good girl, sucked me off with those pretty lips, and now look at you. Eyes wide, mouth open, taking every inch of me.”

I can’t even answer. My tongue feels heavy, useless, as the pressure builds and burns low in my belly. All I can do is hold on. He thrusts again, harder, and my whole body arches, mouth open in a silent scream as I start to come apart on top of him.

“Yes,” I breathe. “God, yes.”

His hands slide up my sides, rough and possessive, until he’s got one on my breast, fingers pinching my nipple until I cry out again.

“You feel how fucking tight your pussy is around me? You’re milking my cock, Ivy.”

I can’t even answer. All I can do is move, grinding down as he thrusts up, my body meeting his in a brutal rhythm that has my legs shaking.

He leans forward suddenly, mouth closing over my nipple, biting just hard enough to make me clench around him.

“Say it,” he murmurs against my skin. “Say this pussy’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” I gasp. “All yours.”

“Say you were made for this cock.”

“I was. Ethan—fuck—I was made for you.”