Page 16

Ivy

"My feet are dying." I kick off my heels, watching them skid across Dane's—our—foyer floor. The thought still gives me butterflies. Our home.

Dane catches me as I stumble, steadying me against his chest. "Worth it though?"

"Sarah not killing us? Definitely worth it."

"Told you she'd come around." His hands slide to my waist, familiar and warm. "Though I could've done without the college essay stories."

"Oh no, those were the best part." I grin up at him. "Especially the one about—"

He cuts me off with a kiss, slow and deep.

He pulls me closer, his fingers threading through my hair, and I melt into him, our breaths mingling in a rhythm that feels as natural as the beating of our hearts.

His kiss is a promise, a reminder of the life we’re building together, and I surrender to it, letting any worries dissolve into the sweetness of his touch.

Breaking the kiss, he traces my jawline with his thumb, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that makes my heart flutter.

"You’re mine," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire, yet tender, as if he’s reminding himself as much as me.

There’s a possessiveness in his tone, but it’s not suffocating—it’s protective, loving, a declaration of forever.

I smile, my fingers tugging at the hem of his shirt, and he lifts it over his head without hesitation, revealing the lean, muscular frame I adore.

His skin is warm under my touch, a canvas of strength and vulnerability that I’ve come to know so well.

Every scar, every curve of muscle, tells a story, and I’ve memorized them all.

His hands slide down my back, unzipping my dress with a slow, deliberate motion, letting it pool at my feet.

Naked, we stand before each other, familiar yet always new, as if each time we reveal ourselves, we uncover another layer of the love we share.

The air between us hums with anticipation, charged with the knowledge of what’s to come.

He steps closer, his chest brushing against mine, and I feel the steady thump of his heart, a rhythm that matches my own.

"Come here," he whispers, his breath tickling my ear as he guides me to the bed. His lips trail down my neck, pausing at my collarbone, where he nips gently. I shiver, arching into him, my hands roaming over his shoulders, down his chest, until I find his cock, already hard. It’s a testament to the connection we share, the way our bodies respond to each other without a word needing to be spoken.

I wrap my fingers around him, stroking slowly, savoring the way he groans my name, his head tipping back in pleasure. His skin is hot under my touch, his muscles tensing as he fights the urge to thrust into my hand.

"Your turn," he whispers, his voice hoarse, as he pushes me back onto the bed. He kneels between my thighs, his breath ghosting over my clit as he teases me with light kisses, his tongue tracing patterns that make me squirm.

I reach for him, but he catches my wrists, pinning them above my head with one hand while the other slips between my legs, his fingers dipping inside me.

"Not yet," he says, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver through me. His touch is deliberate, calculated to drive me wild, and it works. I’m already aching for him, my body flush with heat.

I whimper, desperate for more, but he’s in no rush. His mouth finally closes over my clit, sucking gently, his tongue flicking in a rhythm that builds a steady ache deep within me. The sounds I make are unfiltered, raw, and he hums against me, the vibration sending sparks through my core.

I’m close, so close, but he pulls away, grinning, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Tease," I breathe, my voice laced with both frustration and affection. He leans down, his lips brushing mine, and whispers, "You love it."

But he’s already above me, his cock pressing against me, entering me with a slow, deliberate thrust that makes me gasp.

He fills me completely, stretching me in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar.

He moves with purpose but restraint, his hips rocking into mine as he kisses my shoulder, my neck, my lips.

I wrap my legs around him, meeting his thrusts, our bodies moving in perfect sync, as if we’re dancing to a melody only we can hear.

The friction between us is electric, every touch, every breath, amplifying the connection we share.

His hands roam over my body, mapping every curve, every dip, as if committing me to memory.

I run my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, our kisses becoming more urgent, more desperate.

"Dane," I moan, my voice breaking as he hits a spot deep inside me that makes my toes curl.

He smiles against my skin, a smug, satisfied smile, and whispers, "Say it again. "

"Forever," he murmurs against my skin, and I tighten around him, my walls clenching as I come apart, crying out his name.

My orgasm crashes over me like a wave, overwhelming and all-consuming, and he follows, his release hot and intense, his breath ragged as he collapses onto me, his weight a comfort rather than a burden.

His heart pounds against mine, our sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist.

He rolls onto his side, pulling me into his arms, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.

The air is thick with the scent of sex and satisfaction, and I feel a deep, abiding peace.

This is us—raw, unguarded, completely in tune with each other.

His lips brush my forehead, and he murmurs, "I love you," his voice soft but steady, a promise he’s never broken.

"I love you too."

*

Later, curled against his chest, I remember something that's been nagging at me. "I should text Dorian. He left so abruptly..."

"Yeah, I wondered about that." Dane's fingers trace patterns on my shoulder. "Must have been serious for him to miss out on more gossip fodder."

"He got a text right before he left." I reach for my phone. "Started muttering 'Crisis, crisis, crisis!' in full theatrical Dorian mode. Then something like 'What would my girls do without their Dorian?' before rushing out. Said his friend Maggie needed him urgently."

"Dorian passing up prime drama to handle someone else's drama? That's a first."

"Right?"

I type quickly.

Me: Are you okay? What happened?

The response comes almost immediately:

"Oh my god."

"What?" Dane props himself up on an elbow.

"Listen to this." I read Dorian's text:

Dorian : "Darlings, duty calls! My gorgeous friend Margarita Flores, aka Maggie Flowers, is about to be deported back to Mexico by her evil ex.

But fear not! Your Dorian has a plan. It's only slightly illegal and involves a random hunk with excellent calves, three wigs, and possibly a small amount of breaking and entering.

That douche wants drama? We'll give him drama.

Time for some SWEET FUCKING REVENGE! ??"

THE END