Page 3

Ivy

Instead of answering, he kisses me again. Slower this time, deeper, like he's trying to tell me something without words. I melt into it, fingers tangling in his hair, drawing him closer until there’s no space left between us.

His hands are everywhere—skimming my thighs, tracing the curve of my ass, gripping like he’s starving. Each touch leaves fire in its wake. Each kiss feels more desperate than the last.

His hips press into mine, and that’s when I feel it. He’s hard. Big. And definitely not hiding it.

I let out a shaky breath. “We can’t—”

“We can.” His voice is rough, and his fingers slide up under my dress, bold now. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

I don’t.

Because I don’t want him to. Because I want to forget. Because it feels so good to be wanted—right here, right now, no rules, no names, no past.

His mouth crashes into mine again. His hands shove the fabric of my dress higher until it’s bunched around my hips, exposing my soaked panties.

He groans. “Fuck… look at you. Soaked for me. You’re going to fucking kill me.”

"You started it."

"Did I? Pretty sure you kissed me first."

"You provoked me."

"By being not-hideous?"

I laugh, then gasp as his mouth finds my collarbone. "By being you."

Something changes in his expression–softens, maybe. He touches my face like I'm something precious, something rare. "I want—"

I bite my lip as he drops to his knees. On the goddamn bathroom floor.

“Wait—” I start, but he just hooks his fingers under the lace, drags my panties down, and spreads me open with his hands.

“I want… I need to taste you.”

And then his mouth is on me. Hot, greedy, relentless.

“Oh—fuck—” My head falls back as his tongue finds my clit and circles, sucks, slides lower, then back up, building me so fast I’m already shaking.

He moans into me like I’m his last meal. Hands locked around my thighs, holding me open as his tongue teases my clit, flicks faster. Pressure spirals. Everything else blurs.

I’m close. Too close.

And just when I’m about to break, he pulls back.

I whimper. “Why did you—”

He stands fast, yanks his zipper down. “Because I want you to come with me inside you.”

Before I can answer, he lifts me—strong hands gripping my thighs, pinning me against the tiled wall. My heels dig into his back, my dress bunched around my waist, his cock sliding against my soaked folds.

“Fuck,” he groans, lining up—then he pushes in, slow and deep.

I cry out, nails clawing at his shoulders. He stretches me in one deep, smooth stroke until he’s fully inside.

“God…” I pant. “You feel—”

“I know.”

He moves. Hard, deep, dragging moans out of me with every thrust. His hands grip under my thighs, keeping me in place as he fucks me against the wall like he owns me. Like I’m his.

I cling to him, body burning, lost in the rhythm. The pressure builds again, higher this time, sharper.

“Don’t stop,” I whisper.

He slams into me harder, faster. “Not fucking stopping.”

I come with a choked cry, my whole body seizing as pleasure explodes through me. He groans, hips grinding deep, cock pulsing inside me.

My thighs tremble around his hips. We stay tangled, pulsing, lost in whatever the hell this is. My breath is shallow, heart hammering, skin slick with sweat. He leans his forehead against mine, both of us panting, silent.

Then—

Footsteps. Voices. Just outside the door.

“Have you seen Ivy? No? Okay, thanks.”

A pause.

My blood turns to ice.

Knock knock.

“Ivy? Are you in there?”

Fuck.

Fucking perfect timing.