“Do you… do you want to take them off?”
He looks up at me.
“Hell no. Leave them on. My dick is begging to feel this lace.”
He spreads me open with his fingers, his tongue finds me, and I stop forming coherent sentences. My body has never felt this much pleasure in a single night. My hands grip the comforter, fistfuls of fabric anchoring me as the climb to bliss starts in my toes.
RRIPPP!
The sharp rip of a condom wrapper.
“Pump the brakes, Ivy,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding. “You’re only coming one way, and that’s with me fucking you into oblivion.”
He moves over me. There’s no slow, teasing push. This time, he gives me a forceful, deep thrust that knocks the air out of my lungs. My fingers blindly fly to his ass, nails digging into taut muscle, anchoring him to me.
“You have no idea,” he grits out, his pace already building, “how long I’ve wanted this.”
He keeps driving harder, faster, each pounding thrust making his case. That the rivalry is nothing next to the force of us.
“Don’t stop.” I can’t tell if I’m saying or thinking it. “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t—”
“Hell, Ivy.” His forehead presses to mine, hips snapping relentlessly. You feel so right—so fucking perfect—now say my name. Tell me you want this as bad as I do.”
“Cole—”
My breaths turn into short, frantic staccatos, panting his name. My breasts bounce with the force of his movement, and I go lightheaded, the world narrowing down to the loud, wet slaps of our bodies meeting and heat radiating off of us. I’m climbing, reaching, and then—
I shatter.
He follows, driving deep with one final, brutal thrust. A rough, broken groan spills against my neck as his whole body locks, shudders, and collapses into me.
I’m pinned under the delicious weight of him, his chest heaving, skin damp against mine. It’s perfect. He peppers light kisses to my forehead, the curve of my cheek, and on my lips. His calloused thumb brushes a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. Then he nuzzles into the space where my shoulder meets my neck.
The room fills with the soft sounds of early morning, the distant hush of the ocean, the hum of the air conditioner, and the steady rhythm of our breathing.
Oh, shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
I stare at the ceiling and do what I always do when I start spiraling, I run logistics.
Current problem: I slept with the competition. Not once. Not twice, but five freaking times. There’s no protocol for banging your rival.
No checklist. No risk assessment. No “minimize emotional exposure” bullet points.
I gave him extreme access.
To my body.
To my reactions.
To the most vulnerable part of me.
I’ve spent six months building defenses around him. Turning everything into strategy. Tonight I didn’t just let him in; I handed him a VIP pass.
I squirm slightly and his arm tightens around me, his hand resting warm against my stomach. Like this is normal. Like we actually belong here together.
Maybe this is different.
