“I’m happy to be your learning tool.”
“Nothing more?”
My breath catches and my lips part, but before a single word can part my lips, she’s tugging at my boxer shorts, shredding them far easier than I expect.
My hands land on her thighs.
Her fingers tremble as she wraps her hand around my length, inching me closer to her core as she rises up on her knees. I flex in her grasp, and her eyes snap from my cock to my eyes.
“Do you like that, Archer?”
“I like anything that involves you.”
My palm turns hot against her skin.
Truth.
She rakes her teeth along her bottom lip as I attempt to yank my hand back, but she wraps the dainty fingers of her free hand around mine, holding me in place. A grin curls the corner of her mouth as she leans closer.
“I’m going to like making your life a living Hell,” she whispers, wild eyes brightening as she sinks down on my cock.
My eyes roll to the back of my head as her heat consumes me. I groan through clenched teeth, fighting the desire to take control as she whimpers with pleasure.
“Fuck, Ivy.”
“So full,” she whispers, and I pry my eyes open.
She’s the fucking devil, and the devil never looked so sweet.
Her head is tilted back, her blonde hair draped down her back as her breasts beg for my attention.
Slowly, she drags her fingers across my chest as she adjusts to me.
I know the second she wants more, it dances in her blue pools as she looks at me with hooded eyes. The pressure against my chest increases as she digs her knees into the mattress, rising up, only to slam back down with a force that takes my breath away.
Our moans mingle in the air between us as she repeats the motion again and again, claiming me with every tilt of her hips.
Enraptured, I watch her eyes glaze over, her nipples drawn so tight, and her jaw falls slack. A bead of sweat trails between the valley of her breasts, calling to me like a man on the brink of disaster.
I can’t get enough.
Trailing my hands across her skin, I capture her breast in one hand, running my thumb across her taut peaks as I bring the other to her core. My thumb is a magnet for her clit, seeking it out effortlessly, and her breath hitches.
“Archer,” she warns, and I smirk.
“Make me come, Ivy.”
“Archer.” My name is a chant this time, fluttering in the air like a prayer as her movements falter and the pinnacle draws near.
Thrusting up into her, I chase the release she threatens to offer, and the added friction is all we need. Ecstasy thickens the air as euphoria claims us, one wave of pleasure after another, until we’re a panting heap of limbs.
One thing is for certain: Ivy Hayworth will be my damnation.
17
IVY
“Idon’t know why we didn’t check in here first.”
