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She moans as she opens more, taking me deeper, the vibrations of her noises surging through me.
I love that she’s so turned on blowing me.
When she gags and sputters, my abs tighten in ecstasy and concern, but those liquid blues peer at me from beneath her long lashes with pride and assurance as she adjusts to the intrusion, and I grow harder in her warmth. She strokes the part of my cock she can’t fit and moves her other hand to my balls, gingerly kneading.
“Fuck,” I hiss, astonished by her natural finesse at giving head. “You’re a goddamn miracle, Little Storm. So perfect.”
Two more minutes and I explode in her mouth with a grunt. “Swallow every drop.” I choke out the command, breathless as my cum shoots down her throat.
Pupils blown and face tear-streaked, she complies, stands, and grins as I scoop her into my arms and fall back onto the bed.
“That was okay?” she whispers.
Rolling us so that my weight cages her, I steady my breathing while drinking in the remnants of her performance with a devouring kiss, tasting myself on her tongue. “Not okay. Phenomenal. You get better by the second, even when I think it isn’t possible.”
She beams. “Right back at ya, hot stuff. You’re a real-life fantasy.”
I sweep some damp strands off her forehead. “You know, on our wedding night, when your inhibitions were low from the roofie, you told me about some fantasies.”
“Oh yeah, the choking.” She grimaces. “Did I say anything else?”
“That you also wanted to be tied up, among other things.”
She winces at my words.
“Look at me, Ives.” When her eyes find mine, I continue, “Do not be embarrassed or ashamed. Not with me. Fantasies are normal. We can talk about anything you want to try.”
Her teeth pierce her lower lip. “Since I’m inexperienced, I don’t really know what I like. I mean, I’m pretty certain I’d like bondage, but breath play sounds a little scary. I just like the idea …” She pauses, as though it’s too much to get out, pinning her lips tight.
“Keep going,” I urge, gently kissing the corner of her mouth, my tongue slipping out to caress the seam of her lips while she parts them with a sultry purr.
Her chest rises against mine with a deep breath before she spits out her words. “I like the thought of being used, dominated, not having a choice. Something about it makes me feel desired and needed.”
“You are unquestionably both, Little Storm, and I have plenty of ideas on how we can live out your fantasies.” I dust my knuckles over her smattering of freckles, finishing with a smooch on her button nose. “Now, lie there and don’t come until I tell you. Understand?”
With that, my lips glide down her body, sprinkling her with kisses along the way. I plant myself between her thighs, feasting on her sweet cunt, the taste of the two of us mixed together an intoxicating cocktail. She begs me for her release until I ultimately grant permission.
We fall asleep afterward, Ivy tucked in my arms, where she belongs. But she wakes to me in the same position between her legs, the same plea on her lips. Our perfect beginning.
IVY
If I could live only one snippet of life, it would be a string of endless Octobers.
Our days are nothing short of magical. Cinnamon and nutmeg infused gatherings. The cool breeze rustling up vibrant-colored leaves while we train—running and climbing and hollering like kids on the cusp of freedom in a schoolyard. The pumpkin coffee and hot meals Wells forces on me—nervous I’ve gotten too cold or worn out. The smoke and flames that light up the inky sky when they spin campfire tales—stories that I lock away because although I don’t feel captive, the stories read like clues to my deliverance.
It’s been nearly a month and a half in this new world, edging close to three weeks since Wells and I became a couple between the sheets. Everything before—before we met, before I was folded into this odd but comforting family, before Wells made me feel things I’d only read in novels—is like a distant dream. I’m no closer to understanding what’s got him so shaken or what the threat to me is, but my trust in him has grown. It’s not a gut feeling I’m relying on now. I see it in all the tiny ways he cares for me.
The conviction in what we’re building is news I’ve wanted to shout from the rooftops, but being concealed from civilization makes that challenging. The brief contact with the three women in my life has been enough to suffice. My mother cried the last time I spoke to her, so relieved that I was well and happy. Rena has been aconstant source of encouragement. And I finally received a response from Celeste the day after Wells and I had sex. I should have known that would be what would wake her up. She’s been busy, battling shoddy service, plunging into heart-stopping adventures, and being “fucked into a coma”—her words, not mine. She was ecstatic for me, but I don’t expect her communication to be any better moving forward. There’s no resentment on my end though. It’s good she has this experience before she signs herself away to be some politician’s mannequin wife. And I can’t complain because it seems I’m meant to be right where I am.
Somewhere, among these men, is my purpose, ormy sword,as Wells put it. I don’t know what that means or why I feel it, but it’s here. A belonging. Until I figure it out, I’m content to be swept up with Wells in this autumn retreat though.
As I sit at the dining table for our late afternoon dinner, I realize my thoughts have drifted because eight amused eyes are staring at me while I chew. I wonder how long I was chasing that shooting star.
Covering my dreamlike absence, I clear my throat and deflect. “How did you guys meet?”
Liam lifts a slice of pizza to his mouth, gaze still on me. “Military.”
Gage bangs his fist on the table, the pizza box jumping with a start. “The fuck, man?”
