‘Rules are made to be broken.’ Her fingers sink deeper into my skin, piercing hard enough to draw blood as her core clenches around my cock. ‘I welcome those consequences,’ she pants.
Ivy takes my cock like she was made for it. My release builds and I pray to fuck she’s close because my dick has mistaken itself for a teenager’s.
‘Kiss me,’ she demands from under a dark veil of eyelashes. Her irises burn into mine like she sees me, really sees me. But she can’t do, because if she did, she’d know I’m not just tortured, I’m broken.
My lips crash onto hers, my tongue invading her mouth, tasting, conquering and claiming, and her body goes rigid for about three seconds before she’s shuddering and shaking and moaning through her release. Moans which I swallow directly from her resplendent, responsive lips. Moans which seep beneath my skin and spark something in my soul that I forgot existed.
Fire dances down my spine, heat builds in my core, and my own cataclysmic orgasm rips through me, tearing me wide open as I spill myself into the woman I’ve been obsessed with since the moment I laid eyes on her. My moans mingle with hers like a god damn fucking melody, and for the first time in a long time, I feel weightless.
When the last wave of pleasure ebbs away, I tear my lips from Ivy’s mouth and place my forehead against hers. Our eyes meet in an exchange more meaningful than any spoken words.
I deliberately didn’t take her to bed because I didn’t want this to feel intimate. I wanted it to be animalistic. It turned out to be both. And there’s no going back. Cold guilt dances with hot, giddy elation in my chest.
As if Ivy senses my dichotomy, she cradles my cheeks with her palms, her eyes softening, her fingertips gently grazing over the fine hairs at the nape of my neck with a tenderness I don’t deserve.
When I think she’s about to say something meaningful, something profound, she says, ‘You know, for an old guy, you fuck like a sex-starved teenager.’ Her laughter lightens the rare moment of happiness. ‘I think I should go out with your brother more often.’
A growl rumbles in my throat. ‘I dare you to try.’
Chapter Twenty-Four
IVY
My back glides gently along the smooth, cool wall as Caelon slowly lowers me to the ground, until my feet are firmly planted on the floor. I’m without a stitch of clothing, yet I don’t feel naked until his hands leave my body.
‘Stay there,’ he orders, buttoning up his shorts. As he stalks towards the downstairs bathroom, I admire the view. The strong supple muscles of his back, the bold, dark patterns of ink on his sweat-sheened skin, the smooth globes of his ass in those shorts. His release is still dripping from me and I’m already wondering when I can get my next shot. I glance at the tiny blue light in the corner of the room and wink, just in case he really does watch this again.
Sex with Tortured is anything but torture. It’s devastating, in the most deliciously debilitating way.
For a hot minute afterwards, I thought he was about to freak out. I know he doesn’t like the idea of taking a woman in his family home, and I get that, but does he plan on staying single forever? It would be such a damn waste to womankind.
He wears his guilt like a badge – a badge I need to strip from him. He’s broken, and the need to fix him consumes me.
But who will fix me afterwards?
I’ve never met a man like Caelon Beckett before. I’m never likely to again. If I was smart, I’d end this between us right now, before one of us –me– gets hurt. But I already know I’m incapable of walking away from him, or his children, even if it means I’ll be the one who’s broken at the end of whatever this is.
He returns moments later with a hot washcloth and a bottle of still water. I reach for the cloth, but he hands me the water instead.
‘Are you sore?’ he asks, his voice both rough and gentle at the same time. He places the cloth between my legs and gently washes me down with a tenderness he doesn’t look capable of.
‘I – I can do that.’ I place my hand over his, attempting to prise the cloth away.
‘I want to do it.’ His black eyes bore into mine as he swats my hand away. ‘I told you before, I clean up my own mess.’
‘I like this mess.’ Heat pools in my stomach. His repetitive movements with the cloth over my clit aren’t helping. Yeah, there’s no way I can walk away from this chemistry between us. ‘In fact, if you keep stroking me like that, there could be another one really soon.’
He tuts, but his lips lift into a rare grin. ‘I knew you were trouble when you walked in.’
‘And there was me thinkingIwas the Taylor Swift fan.’ I arch my eyebrows. ‘Next you’ll be singingLove Story.’
The smile freezes on his face, and I realise what I’ve said. Me and my big mouth again.
‘This isn’t going to be a love story, Ivy.’ His voice is low but firm.
‘It was a joke.’ I wince internally.
‘You said you want a husband, a house filled with love andlaughter. I’m not a love and laughter type of guy.’ His fingers still.
