Landon gives Ivy a look that threatens violence. If he weren’t her brother, I’d be concerned.
“Come on, Ivy. Let’s go upstairs,” I offer, pulling her away in the hope that we can both wind down when we’re alone.
She comes with me, bags in hand, but she has a distant look.
“What is it?”
“I need to properly look at every paper in that folder. I can’t work out why theauthor would send me these documents specifically, unless they relate to us?”
“Us, as in your family? But the names don’t match.”
“Yes, but one does. It must have been tucked inside one of the other papers, but I saw it downstairs. George Broderick.”
“Who is?”
“I have no idea. Never heard of him. Could be a distant relation?”
“What’s the next move?” It seems Ivy is holding out on Landon.
“I’m too tired to think straight, let alone work out this puzzle right now. But I’ll make sure I speak to Father tomorrow. He must know more than he’s letting on.” She leads us down a corridor and into a large bedroom that looks like something out of a magazine for interior design.
“That’s a big bed,” I comment, wanting nothing more than to crawl into it with her and never come back out.
“Easy, saviour. Food, sleep and then we can think about sex.”
For once, I agree with that.
Chapter Eighteen
IVY
There’s no light. It’s still dark; the heavy shroud of curtains blankets the morning sun that’s probably already there. I smile and rub my cheek into the pillow, relaxing in the strong arms that are wrapped around me. He’s softer than he has been before, gentle with me, as he wakes up and realises who’s backed up against him. Fingers wander down my sides, his rough hand making its way to places I’m only too happy to open for him.
I roll at the sensation until I’m on my front and let his lips roam along my spine. Soft sheets – soft bed. Soft mouth. I can’t even begin to process how different this feeling is. Whether that’s because of the situation we’ve been through, or the thought that he’s been honest, or even that I’m feeling something other than just fucking—I don’t know. It’s just becoming something new, something more, and him smothering my back and kissing his way back up only emphasises that.
He pulls my hair over my shoulder, exposing my neck, and his tender nips quicken a pulse that is already quick enough. I can’t help but revel in the feel of it, letting it consume all other memories of men before him. He’s been like a hurricane in my life so far, always there trailing me, whipping up thoughts and feelings I never thought I needed. I do, though. He’s something I never saw coming and yet don’t want to be without anymore.
I feel him push my legs apart, feel his hands work loosely up my thighs until his weight’s resting comfortably and he’s pushing inside me. I moan instantly, enjoying the sensation of his size rendering everything else quiet in my thoughts. It’s just me and him as he drives in deeper, and I moan again as his speed picks up.
“You feel so good,” he murmurs at my ear. I listen to his own sounds, enjoy their effect on me as he begins to fuck like only he does. It’s all close, warm, hot, as he reaches under me and keeps me where he wants me. Firm strokes. Long, hard, thrusts. All of which send me nearly delirious under the quiet assault. And then he’s tipping my head sideways, kissing me to make this more connected than it already is.
I move to get closer, desperate to keep these feelings going.
“Let me turn. I want to look at you,” I mumble between our lips. He does, and before I know it, he’s pushing into me again and wrapping me up in his arms. I can feel it building within seconds, sense the orgasm that’s almost there before I’m ready for it. It’s overwhelming, as he keeps driving in slowly, and God help me when he leans up and picks up my leg to hook it back.
“Oh, god,” I moan, my lips reaching for him again. “Come back here. I’m so close. I need ...” He leans down again, and the feel of him that deep, of the angle changing, causes everything to come crashing down on me.
I shudder, trying to get a breath through his lips still on mine, and then groan loudly as he picks up his pace again.
“Fuck, I love seeing that,” he mutters, grinding in again.
Every sensation heightens, every last drop of tightening in me relaxes, as he keeps going. I watch intently, mesmerized by the look of his eyes on mine. He doesn't look away, doesn't give me a second’s worth of time to forget who it is that's doing this to me. I don't want him to either. I’ve never felt like this before, never wanted someone so deep inside me.
“You’ve got more in you yet,” he growls, pounding in again.
“Yes, more. I want more.”
His hands end up holding mine down, our fingers linked tightly, as he keeps going. I can’t get a breath, can’t feel or see anything but the two of us and what this moment might mean to me. I gulp, head shaking for some reason I can't process. It’s all too much, too overwhelming, and yet I don’t want anything else but it and him. I can almost feel the words in my mouth, thoughts and feelings that I need to get across to him somehow.
