Page 73 of Psycho Pack

Whiskey growls low and impatient in his chest.

I shoot him a withering glare. "Behave."

He subsides with a grumble, but I can see the hunger burning in his eyes. The way his hands flex against Ivy's skin, itching to move. To take.

But he restrains himself.

Good boy.

I return my focus to Ivy, to the delicate work at hand. My finger continues its maddening circles, each rotation bringing me closer to her center. Her pulse races in her puckered hole and in her spine beneath my palm. Her breath comes in short, sharp, nervous pants.

"Breathe deeply," I instruct. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

She obeys, her small body expanding with each inhale. As she exhales, I feel some of the tension leave her muscles.

Perfect.

I start applying steady pressure until the very tip of my finger pushes into Ivy's hole. Her breath hitches, a strangled cry escaping her throat. She muffles her own sounds in Whiskey's chest, but she's already shaking violently.

"Shhh," I soothe. "You're alright. Just relax."

"I've got you," Whiskey growls into her fiery hair.

I pause there, unmoving, letting her adjust to the sensation. Beneath her, Whiskey groans in spite of himself. I can only imagine the clenching of her inner walls around his cock as she struggles to accept this new intrusion.

Slowly, so slowly, I increase the pressure.

The tight ring of muscle begins to yield, stretching around the tip of my finger. Ivy gives the sweetest, smallest whimper. And I know she doesn't whimper easily.

"Good girl," I murmur, caressing her back to soothe her.

With agonizing slowness, I work the first knuckle of my finger fully inside her. The heat is incredible, her body gripping me like a vice. I pause there, giving her time to adjust as she trembles and shakes, practically convulsing. I'm sure if Whiskey weren't holding her so tightly, she'd be thrashing against him. The corded muscles in his arms bulge from the effort of keeping her still.

"How does it feel?" I ask, my voice rougher.

"F-full. Strange," Ivy whispers. "It... it hurts, but..."

"But?" I prompt, rotating my finger ever so slightly.

She gasps, her hips jerking. "But good. Oh god, it feels good..."

A smirk tugs at my lips.

I focus on the exquisite tightness gripping my finger. On the way Ivy's body trembles and quakes beneath my touch. On the soft, desperate, feral sounds she makes as I work deeper inside her.

"More," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "Please..."

I press forward at her urging, easing my finger in to the second knuckle. Ivy cries out before clamping her palm over her mouth, silencing herself even as her back arches. Whiskey's arms tighten around her like a vise.

"Easy," I murmur. "Breathe through it. The pain will pass."

She nods jerkily.

I begin to move my finger, slowly withdrawing before pressing back in. Each thrust goes a little deeper, a little smoother. Ivy's mewls of pain gradually transform into soft moans.

"Look at you," I breathe, unable to keep the awe from my voice. "Taking it so beautifully."

She whimpers in response, pushing back against my hand even as she clamps down harder around my digit. Seeking more.

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