Page 41 of Twins for the Mountain Daddies

He doesn't answer, but his jaw clenches. He’s been fighting this so damn hard, but he’s not fooling anyone. He wants her. Just as bad as I do. Just as bad as Wyatt does.

I press my lips to the soft skin of Ivy's neck, my breath warm against her. My voice is a low rumble, just for her ears. "Are you wet for me, CG? Should I check?" The question hangs between us, charged with anticipation.

Without waiting for an answer, I hook my fingers around the hem of her skirt and lift it up high. Wyatt's eyes widen, his gaze riveted as he bites down on his fist in a move to contain whateverthoughts are racing through his mind. He reaches out, grabs her thigh, and gently pries it open further, giving me—and himself—a clear view.

My thumb slides over the delicate fabric of her panties, the moisture undeniable. She's drenched.

“Goddamn, baby.”

I pull the fabric aside, and my fingers slip beneath, teasing her with a featherlight touch. She shivers in response. "Please," she whispers, barely audible over the rumble of Hank's truck.

"Please what, Ivy?" I murmur against her ear, drawing out her need, savoring her desperation.

"More," she gasps, and I oblige, slipping a finger inside her, feeling her clench around me. Wyatt's hand is a vice on her thigh, his eyes locked on where my finger disappears into her pretty pussy. It's like he's trying to hold her together while I'm set on tearing her apart, piece by exquisite piece.

The sounds she makes—God, they're music, raw and real. Little mewls and whimpers, each one stoking the fire within me. The air in the cab thickens, charged with our collective arousal.

Hank's silent through it all, but his body screams tension, every muscle taut as a wire. When I glance at him, I catch the dark look on his face. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

"Look at you," I tease Ivy, my voice gravelly with restraint. "So ready to come undone for us."

She nods, her eyes wide and pleading, gleaming in the half-light. I quicken my pace, relentless now, chasing her climax with the single-minded focus she deserves.

“Come for us, baby.”

I get what I want. With a sharp cry that pierces the night, Ivy arches into my hand, her inner walls fluttering around my fingers. She’s wet, so incredibly wet, and I know I've pushed her over the edge.

Hank's jaw tightens further, if that's even possible, and his shoulders lock up like he's bracing against a storm. But he doesn't speak, doesn't join in. Just drives.

And I can't help but wonder what it'll take to break his silence, to unleash the storm I see brewing behind those stormy gray eyes.

The truck jerks to a stop, gravel grinding under the tires. I barely register it—my pulse is still hammering, Ivy’s cries ringing in my ears. Then the engine cuts off, and silence crashes down hard.

Hank doesn't waste time. His door slams shut with a sound that echoes off the trees, a full stop to whatever just happened here. He stalks off, each heavy step sending jolts through the ground like warning tremors of an earthquake.

"Shit," I mutter, watching his broad back disappear into the shadows that cling to the cabin. The porch light flickers on, throwing a golden halo that Hank walks right through, not even glancing back at us.

"Is he—" Ivy starts, her voice a soft wisp of confusion.

"He’ll be fine," I say, more to myself than her.

Wyatt grunts, shifting beside me, but there's no words between us. We all know Hank's moods like we know the back of our hands—rough, unreadable, best left alone when they turn stormy.

Chapter 19

Ivy

My breath is still uneven, my body still thrumming, every nerve buzzing in the aftermath. My thighs are slick, my pulse pounding between them. I just came in the truck. With Wyatt and Hank right there.

What the hell is happening to me?

"Easy, darlin'," Holt says, his voice a low rumble that somehow steadies my erratic breathing. His hand brushes a stray lock of hair from my face, gentle and yet possessive in a way that stirs me further.

I lean into the touch before I can stop myself, my body still caught in the haze of pleasure, in the heat of what just happened. Holt’s palm lingers, thumb stroking slow against my cheek, and for a second, I think I could melt right here.

My eyes stray to where Hank disappeared. He’s long gone. Already inside, already putting space between us like he can shut the door on whatever just happened.

I should let him.

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