Page 160 of Ink Me Three Times
Mitchell tosses a couple bills on the table and jerks his chin toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s go home. Ivy, you in?”
“Yeah,” I grin. “I’m in.”
I ride with them back to Mitchell’s house, a small little rancher tucked away in a hallow. I love it. It suites him and his reclusive lifestyle, but I don’t have time to register any details before we’re rushing up the steps and pushing into the house.
The door clicks shut behind us, a trigger pulled.
Mitchell’s on me before the sound even fades. His hands find my waist, then slide lower, possessive and sure. His mouth crashes into mine, hot, ravenous, no pretense, and then he’s turning me, pushing me back toward the bed, he needs me there.
His fingers grip the hem of my dress, dragging it up in one sharp, hungry motion. His breath stutters when he realizes.
“Fuck,” he groans, voice already unraveling. “You’re not wearing panties?”
I smile against his mouth, teeth grazing his bottom lip. “Didn’t see the point.”
The dress slips off my shoulders, like itwantsto be taken. It puddles at my feet with a whisper, and the temperature in the room spikes. The air turns electric.
Freddie’s suddenly there, sinking to his knees beside the bed, all heat and shadow and intent. His hands slide under my thighs, strong, calloused, urgent, as he pulls me to the edge.
I brace on my elbows, breath caught, pulse hammering. His eyes meet mine as his scruff brushes the inside of my thigh.
“You want efficient?” he rasps. “Efficient is making you fall apart before they even get to touch you.”
Behind me, Timothy’s fingers skim down my spine, light, teasing, knowing. His mouth follows, slow and deliberate, trailing fire over skin. When he reaches my back, my bra unhooks with a practiced flick. The lace slides down my arms in a sigh.
“Let him show off,” Timothy murmurs, voice thick with anticipation. “We’ve got all night.”
And then Freddie’s mouth is on me.
Hot. Skilled.Starving.
He licks me, memorizing me. I’m his favorite sin. Every stroke of his tongue is precision filth, slow enough to tease, firm enough to make me gasp. He doesn’t rush, until hefeelsit. The tremble in my thighs. The breath that catches. The moment I start to climb.
Then he devours me.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet.
It’s deliberate. It’s messy and greedy and obscene. He eats as if he’s dying and I’m the only cure.
I cry out, back arching, body already strung tight. Mitchell’s there in a flash, gripping my wrists and pinning them above my head, holding me down, like he knows I might fly apart.
“Damn, Ivy,” he growls, voice hoarse and ragged. “You’re gonna fucking ruin me.”
I fall apart, hips jerking, thighs shaking, a desperate moan ripping from my throat as pleasure crashes over me in a storm surge. Freddie doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. He holds me throughevery wave, tongue relentless, fingers digging into my thighs, he likes how hard he’s wrecking me.
I barely catch my breath before they’re moving again.
Mitchell strips. He’s done waiting. Shirt gone, jeans shoved low, cock hard and flushed, glistening at the tip. My mouth actually waters. The look he gives me is molten.
“You look like a fucking dream,” he mutters, wrapping a fist around himself. “And I’m not gonna last if you keep looking at me like that.”
Timothy’s already sliding in behind me, bare and solid, pressing kisses down my neck, like he’s writing a promise there.
Mitchell’s mouth crashes into mine, hot and claiming, his hands already at my wrists, dragging them above my head.
“Stay there,” he commands, voice low and rough. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”
He pulls his belt from his jeans in one smooth motion. The sound makes me shiver. He wraps it tight around my wrists, binds me to the headboard.
