Page 77 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

“For you.” I smile against his lips. “But we can’t. I have shooting practice, and you have your call.”

He plunges a finger inside me, steamrolling over my objections. “I have three minutes to make you come, so your pretty pussy doesn’t forget me while you’re out there.”

“I never forget.” A moan escapes me as his thumb circles my clit, sprinkling in some inciting flicks and pinches.

“Shh. Your sounds are for me only, and I can’t very well gag you in the library. Whose are you?”

“Yours,” I purr, biting back a whimper.

“Mine. All mine, Ivanna.” He picks up his pace, and my back arches as I draw nearer. “That’s my girl. Come for me now, baby.”

His command flings me over the edge, his lips crashing into mine to swallow the moans I can’t contain.

And while I quake with aftershocks, he holds me, mouth stillon mine, fingers threaded in my hair, thumb caressing my cheek with a tender stroke. I’m undone. Gavin Wells can shatter my universe in three minutes flat, simply by canoodling me in a library chair.

Too soon, we go our separate ways. Ty is driving us out on the golf cart to shoot and then passing me off to Liam to run back.

This is the way Wells and I have been, the way I hope we’ll always be. Sneaking off and stealing moments. Unable to get enough of one another. As demanding as he is, my submitting to him is always worth it. He rates my pleasure far above his own. I wake up with him between my legs and find him there several times throughout the day. Brisk reminders. As if any part of me could forget, least of all my lady parts, which are constantly sore in the best of ways.

He’s inscribed in my marrow now, essential to my makeup, a vital part of every move I make.

And he wasn’t kidding about my noises. He had our bedroom soundproofed last week, which led to an endless stream of taunts from the guys, but he claimed it was worth it as soon as we took it for a test run—uninhibited screams for the win.

I hold my stance, feet shoulder width apart, eyeing the target through the red-dot scope, elbows slightly bent. In the month I’ve been training, it’s become second nature. I unload my rounds into the silhouette, and Ty surveys my target.

“Fuck, Freckles. That was incredible.”

I beam, excited I’ve become so consistent. It’s odd how confident this bizarre training has made me. Sometimes, I miss painting and think about asking for supplies and a day off to create, but I’ve come to enjoy this even more.

We move to throwing knives next. That needs some work, but I’m definitely improving.

“Are you training me to be a circus performer?” I tease.

Ty chuckles, handing me a knife. “Nope. Go again.”

I throw, hitting a smidgen right of the center, which garners an impressed whoop from him. “Assassin?” I ask.

“Nope.” He smiles, his brown eyes gleaming with a razzingtwinkle. “But I’m sure Wells would appreciate an all-black catsuit.” He points to the next knife. “Again.”

“For about three seconds,” I say with a smirk as I let that one fly. Left of center this time. I overcorrected. “Then, he’d rip it off.”

He laughs. “I’m sure.”

“Is this all on the chance that we’ll be sucked into another dimension whereBraveheartis our reality?”

That one pauses him. He stares at me for a beat, hands on his hips, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yep. That’s it,” he deadpans, “but don’t tell them I told you.”

“Time travel. Should’ve known.” I set the last knife back down, worrying my lip as I dare to poke my nose where it may not belong. “Can I ask you something else, something serious?”

He heaves a deep breath, fingers kneading his forehead. “Sure. I’ll answer, but I won’t talk about it. You’ll have to be okay with that.”

I nod. “Of course. I don’t want to pry. I—”

“My father died when I was six. My mother raised my two younger sisters and me on her own, eventually remarrying when I was fifteen. A couple of years later, I noticed things seemed off with him, with my sisters.” He clears his throat, his spine wooden, face growing pallid. “Long story short, I found out he was abusing them. I confronted him. He said he’d come clean with my mom and leave her to get help. Instead, he killed the three of them and himself that afternoon while I was at baseball practice.”

The image of that is gutting. I hunch, arms across my middle, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m so sorry. I don’t … I shouldn’t have asked.”

He tugs me into his arms, pressing me into his chest. “Don’t apologize for being a friend. Just let us take care of you. Okay?”

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