Page 97 of Burning Ivy (The KORT)

That question deflates me even though I know she’s merely proving her point. “Of course not.”

“So, you believed in me?” She tilts her head, jutting her hip to the side, her tits bouncing deliciously with the movement.

“Yes.” I chuckle, tapping her nose. “More than anyone.”

She nods, her fingers weaving into my wet hair. “Then, believe in me now. Believe I have what it takes to handle this because I want to do this. For me. For you.For us.For my father. Our family. My motivations are endless. I won’t let fear rob either of us of something that has the potential to be amazing.”

I’m not sure how to fully accept that. She’s stronger than me. I’ve never let fear dictate my decisions, but when it comes to Ivy, the countless possibilities of her being hurt, I crumble. So, I default to an area we both draw strength from, seal her mouth to mine, and decide to worry about the rest tomorrow.

Lifting her legs to my hips, I smash her against the stone wall, gripping both of her wrists above her head while gliding my cock between her folds and fucking her wet cunt wildly. I’m sure I’m leaving bruises all over her back, but I don’t let up. Her moans assure me she’s right there with me. My girl likes it rough. She wants to be claimed. The very thought has me biting her neck and collarbone to leave my mark, showing the world she’s mine. That’s far more important than who I am.

“Who are you, baby?”

“Your good girl,” she rasps, her heels digging into my lower back as I slam into her.

“That’s right, Ivy. My good fucking girl. Nothing changes that. Understand? Nothing.”

“Always yours,” she pants. “God, Wells, I’ve missed you. You feel so good.”

I can’t get enough of her like this, so I step out of the shower, still buried to the hilt inside her, and walk us to the bed, both of us drenched. Dropping a pillow near the edge, I lay Ivy down on her back, hips elevated with the pillow, ankles slung over my shoulders as I stand before her, heel of my palm circling her clit while the other hand smacks her breasts and tweaks her nipples. She digs her nailsinto my thighs, scraping, drawing out a feral groan from me. And I thrust with everything I have while Ivy wails my name, her perfect pussy sucking in my cock. Our eyes never leave one another’s as I hold her gaze hostage, owning her. Every pump and mark and grunt a reminder of whose she is. WhoseIam. This woman knows the deepest parts of me—parts I didn’t know existed.

“I love you so fucking much, Little Storm.”

Her striking sapphires crease as she beams seconds before her release. “I love you too, Chief.”

I might not know what the future holds. KORT is unpredictable, possessing both the keys to the kingdom and a ticket to Hell. There’s no telling which we’ll draw. But right here, I know what she needs, what her body craves, her every ache and longing. That’s what I can deliver. Granting my girl her greatest fantasies so she knows without a doubt that she’s mine.

My pretty little slut.

My good girl.

My fucking queen.

We landed in Charleston, South Carolina, two hours ago. It’s the Sunday after Thanksgiving. I picked a neutral location for our meeting with O’Reilly, giving us time to sweep the hotel suite and control the situation. Ty and Liam have Ivy waiting in a connected room while Gage and I greet O’Reilly and his guard. He wanted three, his customary detail, but I refused. We have no reason to harm him, but every reason to be leery of anyone in his circle, seeing as we still haven’t identified the leak or the people intent on taking Ivy down.

Upon his arrival, I swing open the door.

He immediately offers his hand. “Mr. Wells, we meet at last.”

He’s about three inches shorter than my six-three stature with broad shoulders and blue eyes like Ivy’s. Both his full head of brownish-auburn hair and short beard are speckled with gray. At fifty-three, he’s retiring to enjoy what he’s earned and doing sowhile he’s still spry enough to mentor Ivy. He’s also confident she’s far safer in the seat than as an heir apparent. He shared as much in our last call.

I return the firm shake. “It’s been a long time coming. Good to finally meet you, sir.”

He and his guard, who briefly introduces himself as Robert O’Reilly, strut into the suite, glancing around for Ivy and turning back to face me once her absence is registered.

“I don’t have to tell you how anxious I am to meet my baby girl,” he states firmly. “Long time coming is an understatement.”

I gesture to the dining table. “I’d like to discuss some things before Ivy joins us.” Using her shortened name helps in keeping her full identity hidden—something we’ll only need to continue for the remainder of this meeting. After that, KORT will know that Ivanna Kingston Wells is the missing O’Reilly heir.

He unbuttons his suit jacket, taking a seat at the table. “Fine.”

I join him, forgiving his clipped tone. I know I’m not the main event. “Can I offer you a drink?”

“Bourbon, if you have it.”

Gage clears his throat. “A bourbon man. I’ve got just the thing.” He pours O’Reilly an Old Rip Van Winkle 10 Year on the rocks and a glass of Macallan for me while I move us forward.

“Ivy and I were married in September.”

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