Page 67 of Poisoning Ivy
"A gun is easier..." Theo says, glancing from her to me as if seeking permission.
"Ivy..." I hold the gun out in my palm in an offering.
"No." Her fingers flex against the handle. "I don't want easy. I want revenge."
"Killian," Monty shakes his head in my peripherals. "Don't make her do this. She's not like us."
"She is, though." I assure him without even turning to him, refusing to take my eyes off of her. I'm captivated, spellbound. She's a fucking vision, and part of me wants to keep her locked in my house and never let her delicate skin see the light of day again so that no man but us can ever look at what's mine. The larger part of me wants the world to see what we own, to know that she's fucking ours. It didn't matter how hard they tried to keep us apart, or how much they told us to stay away from her. In the end, she fucking came back to us and found herself. "We were meant to find her, all those years ago. She's ours... let her prove it."
A single tear glistens on her cheek, but I think it fell long ago, because her eyes aren't glassy or red. They're the same beautiful green they've always been, and they're full of a resolve I've never seen from her. In that slinky dress clinging to her, with her vibrant hair mussed, a twig hanging from our time in the woods, she is a fucking vision. And that's to say nothing of the way she's holding the axe, which squeezes her tits together so that they nearly slip out of the top of the dress.
The craving inside of me right now is feral. It's unmatched. It eclipses every breath I've ever taken and every thought I've ever had and it becomes all that I need in this moment. To watch herfinally take matters into her own hands, to stand up for herself, to fucking finally fight back.
I can't help the groan that claws its way out of me as she brings the axe down on the back of his neck, flattening him in an instant as the blade thinks into his skin. His blood splashes through the air, but the flow is stunted by the sheer amount of blood he's lost already. Ivy recovers quickly, not stopping to assess the damage she created or to assess her own feelings about what she just did. Instead, she pulls the axe into the air again with surprisingly little effort.
Cody doesn't move as she adjusts her stance and swings, and when she brings it down again, the crack assures me she severed something in his neck.
We're silent as she seeks the vengeance she's always been denied.
I know he's dead by the time she hefts the axe for a third time, but by the fourth swing, I wonder who she is trying to get revenge on. Just her useless husband? Uncle Vitoli? Her father? her mother? Maybe her father-in-law, who clearly did her wrong more than once.
A sheen of sweat covers her chest and face, and she's flushed with the effort, covered in a spattering of blood. Breathless pants work their way through her chest as she falters, exhaustion taking over. But she doesn't stop, raising the axe again so hard that she nearly loses her balance. This time, when it comes down in the shredded mess of fabric and skin on the ground, Theo steps up behind her and places his hands over hers, trapping her against him.
"Let me go!" She snaps, struggling to lift it with his weight holding her in place. "I'm not... done."
"He's dead, Bambi." I tell her, drawing up to the other side so that her small body is cased between mine and Theo's. I feel each rise of her chest and the fast fall as she works to catch her breath.
"No," she shakes her head, and I feel her arm straining against mine as she tries again. "He's alive. You shot him, but he lived. I can't... stop... until I know."
"He's not coming back from this." Theo assures her.
"But... how do I know? What if he comes for you?"
"No one's coming for us." I promise, smoothing a hand over the back of her head.
"They will. They won't just accept that he's gone. We have to get rid of him... make sure he's dead."
"He's gone." Theo urges, trying to make her see reason.
"No, I-- I have to know for sure. I have to--"
I don't fight Monty as he slips the gun from my other hand, pressing my lips against the crown of her head, breathing her in. Even under all the sweat and blood, she smells like the wildflowers she used to pluck along the riverbed.
"It's okay, little killer." I tell her, stroking a thumb over her cheek. "You did so good. Let us take it from here."
Her eyes turn to mine, and magically, all of her stress and doubt seems to fade. I don't know what she sees when she looks at me, but it's enough to calm her fears, and that makes my chest feel strangely warm. It's not a familiar sensation, but it's also not foreign. It's like what I feel for Theo, which is uniquely different and also somehow the same as what I feel for Monty.
Ivy doesn't flinch when Monty fires, burying the bullet inside her dead husband's skull. She doesn't look away from me at all as I slip my hands beneath her ass and hoist her between us. Theo catches her beneath the knees, taking her weight so that I can free my raging cock with one hand and slide that delectable dress up her thighs. I don't care about her dead husband's blood beneath my boots or the bit of gray matter that splattered against my cheek as I release myself, aching with the need for her.
But this time, I'm not claiming something as simple as her body, no matter how much I love it. This time, I'm claiming a part of her soul, the very fabric of her being. And I'm not fucking giving it back.
She doesn't close her eyes, never looking away from me as I shove into her without preamble, only a little surprised to find that she's already wet for me, so warm and welcoming as I jut my hips against her. I watch her red lips fall open as I stretch her for me, needing to cement whatever the fuck we just forged. "Killian," she gasps, her fingers tightening over my forearms as the flush on her cheeks spreads quickly down her neck. She says it like a prayer, like she's calling out a plea to her God... me. It's damn near enough to make me lose it right then and there, but I don't want to lose this yet. This transcends any of the things we've done before. This is raw and cosmic, the kind of moment that wars are fought over the chance to have.
"You're fucking ours, poison," Monty growls, gripping her by the chin and forcing her to look away finally. Her eyes are hooded as she regards him, lost somewhere in the pleasure.
"Yes!" She cries, digging her fingers into my flesh again like that will keep her from going over the edge. But it won't stop her... or me. Particularly not when Monty slips a hand beneath her to free up one of Theo's, and he tugs the strap of her dress down, letting her spill out of it. I see Monty's eyes light with the hunger, and then he dips his head to take one into her mouth. Her eyes begin to flutter, now, but Theo doesn't allow it. He slips a hand around her neck like a collar, and I've never seen a fit so perfect. I've felt one, though, in the way we all slide together like pieces of a puzzle that got thrown into the trash and left scattered apart. We've worked to find our way back to one another, whether it's our souls that led us to one another or fate or just the way of life.
"Monty," she pants, biting down on her lower lip to try and gain some control over the situation. But she has none. We control her, consume her.
