Page 154 of Ink Me Three Times
But someone crosses the space. And then suddenly… they all do.
Mitchell’s hand brushes mine first, tentative, like he’s asking a question he already knows the answer to.
I twine my fingers with his before I can overthink it. Before I can remind myself how complicated this is. How stupid. How dangerous it feels to hope again.
His breath catches. “Ivy…”
I don’t let him finish.
I lean up and press my mouth to his.
Mitchell’s mouth crashes into mine like it’s the last thing holding him together. There’s no hesitation this time, no guarded edge. Just heat and hunger and the kind of desperation that makes a girl forget how to stand.
His hands slide up my waist, greedy and reverent all at once, and I melt into him. I’ve been waiting my whole life to fit here.
But then there are more hands.
Timothy steps in close behind me, his body pressed firm and solid to my back, his breath warm against my neck. His hands settle at my hips, grounding me even as I tremble between them.
Freddie steps in beside us, his palm cupping my jaw as he tilts my face toward him, eyes burning of wildfire.
“You sure?” he asks, voice hoarse, rough with restraint.
“Yes.” I don’t even hesitate. My voice is barely a whisper, but it rings with something deeper than certainty. “Please.”
That’s all it takes.
The moment splinters open.
Mitchell groans against my mouth, hands sliding lower, gripping my ass. Timothy’s fingers move under my shirt, tracing bare skin with maddening slowness. And Freddie kisses me too, fierce and claiming, as Mitchell mouths down my neck.
I can’t think. I don’t want to. They surround me completely, their bodies, their hands, their mouths, a storm I never want to escape.
Timothy’s voice rumbles low behind me. “Get this off.”
The shirt is gone before I can breathe. Mitchell’s already unhooking my leggings, sliding them down like a man unwrapping something sacred. Freddie turns to lock the door, shutting the blinds before he watches me from the shadows, hungry, jaw tight, eyes flaming.
“Ivy,” Mitchell murmurs. “No bra?”
I shrug, breathless. “Didn’t think I’d need one.”
Timothy groans behind me. “Fuck me.”
Mitchell’s grin is wicked. “We’re going to ruin you tonight.”
He nods toward the back room. “Chair.”
I know what that means now. I let them lead me, heart pounding, body thrumming with anticipation.
The tattoo chair is reclined low, leather gleaming, the overhead light casting everything in soft gold. A small black case sits open beside it on the rolling tray. Lube. Restraints. A slim glass toy. A vibe. A plug. And something that makes my breath catch, a collar.
Oh this is going to besodifferent to the last time I was here.
He lifts it now. “Want this?”
I meet his eyes. “Yes. Please.”
Timothy fastens it around my throat in a ceremony. Not tight. Just right. His fingers linger at the clasp, then stroke over the leather, possessive.
