Poison Ivy Ch. 04

Hunter turned toward the door at the end of the suddenly, inconspicuously empty hallway and started walking. She barely noticed where they were going until he was setting her down on the velvety blue couch she preferred to the intimidatingly large bed. He crouched beside her as she stared numbly at the ceiling, brushing stray strands of hair across her sweat-drenched forehead.

Strong fingers gripped her chin and turned her head to the side until she faced him. Her remembered terror was paralyzing, suffocating. She squeezed her eyes shut.

"Eyes open, Ivy," the giant purred, coaxing her gaze back to his with patient strokes of his thumb along her jaw and the projected serenity erupting from his chest.

"I will never harm you, Ivy," she heard him say, his warm fingers still stroking gently across her face.

"Do you understand me? Never. Tell me you understand that, Ivy." She nodded absently. "I need your words now, baby. Tell me."

She opened her mouth, closed it, swallowed, opened it again. "I understand," she murmured, her voice scratchy and unfamiliar. Storm cloud eyes searched her face, the entirety of his attention fixed on her. It was both unsettling and comforting. She licked her lips.

Apparently satisfied with whatever he found with those roaming grey eyes, he released a shaky exhale and pressed his forehead to hers, the hand curled around the back of her neck both supporting her and bringing her closer. His thumb traced soothing circles on the inside of her wrist.

Rising from his crouch, he leaned forward and crushed his lips to hers, the hand at her neck climbing up to thread and tangle through her chocolate-colored tresses. Releasing her wrist, his arm wrapped around her waist, fingers splayed across the expanse of her back. Chasing her tongue with his, the fingers in her hair flexed against her scalp, pulling the very breath from her lungs. He reached down and unbuttoned her jeans, tearing his lips away from hers only to tug them and her recently restored boy-short underwear off. Shifting them both until she was settled on his lap, straddling his waist, he swept his hands up her body to lift her worn sweatshirt over her head. Small, slender fingers dug into his muscled shoulders, and she found herself aching to touch bare skin, to run her hands over the landscape of his muscled torso.

How the hell did her escape attempts always end up like this? Conflicted thoughts battered an exhausted mind. She hated that he knew exactly how to drive her mad with need and lust. Her body responded to his of its own accord, without any input at all from her brain. There was no will, no choice in it at all. She could feel it, sometimes. Millenia of instinct and evolution would rise up from that place beneath her sternum, where discordant thrums punished her acts of rebellion and defiance, and pleasurable pulses rewarded her obedience and submission.

Did she truly want this? If she hadn't been knotted and claimed during her very first estrous, would the rough pads of his fingertips skating across her skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, feel as entirely intoxicating as they did in this moment? Would her nose still seek out that perfect spot on his neck, where corded muscles stretched and flexed with her exploratory licks and nips? Would the scent of him, the taste of him, leave her with shaky withdrawals every time she awoke to an empty room, naked and lonely, his seed slowly dripping down her thighs?

There was no easy answer. There was no clear villain in this story.

The man in question moved his hand between them, unbuttoning his fatigues and freeing his impossibly large cock. Every time she saw the thing, she marveled at how such an enormous appendage could fit inside her body. It was witchcraft. Had to be.

There was an urgency to his movements as he positioned her on his lap, his cock poised at her entrance, the tip of the bulbous head already stretching her open as he let out a low growl. She shuddered and closed her eyes, slipping her hands under the collar of his shirt to feel the way the muscles of his upper back flexed and bunched beneath her touch. Gipping her hips to control her movements, he thrust his pelvis up as he pulled her body down, impaling her with unapologetic force. She moaned and tried to roll her hips, frustrated when he refused to yield control.

This was the crux and the curse of the Omega. All control was to be surrendered, even when she was in a position of power. Being on top hardly mattered. She was pinned, as surely as if his body covered hers.

Full, painful moments passed as he stroked one hand over her naked back, the fingers of his other hand digging into her hips to hold her in place. Her core drenched the monster appendage held infuriatingly still inside of her with copious amounts of slick, drawn forth from nothing more than the way his gentle touch roamed across her skin. Her breasts grew heavy, erect nipples tingling with excited anticipation.

As if reading her mind, he pulled her close, supporting her weight with strong hands wrapped around her waist. His mouth, warm and inviting, closed over one aching tip. A wicked tongue stroked cruel, languorous licks across the hardened bud before he sucked an alarmingly large portion of her modest A cup between his lips. Her fingers threaded through his dark, close-cropped hair. Her attempts to urge him on were ignored, a soft, playful growl reminding her who was in charge. As if she could possibly forget.

And then he bit down.

Alarmingly sharp teeth bit into the tender flesh of her areola, as thick fingers sought out the opposite hardened nipple to twist and pinch, tiny shocks of pleasured pain raising goosebumps across her skin.

A warm, heavy glow nestled low in her abdomen as he continued his assault on her breasts, teeth still clamped around a throbbing tip, spreading it's heat down to her pelvis and through the thighs balanced around his thick waist. "Hunter!" Her cry was a foreign mixture of need and pain and, something else... Something balmy and delicious, like the taste of the summer sun on a plucked honeysuckle. She wanted to chase it, wanted to wrap it around her like a blanket, burrow into it and shut everything else out.

Her Alpha responded to the cry, releasing at last her reddened, swollen breast, marked with the indents of his ownership, his claim.

Later, she would reflect on this moment, paradoxically ashamed of the pride she felt at bearing his mark. She was an orphaned soldier, capable and independent and defiant, and yet... The steady, purring thrum of the bond, along with the throbbing of both wounds branding her as his, filled her with an indescribable, startling sense of tranquility. Biology, she would think to herself, tucking the entire experience away with an explanation that, even in this moment, did not entirely ring true.

The steady grip on her waist slowly relaxed as his hips sank into the soft fabric of the couch. Still buried to the hilt, his cock throbbed and twitched inside her, and there was pain there, yes. But what was pain? Essential, crucial reminders of one's own mortality, but more importantly, a reminder that she was alive.

Momento Mori.

Remember you are mortal.

There was a difference between pain and harm, and she instinctively trusted his earlier assurances, even as tiny shocks of discomfort spread through her body, paradoxically enhancing her pleasure.

It was not long before he began to guide her, moving her up and down his shaft with a gentle grip, urging her now to take her pleasure, a reward for accepting his pain. She started to roll her hips unhindered, lost in the ecstasy of their movements. Up, back. Down, forward. Up, back. Down forward. Up back. Down forward.

Again, and again, the steady pressure of his hands on her waist supported her as she fucked herself on his cock, rubbing against his pelvis with every smooth undulation, seeking the friction that would set her off like a firework.

"Give me your eyes, Ivy."

How did he do that? How did he thread such command, such dominant energy, into words that wrapped around her neck, slid down her throat, and settled uncomfortably in her gut?

Fucking bossy prick, she thought grumpily, fully intending to disobey the arrogant order, right up until the moment her eyes lifted and settled on his.

Ah, shit. Seriously, she hadn't meant to do that.

Once there, her gaze was trapped in the intensity of his storm-cloud contemplation. "There she is," he murmured, just before his arms closed around her to lift and spin, planting her back against soft blue fabric as he settled himself between her thighs. Bearing his weight with an open palm by her head, his other hand was free to snake between their moving bodies, honing in on her clit like it was a fucking beacon. The ridges of his abs beneath her fingertips bunched and flexed with each forceful thrust. He was everywhere, an inexplicable and inescapable force of nature to complement his blue-grey tempest eyes. His scent saturated her skin, his breath filled her lungs, his body wrapped around hers in a protective cocoon.

Lost entirely to his dominating presence, it took her a moment to realize he had moved them again. He knelt between her spread thighs, cock still buried deep, pulling her up his legs as he went. Bent slightly at the waist, one of his hands cradling the back of her neck and the other continuing to strum her clit like she was a fucking guitar, she felt him push deeper, finding a place inside of her she thought for sure would kill her if he kept up the firm snap of his pelvis against hers. So focused was she on that particular spot the crown of his cock repeatedly stroked, she barely noticed how the finger on her clit slid across the inside of her thighs, catching some of the copious lubricant he had pulled forth from her molten core.

So when one of his thick fingers breached the entrance of the hole she was entirely confident provided one-way only access, she jolted and squeaked like a fucking mouse. Just for causing that sound to come out of her mouth was reason enough to snarl at him, but the way he slowly worked his digit in past the clenched ring of muscle brought a myriad of insults poised on the tip of her tongue, ready to fly like arrows, as soon as she could catch her breath. Never halting the tempo of his rut, he stroked the side of her neck in soothing patterns and released that serene rumble that never failed in its purpose of bringing her placidity, with absolutely no regard as to how inconvenient a certain relaxing of certain passages might be.

Too soon, the offending appendage was entirely lodged in her ass. In. Her. Ass. No amount of snarling or scratching had slowed his steady progress, and before she had a chance to claw his eyes out, both his cock and his finger were fully seated. Overwhelmed with how completely filled she felt, her snarls became moans, and the hands that had been scratching and fighting were suddenly pulling him closer.

Hunter's soft chuckle drew her brief attention back to his face just as he began to move. There was amusement in his expression, and pride. "I will have all of you, Ivy," he murmured softly, ducking his head for a single, gentle kiss. Just one soft brush of his lips against hers before he began moving with slow, steady thrusts of his hips.

He might as well have told her the moon would rise and the stars would shine. Here, in this moment, filled to the brim with everything that was him; his scent saturating the air filling her lungs, his cock moving in tandem with the finger now slowly fucking her tight hole, his storm cloud eyes capturing hers in a tempest of dominance and desire;it was impossible to deny. She could fight. She could scream, and scratch, and snarl, and run. Indeed, she had done all these things and more, and had no doubt she would do them again. Who would win, in the end?

Inevitability is a funny thing. You can race against a setting sun on the horizon, quick and fierce and determined as fuck. But the sun will always sink, drowned by the pull of the moon, leaving you abandoned in the dark.

So she said nothing. Digging her fingers into his shoulder, holding on while he worked to fill her completely, she lost herself in the moment, in the pleasure, in him.

Sensing her surrender, Hunter growled his approval and picked up the pace. The thick finger tunneling in and out of her ass burned, and it was sick, but nothing had ever felt as good as when they came together. Nothing even came close.

The lurid sounds of their heavy breathing, wet skin slapping against skin, echoed off the walls of the massive room. She felt every inch of his cock as he drove into her, every ridge and vein, the bulge slowly building at the base. The bond thrummed its pleased frequency, causing ripples of bliss to spread across her flesh in luxurious waves. One hand otherwise occupied between her legs, Hunter had propped himself up with a forearm planted by her head. His fingers traced the outline of her features, gently grazing across her forehead, down the bridge of her nose, over the sharp line of her jaw, finally coming to rest upon her lower lip. His expression was contemplative, stormy eyes searching hers. For what, she did not know, and yet, she found herself wondering if he would find whatever he was looking for.

Her unraveling came without warning. She gasped, arching her back, pressing into him as his thumb slipped between her lips to flatten her tongue. His rhythmic thrusts became erratic and fervent, each stroke met with her own ardent movements. A shuddering breath was pulled into burning lungs as she braced herself against the crushing feeling of coming undone. He followed close behind, releasing a primal sound of conquest as he buried himself deep, locking them together as thick ropes of come flooded her core with a deluge of liquid fire. His cock was sheathed by the pulsing walls of her tight cunt, his finger stretched her burning, forbidden channel, his thumb hooked between her lips, and he was everywhere. He filled every empty space inside of her until she was sure she would burst. His teeth found the raised marks he'd left behind when he claimed her and bit down gently, his tongue flicking across her skin to taste her flesh. The man was inescapable, all-consuming, possessive.

Tremors began in her core and rippled through exhausted limbs. Releasing his grip on her neck with an affectionate lick over the tender marks, he flipped them until she lay sprawled across his chest, pressed close by steadfast arms. His contented purr coaxed relaxed tranquility through tense muscles, his ridiculously large hands massaging soothing circles over her shoulders and back as she caught her breath. His chin rested on top of her head as gentle fingers weaved through tousled, chocolate-colored hair, tugging lightly as he listened to her breathing even and slow.

"I know what you're doing," she mumbled sleepily. There was a pause, as if she was trying to remember. "It won't work."

He smiled as she nuzzled into the crook of his neck with a satisfied sigh just before she fell asleep.

...........................

Hours later, he rested in the lavish, high-backed cherrywood chair he'd dragged to the bedside as he watched over her unconscious form. A single crease had appeared on her forehead as she slept, placed there by fitful dreams and bygone fears.

She was remembering. Fuck. He thought he'd have more time. He had to fix things here and get her back to Lostra, where it was safe, where he wouldn't have to worry about her putting herself in harm's way on a fairly regular basis. He shook his head and rested his thumbs on his forehead, elbows braced on his knees, contemplating ways to thwart her next escape attempt. Every time she left this room, she created a risk he was entirely unwilling to tolerate.

Hunter didn't want to think about the implications of her finding the little shit Beta who'd abducted and threatened her. The traitor had been spared for questioning, but if he didn't wake up soon, his usefulness would soon outweigh the risk of keeping him alive.

Ivy moaned and shifted in her sleep, exposing the soft curve of her breast. He tilted his head and tugged the downy comforter up until it covered her shoulders. Tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear, he sighed. He needed to be here more often, needed to keep a closer eye on her. Not that he'd given himself an abundance of free time lately. Even when he did have the opportunity to relax, he prefered to watch the steady rise and fall of her chest as she slept instead of getting a few hours of rest himself. He'd been trying to give her space, to let her adjust, but it was clear now that she would need his presence as she began navigating the dark recesses of her haunted memories.

He was going to fucking kill him. If it took gunning down every officer, every goddamned government official who had helped the fucker cover his tracks, he would do it. He was going to kill Vice President Hickson.

Ivy's father.