Undressed By His Arrogance-Chapter 277: You’re Killing Me

Winn jerked upward involuntarily, a strangled sound escaping him as her enthusiasm caught him off guard. She gagged slightly, and he quickly gathered her hair in his hand, tugging gently to lift her head so he could watch her face. His eyes were dark, filled with hunger.

She continued, sliding her mouth in a steady rhythm over him, the wet warmth of her lips and tongue sending shivers and jolts of pleasure through his body. He pressed the side of his face into the pillow, groaning and gripping the sheets.

Her moans wrapped around him, carrying both her pleasure and the deep, unspoken love they shared. She savored him, reveling in the taste and feel. "Babe...fuck...babe...faster...please," he gasped.

Her fingers tightened around him, steadying his hips and guiding him as she followed his desperate rhythm, drawing him closer to the edge while keeping a teasing control over every movement.

She indulged him fully, bracing one hand beside his chest for balance while holding his cock beneath her lips with surety. Every bob and slide was precise, designed to push him further while keeping herself present in the moment, entwined in him in every sense.

His groans became deeper, rumbling in his chest, vibrating through her, anchoring her in the sheer, unrestrained intimacy of it all. "God...fucking Christ!" Winn growled, licking his lips.

"Babe...babe...enough!" he finally rasped, desperation mingled with awe. Ivy raised her head slowly, letting their eyes meet, the power dynamic of desire momentarily flipping between them. Her dark gaze held his, and she let the night dress slip over her shoulders. She positioned herself above him, her core aligned with his shaft.

With one fluid, confident motion, she sank down onto him, her body pressing into his.

Winn’s entire upper body lifted from the bed as if pulled by an invisible wire, a sharp breath tearing from his chest before he could stop it. His arms came around her instinctively, wrapping her in. Ivy felt the tension in him immediately—the restraint, the ache, the way he was fighting himself even as he surrendered to the moment.

Her body answered his without thought, muscles tightening, holding him close.

A low, rough sound escaped him as he shifted them, rolling them so he was above her now, his weight braced carefully. His forehead dropped to hers, breath mingling, the space between their mouths barely there. "You’re killing me," he whispered.

One of his hands slid to her thigh, lifting it, keeping her from clenching so hard around him so he wouldn’t lose control too fast, so he could stay with her in this moment just a little longer.

Ivy cried out softly. Every movement felt amplified, urgent, as if they were trying to pour days of grief, fear, and longing into minutes.

The bed creaked beneath them, shifting slightly, and Ivy clutched at whatever she could reach—his shoulders, the sheets, the edge of the mattress. It felt chaotic and imperfect.

"Babe," he said, strained as he moved inside her. "Are you close? Are you close, baby?"

Ivy nodded, words failing her, the sensation building too fast for anything coherent. Her hand slid up his back, nails pressing in.

"Say it," he demanded. He shifted again, one hand moving between them, and rubbing her clit. He was focused entirely on her now so they could fall together.

"Yes, yes!" she basically shouted, her body arching instinctively toward him as if chasing more even when there was nothing left to chase. The double stimulation had her unraveling fast, every nerve ending screaming, her vision going white at the edges. "Winn! I’m..."

"That’s my girl," he murmured. "Go on, love. Give it to me. Come on." It took the last of his willpower to hang on for her even as he sped up. His jaw clenched, breath shuddering as he focused on her face, on the way her eyes squeezed shut, the way her mouth fell open as if she couldn’t contain what she was feeling.

Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip in a futile attempt to muffle the sound, but it didn’t work. Her moan was long and loud, spilling into the room without apology. "Winn!"

"Yeah, baby," he breathed, watching her come undone beneath him, the sight nearly enough to undo him completely. "God, you’re gorgeous." He sped up again, his own control finally snapping, his movements turning urgent. His cock swelled inside her, the sensation overwhelming, and a strangled sound tore from his throat.

"Fuck!" He growled long and low as release tore through him—right as three sharp taps echoed against the door.

"Keep it down, will ya?" Sam’s voice cut through the haze from the other side of the doorway. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

"Shit," Winn muttered as he buried his face in Ivy’s hair, shoulders shaking slightly with laughter now that the tension had finally broken. He pressed a quick kiss to her temple, still catching his breath, as if the interruption had yanked them both back into the real world a little too abruptly.

"Oh my God..." Ivy groaned, covering her face with her palms, mortification crashing in where pleasure had just been. Her cheeks burned as she let out a weak, breathless laugh. "Oh my God... Uncle Evans is going to kill me."

"I’d like to see him try," Winn laughed, rolling carefully to the side and pulling her with him, tucking her against his chest as if that were the most natural place in the world for her to be.

His arm draped over her waist possessively, thumb tracing lazy, absent circles against her skin. "Everyone knows you belong to me, sweetie. Everyone."

"This changes things, Winn," she said softly. Ivy lay on her side facing him, one knee drawn up, fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest.

"It changes nothing," Winn replied. He shifted closer, his spent cock dangling between them both. "When we go back, everything stays the same."

"No... not everything." Ivy sighed, her gaze drifting past him to the darkened window. Her mind betrayed her, as it always did, wandering back to New York—to Eugene, to wedding plans discussed too casually, to a future she had agreed to without truly wanting.

Knowing Elizabeth existed shattered whatever fragile justification she’d built around marrying another man. Her heart—and her body—had never stopped belonging to Winn. Loving him had been inconvenient, dangerous, exhausting... but it had also been inevitable.

Winn pulled her closer, pressing his lips briefly to her hair, breathing her in. "I hate this," he admitted quietly. "I hate having you once in a blue moon. Stolen moments. Half-lives." His hand flexed against her back, protective, possessive. "It’s not enough. It’s never been enough."

"Let’s hope we find lasting solutions to our problems," Ivy said, attempting optimism even as uncertainty curled in her chest.

"Tomorrow, we strategise," Winn said after a beat. "Right now, we need sleep."

Ivy nodded, resting her head against his shoulder, listening to the slow rhythm of his breathing. Sleep didn’t come easily. It hovered at the edges, interrupted by thoughts of Elizabeth, of enemies still moving pieces on a board she barely understood. When she finally drifted off, it was shallow and restless.

*****

Winn woke first. For a few moments, he stayed still, watching Ivy sleep. Her hair spilled across the pillow in soft disarray, lashes dark against her cheeks.

This—this—was what he wanted. Just this quiet intimacy, the ordinary miracle of waking up beside the woman he loved.

Eventually, he slipped out of bed, pulled on his discarded shorts and a cheap T-shirt he’d bought in a rush the night before, and padded quietly down the hallway.

He met Evans sprawled on the living room sofa, a thick knitted blanket wrapped around him. One arm hung off the side, fingers nearly brushing the floor, while the other was tucked awkwardly under his head. Winn paused for a second, taking in the sight.

For all Evans’s macho, it was oddly satisfying seeing him displaced like this—exiled from his own bed.

Winn chuckled under his breath. He could guess exactly why Irene was furious enough to banish her husband to the sofa. Keeping Elizabeth a secret was no small thing, and Irene was many things, but she was a mother first, then a wife next. Winn knew her well enough to know she would rage and then—eventually—crack.

Irene loved Evans fiercely.

He moved quietly into the kitchen, made two cups of coffee, and returned to the living room. With deliberate lack of sympathy, Winn nudged the sofa with his foot. He waited, sipping his coffee, until Evans stirred, blinking groggily.

"How the mighty has fallen," Winn drawled. "Coffee?"

Evans groaned, pushing himself upright and squinting at Winn as if deciding whether to throw a cushion at his head. He accepted the coffee anyway, wrapping both hands around the mug.

"Yeah, mock me. I deserve it," he muttered, taking a long sip. He glanced toward the hallway, then back at Winn, one brow lifting. "So... I’m guessing with all the noise coming from your room last night, Ivy’s engagement to Eugene is off."