She pants again, and I pump my fingers in and out, careful to keep the right angle, the right movement. Her legs fall open wider, and her head falls back against the pillow again for just a moment before she remembers she’s supposed to be watching. Her eyes lock back on me as she watches me suck her pussy.
I suck harder, longer. I run my tongue through her entrance before increasing its pressure as I drag it over her clit. I curl my fingers just slightly, stimulating her walls.
I cock my free hand back, and I smack her other ass cheek. She lets out an approving sound and fists her fingers in my hair. I see her eyes shift to the window where she can seeeverythingthat’s happening, granting her a different angle.
Her breathing picks up. Her legs start to shake.
“Don’t hold back, baby,” I pant against her pussy. “I want you to fucking scream as you come.”
She whimpers, and I suck harder. My fingers piston faster. I growl against her clit, sending vibrations through it.
And she clenches around my fingers like a vice as she comes undone. A scream rips from her lips. She pulls at my hair as she presses my face harder into her pussy. Her entire body tenses as the orgasm rips through her from head to toe.
“Lucky!” she screams, and I can die a fucking happy man, hearing my name on her lips as she breaks apart.
As she reaches the end of her orgasm, I pull her forward and lie on my back. And she instantly seems to know what I want. She climbs right on top of me, and I almost instantly lose it when she slips down on my cock. My hands grip her hips as I thrust inside her and she rides me like I’m a damn horse.
“I want you to come in me, Lucky,” Willow huffs as she rides me ragged. “Right. Now.”
“Fucking good girl,” I grunt as I piston in and out of her, loving every loud, wet sound that echoes off the walls.
And I lose it. Right then. At her command. I come with a roar, my fingers digging into her skin. I grip her so damn hard, she falls forward onto me, chest to chest. Her fingers dig into my pecs, and it just makes me come harder as she claims me, flesh and bone.
We stay there for a good sixty seconds, each of us breathing like we just ran a 5K. I press my forehead into her temple as she tries to get it back under control.
“Hey,” I say softly into her hair. “You with me?”
“Mhm.” I realize she’s smiling at her reflection in the window, and it just makes me feel like a damn genius for setting us up over here. She’s wearing the lazy kind of grin that looks like she’s solved a problem the rest of the world can’t even name. “I like the windows.”
“Me too,” I admit, staring at the two of us lying chest to chest. “For what they show you, for how you get to see what I see. But it’s also like they’re proof. That you’re real. That I didn’t make you up because I was lonely.”
She turns in my arms and kisses me, slow and grateful and ruinous. “You didn’t make me up.”
I cup her face. I don’t say I love you because I’ve already said it three hundred different ways in the last ten minutes. Instead, I kiss the corner of her mouth, her jaw, her pulse, and whisper the only truth that isn’t a repeat: “I will always talk you through anything you want.”
“Thank you, Lucky,” she says in a whisper. “It’s exactly what I needed.”
Some nights,the theater breathes with me. Tonight, it inhales when I rise and exhales when I drop, and the whole room hums in that low voltage way that means I’ve got them—every eye, every held breath, every nervous laugh I can pull like a thread.
Marco’s voice is a whisper in my ear—“smooth on the deck, Shade, smoke in three, pyro on your mark”—and the timing is obscene, crisp as a card edge. Toby’s new trap chest slides like a secret. Sasha’s counts sit in my bones so clean I don’t even have to think; the beat lives in my wrists, in the way I pivot, in the way my stomach flexes so I can climb in the way I do.
But I’m not performing for five thousand. I’m performing for one.
She’s five rows back, aisle seat, black hair like a sin and eyes like a dare, legs crossed, mouth tilted in that smirk that says she knows exactly how unhinged I am about her. Every time I turn, I catch her. And every time I catch her, the act sharpens—more danger, more control, more “watch me, baby.”
The rush hits like another spotlight. She’s watching me, and every trick I’ve ever practiced feels worth it. I twist midair, silk sliding through my hands, a perfect inversion, the kind that gets me those standing ovations.
For thirty blissful minutes, everything’s right in the world. I’m on top of it.
Then my gaze skims past Willow. For no particular reason. Back a row, more toward the center. I don’t typically scan the crowd. That’s not even what I’m really doing.
But a familiar face freezes my gaze.
My mother.
“Oh, fuck me sideways.”
Next to her is my father. And beside him—Mormor, my grandma. And my aunt. Both uncles. It’s an entire section of Torviks.
