“Fuck yes, princess.” The words tumble out before I can stop them. My cock hardens instantly at the image—Cora stalking me through the woods, mask obscuring her features, rope in hand. “You’d be so fucking sexy doing that.”
Liam leans against the counter, watching with obvious interest. “I think our gambler likes the idea of being prey.”
“I really do,” I admit, not bothering to hide my growing arousal. “The anticipation of being caught, not knowing when or how...”
Cora moves closer, her fingers trailing lazily up my chest. “And after we catch you? When you’re all tied up with nowhere to go?” Her voice drops to a whisper. “I could lower you right onto Dom’s cock while you’re completely helpless.”
My breath catches. “Jesus, Cora.”
“Then I could straddle you,” she continues, eyes never leaving mine, “and Liam could slide into me at the same time. You’d have no control over your arms, just taking whatever we give you.”
Dom’s eyes darken as he watches us, and I can tell he’s picturing it too—me bound and impaled on him, Cora riding me, Liam completing our circuit.
“Three of us connected through you,” Liam murmurs, moving behind Cora. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Ryder? Being the center of everything?”
I swallow hard, nodding. My heart hammers against my ribs, body responding viscerally to the fantasy they’re spinning.
“I think we’ve found something better than gambling,” Cora says with a wicked smile.
The sharp beeping of the oven timer cuts through our heated exchange, making me jump.
“Shit, the chicken!” I break away from Cora’s touch and dash to the oven, grabbing mitts from the drawer. The others laugh as I fumble with the door handle.
“Saved by the bell,” Liam remarks dryly, leaning against the counter.
pull out the roasting pan, the scent of garlic and herbs filling the kitchen. "Not saved—interrupted. We're definitely revisiting that conversation later."
Dom moves beside me, peering over my shoulder. "Not bad, Caldwell. You've outdone yourself again."
"Don't sound so surprised." I set the pan on the cooling rack. "Some of us have skills beyond boardrooms and courtrooms."
Cora opens the refrigerator, grabbing the bottle of white wine we'd started last night. "He's being modest. Ryder's an amazing cook." She refills glasses, passing them around with practiced ease.
"Remember the carbonara last week?" Liam says, already moving to set the table. "That was restaurant quality."
"And the risotto," Dom adds, looking impressed. "Where'd you learn to cook like that?"
"My mom," I say, feeling the familiar warmth in my chest when I think of her. "She made sure I could take care of myself."
Cora hops onto the counter, legs swinging as she watches me plate the chicken. "Best decision we ever made, letting you take over the kitchen."
"Damn right," I agree, checking the vegetables roasting on the lower rack. "You three would be living on takeout and protein shakes without me."
Liam snorts. "He's not wrong."
"Semantics, counselor." I wink at him, pulling the vegetables out with a flourish.
Cora clears her throat and gets to her feet. “I’ll make the salad. Liam, you’re on table duty.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liam says, collecting place mats from the drawer.
Dom reaches past me to grab the pepper grinder. It strikes me how seamlessly we’ve fallen into these routines—cooking together, dividing tasks without discussion, knowing each other’s preferences and habits.
“What?” Dom catches me watching him.
“Nothing.” I smile. “Just thinking about how much better my kitchen runs with the three of you in it.”
Dom arches an eyebrow, amusement playing across his features. “Your kitchen? Last I checked, this penthouse has my name on the deed.”
