Hard in a way that wasn't rushed. Each thrust shifted the desk beneath them—and her with it, forward into the edge until the mahogany became a problem she couldn't ignore. Her breath broke against the wood, rhythm she couldn't match—only take.
She reached back for him—tried to catch his arm, anything to anchor herself.
He caught her wrist. "Stay."
April pulled her hand back. Planted it against the glass wall instead.
The slap echoed. Loud enough that she heard it over her own breathing, over the distant bass, over the slide of skin and the wet sounds of him moving inside her.
Loud enough the poker table definitely heard it.
"Better," Dante said, approval rough in his voice. Both hands returned to her hips, and his grip locked her in place. "Good."
Then his hand struck her ass. The sting bloomed fast. April gasped. Her body seized around him.
"You like that," Dante said. Not a question.
"Yes—" April gasped. "Yes, I—"
Another slap. Different cheek. The impact sent want flooding through her. She could feel the imprint of his palm, could feel her skin heating, could feel the way her body responded—getting wetter, clenching tighter, chasing.
"Good," he said, and the approval in his voice did something to her.
April watched his reflection move—the focus on his face, the way he looked at her like she was something rare he'd claimed and intended to keep.
Through the glass, shadows shifted at the poker table. Barely visible. Just enough to remind her they were there.
Dante's rhythm changed, deeper and harder, chasing. His fingers dug into her hip hard enough to bruise.
The third slap landed just as he hit something inside her that made stars explode behind April's eyes.
"Fuck—Dante—"
"That's right. Keep your eyes on me."
April stared into his eyes, entire body was coiling tighter. Her thighs trembled with the effort of holding the position. She lost the rhythm trying to hold it. Her core was clenching around him rhythmically now, chasing release. Every thrust hit deeper, harder, finding that spot that made her vision blur.
She could feel it building—that bright, sharp edge of pleasure that meant she was close.
"I'm—" she tried to say, but couldn't finish. Couldn't form words when her body was doing this.
"I know," Dante said, voice rough. "I can feel you. You're close."
Somewhere past the glass, a chair scraped.
Movement—one of the men standing, stretching, walking toward the bar. His path took him past the alcove.
“Do you think they can see me?” she asked, voice breathless.
Dante leaned over her, his tongue licked her ear. “Let them.”
His hand slid from her hip to between her legs, finding her clit with the same precision he'd used for everything else. The touch was almost too much—one more sensation when she was already drowning in them.
April's breath came in short, desperate gasps. Her hands were slipping on the mahogany, scrambling for purchase as the pleasure wound tighter, tighter, threatening to snap.
"Come for me," Dante said, and his fingers circled her clit once, twice—
April shattered.
