April's throat tightened. "I want this to mean—" She stopped. Couldn't finish.
Liam's gaze held hers, steady and certain. "It does."
Something in April's chest cracked. He was ready. That's what he was saying. He'd waited and now he was ready and that was—She nodded once.
"Okay." She swallowed. "You can change your mind. Any time. You just tell me."
"We will," Mateo promised.
Caleb recovered, his grin shifting—less showman, more real. "Okay. Last call. Everyone gets a choice here. No pressure. No performance. If anyone wants this to stop being a fucking competition, say so now."
Silence.
April searched their faces. Found nothing but certainty.
"Okay," she said. "Then we're good."
Arthur cleared his throat. "Clock's still running."
Liam knelt in front of her, hooked his fingers in the waistband of Killian's boxers, and pulled them down. His hands paused at the top of her thighs.
Seven men watching Liam kneel for her like this was a moment worth witnessing.
Jiro stood and walked closer.
Liam's eyes flicked up to him. Jiro nodded once. Liam returned the nod.
"Listen to her breathing," Jiro said softly. "She'll tell you the tempo."
He paused, watching Liam's hands spread her legs wider.
"It's like a crescendo," Jiro added quietly. "Let it build."
Liam's gaze returned to April's face. He leaned in. The first stroke of his tongue was deliberate on her clit.
Oh. Jiro was right. Liam spoke music; of course he did, Sterling heirs probably had tutors for everything including how to breathe in proper concert hall tempo.
Her rhythm shifted.
Liam adjusted. Faster. Matching her.
She was building to something. That rise Jiro was talking about, the kind where you feel the peak coming like the moment before an orchestra hits the high note—
"Figure-eights cover more surface area." Jax said.
April's attention snagged on the voice. She closed her eyes. Concentrated. Sensation. Rhythm. Liam's hands steady on her thighs. The heat was still there. She could get back to it. Liam's tongue kept moving, pulling her back up—
"Add a finger." Caleb added.
The peak retreated. The crescendo was still there somewhere, like background music in an elevator, except the elevator had stopped between floors and the peanut gallery was discussing the mechanical specifications of the cable system.
She forced her shoulders down. Rolled her hips toward Liam's mouth like maybe if she moved with him instead of thinking about moving with him, the wave would catch her again.
Liam's mouth worked her with focused intensity, and the heat surged back—yes, there, almost—
"Consider impact play," Dante said, his formal tone making it sound like a reasonable suggestion, but also like he knew exactly what he was doing. "She likes being spanked."
Gone. The almost-orgasm dissolved into awareness of the room, the voices, the fact that she was apparently a group project now.
