“Like this?” I whisper, finding a rhythm and gripping him with more confidence. Then, before I can chicken out, I roll my thumb over the tip of his cock, spreading the pearly liquid.
It’s slick and soft and makes his skin shockingly silky—and it makes the pulsing heat between my thighs almost unbearable. A sharp hiss rushes between Sandro’s lips, and his neck bows, his forehead finding my shoulder.
“God, yes,” he growls.
The need in his voice is like a lightning bolt straight to my core, and even though he hasn’t laid a finger on me, I can feel the familiar snap of tension deep in my core, warning me that I’m nearing climax.
I can’t make myself come just from Sandro’s pleasure, can I?
That seems unlikely, but the sense of empowerment it gives me to know I alone am responsible for Sandro’s this time makes the blood pump hot and thick through my veins. If this is what he feels like when he goes down on me, I suddenly don’t feel so bad anymore. Because I can almost feel the pleasure building within him, and it thrills me—no, more than that, it turns me on.
Sandro’s arms flex, his pecs and abs bulging as the muscles strain beneath his inked skin. I can hear the grind of his teeth as he clenches his jaw so close to my ear, and I wonder if it’s hard for him to give up control like this, to let me be in charge of his pleasure.
His breaths come faster, more ragged, and mine increase with his as my arm muscles start to burn—and the anticipation of his release threatens to consume me.
He drops one hand from the wall, his fingers finding my hip and pressing into the skin. Then his hand slides lower, following the curve of my butt.
“Let go, Evi,” he rasps, and I do, unsure of what to expect but so caught up in the moment, I don’t even think to question him.
Then Sandro’s hand finds the back of my knee and he hikes it up, hooking my thigh over his hip as he guides his swollen tip forward to find my throbbing entrance. I gasp as the thrusts inside me, the penetration sudden and spine-tinglingly deep.
I can feel the hot seed he spills inside me, the way his cock throbs and pulses as he stays buried in my depths, and the erotic sensation launches me right over the edge into oblivion.
19
SANDRO
The sharp smack of fists against leather fills the air. Sweat burns my eyes, but I don’t blink. Miko’s grin taunts me from across the mat as he circles, light on his feet, like always—too damn smug for someone about to get flattened.
“You’re slow today,fratello,” he says, ducking under my swing.
“Just because I’m not dancing around like a ballerina,” I growl, turning with him, my chest heaving.
But he’s right.
My body is sluggish. Sore from the intensity of the fighting last night and the stitches that tug beneath their bandage every time I throw a left hook.
What’s worse, I can’t stop the ghost of Evi’s hands, soft and inviting, from lingering on my skin, the sweet scent of her hair teasing my nose, tempting my attention from the sparring session and back to our bed.
Which is exactly what I can’t allow.
This is why I need to put some walls up when it comes to Evi. She could far too easily become a detrimental distraction. Miko’s been going easy on me this morning to avoid popping my stitches, and still, I can’t seem to best him. My head’s not in the game, and try as I might, I can’t seem to focus.
He laughs, and the sound echoes off the gym walls, darkening my mood further. “You mean winning?” he teases. “Wake up, Sandro. It’s like I’m sparring with a sleepwalker.”
I lunge, catching him off guard this time as my fist meets his ribs before he pulls me in closer, minimizing the damage. We grapple for control, the thud of our bodies reverberating through the empty space. For a moment, it’s like we’re kids again, fighting in the backyard while our father watches on, waiting for me to fail, waiting for my big brother to crush me into the ground.
Except now, Father’s gone.
And this fight, this struggle, is all that’s left of what he built.
Raf’s voice cuts through the scuffle, cool and level. “Are you two done proving which of you has the bigger ego? We’ve got things to discuss.”
Miko laughs breathlessly and steps back, wiping sweat off his brow. “Fine. I’ll let Sandro off the hook. This time. Seems he might need a cup of coffee more than a beating anyway.”
I snort, shaking out my shoulders. “How sweet. You better not be going soft on me, Miko.”
Raf raises a brow from where he’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed. The faintest smirk tugs at his mouth. “You two are ridiculous.”
