"They'll wait," he says, already moving toward her with purpose.
"They will absolutely not wait," Georgia interjects, but she's grinning now, already pulling out her phone. "But I'll call and push it back an hour. You're welcome."
"Georgia—" Xavier starts.
"Please. Like I don't know exactly what you four do in your spare time." She's already dialing, already walking back toward the door. "I'll be in the car. Try to keep it to forty-five minutes or I'm leaving without you."
The door closes behind her and Zay doesn't waste any time. He crosses to Valentina in three long strides, throws her over his shoulder in one smooth motion that makes her yelp with surprise and laughter, and heads for the door.
"Zay!" she protests, but she's not actually fighting him, just gripping his shirt to steady herself. "Put me down, we need to?—"
"We need to be in Xavier's room," Zay corrects, already moving down the hallway toward the private quarters. "Right now."
I exchange a look with Xavier, who's already standing, already following with that particular gleam in his eye that means he's absolutely on board with this plan. We trail after Zay through the compound, past a few members who wisely don't comment on the sight of Valentina thrown over Zay's shoulder like a sack of extremely attractive grain.
Xavier's room is exactly as he left it this morning—bed made with military precision, minimal personal effects, the kind of space that belongs to someone who's spent most of the past six months living at our house instead of here. But the bed is big enough, the door has a lock, and we have forty-five minutes before Georgia leaves without us.
Plenty of time.
Zay deposits Valentina on the bed with more care than his earlier manhandling would suggest, his hands already finding the hem of her shirt. She's wearing jeans and a simple black tank top—nothing special, the kind of thing she throws on for council meetings—but the way Zay is looking at her you'd think she was in something as devastating as Georgia's red dress.
"We're going to be late," she says again, but there's no real protest in it, just the kind of token resistance that means she wants to be convinced.
"Worth it," Xavier says, already stripping off his cut, his shirt following quickly after. "Georgia gave us forty-five minutes. That's more than enough time."
"For what you're planning?" I ask, moving to close and lock the door. "We'll need at least thirty."
"Then we better not waste time talking," Zay says, and then his mouth is on Valentina's, swallowing whatever response she was about to make.
I watch them for a moment—the way Zay's hands are already sliding under her shirt, the way Valentina is arching into his touch with that particular responsiveness that never fails to affect me. Xavier moves to the other side of the bed, his hands finding Valentina's face to turn her toward him for his own kiss while Zay works on removing her clothes.
There's something particularly satisfying about this—about the four of us stealing time in the middle of the day, about the casual ease with which they navigate my body, and I explore theirs.
I strip off my own clothes with efficient movements, watching as Valentina's jeans hit the floor followed by her underwear, as Zay pulls her tank top over her head and leaves her completely bare between him and Xavier. She's beautiful like this—flushed and wanting and completely focused on them in a way that makes something possessive curl in my chest.
Mine. Ours. This woman who kills without hesitation and loves with her whole heart, who matches my wit and challenges my strategies and makes me want to be better than I am.
"Asher," she says, and her hand is reaching for me even while Zay's mouth is on her breast and Xavier's fingers are between her legs. "Stop analyzing and get over here."
I smile despite myself—she knows me too well, knows that I have a tendency to observe and catalog instead of participate when I'm trying to process too many emotions at once. But she's right. There will be time for analysis later. Right now, there's just this.
I join them on the bed, my hand sliding up her thigh to join Xavier's exploration, my mouth finding hers for a kiss that tastes like want and promise and home. She gasps against my lips when both our fingers slide inside her, when Zay's teeth find her nipple with just enough pressure to make her back arch.
"Already so wet," Xavier observes with satisfaction. "Were you thinking about this during the whole meeting?"
"Maybe," she admits breathlessly. "You all looked very commanding. It was distracting."
"Good," I say against her neck, my teeth scraping gently. "You're supposed to be distracted by us."
We work her toward orgasm with practiced efficiency—six months of learning exactly what she likes, exactly how to touch her, exactly how to coordinate our efforts to drive her absolutely wild. Xavier's fingers curl inside her while mine circle her clit, while Zay divides his attention between her breasts and her mouth, and within minutes she's coming apart with a cry that she tries to muffle against Zay's shoulder.
"Beautiful," Xavier murmurs, withdrawing his fingers carefully. "But we're just getting started."
He's right. We have—I check the clock—thirty-eight minutes left before Georgia presumably abandons us to our fate. Time to make them count.
What follows is a carefully orchestrated dance that we've perfected over months of practice. Valentina ends up on her hands and knees with Xavier beneath her, his cock sliding into her with a groan that suggests he's been thinking about this as much as she has. Zay positions himself behind her, taking histime working her open with patient thoroughness that makes her whimper with need.
I settle in front of her, my hand finding her face to guide her mouth to my cock with gentle insistence. She takes me eagerly, her tongue doing things that make my vision blur at the edges, and I have to grip the headboard to keep myself steady.
