She looks utterly wrecked. Destroyed. Used. And it's the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen.
It pushes me over the edge. My own climax gathers at the base of my spine, a tight, coiling inferno in my balls. I grab a handful of her hair pulling her head back just enough to see her blissed-out face, her glazed eyes, her swollen lips.
"Gonna fill you up, baby," I grunt, my vision spotting at the edges, pleasure building to an impossible peak. "Gonna mark you from the inside. My cock. My come. Mine."
I bury myself to the hilt one final time and let go. The release is seismic, volcanic, tearing through me in pulsing waves that seem to go on forever. I shout, my hips jerking against her as I pump her full, marking her, claiming her, my grip on her hair tightening as I ride out the endless pleasure.
For a moment, there is only sound—our ragged breathing, the settling of the house around us, the distant hum of traffic outside. Then, my strength gives out completely. I collapse forward, half on top of her, my body spent and shuddering. We slump together onto the rug in a boneless, sweaty heap, Gabriel's legs still beside us on the couch.
My face is buried in her hair. Her scent is everywhere, surrounding me. My heart is a cannon against my ribs, pounding so hard I think it might burst.
Fuck. That was amazing.
"That," Gabriel says after a long moment, his voice rough and satisfied, "was incredible."
I laugh, my mind blissfully empty, my body completely satisfied. "Told you I'd make her scream my name so loud the entire house heard it."
"You certainly delivered on that promise," Gabriel says, and there's warmth in his tone, affection mixed with satisfaction.
Rosalina lifts her head from where it's pillowed on my arm, her hair a wild mess, her lips swollen, her eyes heavy-lidded and dazed. "You two are going to kill me."
"What a way to go," I murmur, pressing a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then her cheek.
She laughs—a soft, exhausted sound that makes my chest feel warm—and settles back against me. Gabriel reaches over, his hand settling on her hip, his thumb stroking her skin gently, connecting all three of us in the aftermath.
This. This right here. This is what I've been missing all week.
Not just the sex—though fuck, that was incredible, better than incredible—but this. The three of us together. The intimacy. The trust. The way we fit together like pieces of a puzzle that was always meant to be complete.
"We should probably move," Gabriel says eventually, ever practical. "The floor cannot be comfortable."
"Don't wanna move," Rosalina mumbles against my chest, her words slurred with exhaustion.
"Me neither," I agree, tightening my arm around her. "Floor is perfect."
Gabriel sighs, but he's smiling—actually smiling, one of those rare, genuine expressions that transforms his entire face. "Fine.But when Dante gets home and finds us naked on the living room floor, I am blaming both of you."
"Deal," I say, pulling Rosalina closer, feeling her heartbeat against mine.
And we stay there, tangled together on the rug, limbs intertwined, hearts slowing to a normal rhythm, until the sun sets and casts the room in orange and gold, until we hear Dante's car pull into the driveway.
But that's a problem for later.
Right now, this is perfect.
Right now, this is everything.
12
ROSALINA
"We needto leave in twenty minutes."
Dante's voice cuts through the quiet of my doorless bedroom, and I look up from where I am sitting cross-legged on the bed, flipping through a magazine I am not actually reading.
He is standing in the doorway wearing a black suit that fits him so perfectly it has to be custom-made, his hair slicked back, his expression carved from stone. He looks every inch the Italian mafia prince—powerful, untouchable, dangerous—and the sight of him makes something low in my stomach flutter traitorously.
"Leave for where?" I ask, setting the magazine aside.
