The sound of his impending release pushes me higher. My body is clenching around him, the coil wound impossibly tight. I suck harder on Dante, wanting to pull the same broken sound from him.
It works. Dante’s rhythm falters. A groan tears from his throat.“Swallow,”he orders, his voice thick.
He pulses in my mouth, hot and sudden. I obey, drinking him down, my throat working. The act of submission sends a sharp thrill through me, mingling with the physical pleasure.
Luca sees it, feels the convulsive squeeze of my body. With a final, brutal thrust, he buries himself to the hilt and lets go. His release floods me, a hot, pulsing rush that triggers my own.
My orgasm crashes over me, a wave so intense it whites out my vision. My body arches off the table, a silent scream locked behind Dante’s cock still in my mouth. I convulse around Luca, milking him, my pleasure seeming to have no end, drawn out by the relentless pulses inside me.
Slowly, the world filters back in. Luca collapses forward, bracing his hands on either side of my head, his breath hot on my neck. Dante slides from my mouth with a soft, wet sound, his hand gently releasing my hair.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of our ragged breathing, the smell of sex and spilled wine in the air.
Luca pulls out of me slowly, making me gasp at the sudden, empty sensitivity. He rolls off the table, landing on his feet with a soft thud.
I just lie there, sprawled on the ruined dining table, utterly spent, deliciously used.
Dante leans forward, brushing sweat-damp hair from my forehead. His smile is different now—softer, genuinely satisfied.
Luca’s voice cuts through the heavy silence, rough and playful. “So, Lina… you up for round two?”
16
GABRIEL
I findher on the fence.
The compound has this old stone wall that runs along the back perimeter, remnants of when this property was some kind of estate before Dante bought it and turned it into our fortress. Most of the wall is six feet tall, but there is a section near the east corner where it rises to nearly ten feet, and someone—probably Dante in some fit of architectural whimsy—installed a wide wooden fence rail along the top.
It is not exactly safe. It is definitely not designed for sitting on.
Which is exactly where Rosalina is perched, legs dangling over the edge, silhouetted against the sunset like some kind of painting I would see in a museum and immediately want to steal.
I have been looking for her for the better part of twenty minutes.
Dante noticed she was missing first, that hyperawareness he has developed where Rosalina is concerned kicking in the moment she was not where he expected her to be. Luca checked her bedroom—still doorless, which Dante maintains is a matter of principle at this point rather than punishment. I checked themedia room, the kitchen, the library she has been spending time in lately.
Nothing.
Dante was approximately thirty seconds away from calling a full lockdown when I suggested maybe I should check the grounds first before we assumed she had somehow scaled the walls and escaped again.
And here she is.
Ten feet up, sitting on a fence that is barely wide enough for her ass, watching the sun paint the sky in shades of orange and pink like she doesn’t have three men currently losing their minds trying to find her.
I approach quietly, my shoes making soft sounds on the gravel path, and I take a moment to just look at her before announcing my presence. She is wearing jeans and one of Luca's hoodies again—the girl has a hoodie-stealing problem that Luca pretends to be annoyed about but secretly loves—and her hair is loose and wild around her shoulders, catching the last rays of sunlight and turning it burnished gold.
She looks peaceful. Contemplative. Like she is having one of those rare moments where the world slows down enough to actually process what is happening in it.
I would feel bad interrupting except Dante is probably about five minutes away from sending out a search party.
"You know," I call up to her, "everyone was looking for you."
She does not startle, does not even look surprised. Just glances down at me with a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Were they?"
"Dante is about two seconds from calling the National Guard. Luca checked your room three times like you might have been hiding under the bed." I move closer to the wall, tilting my head back to look at her properly. "We thought you ran away."
"Did you?" she asks, and there is something in her voice—curiosity, maybe, or a test. "Think I ran away?"
