The bottle of lube feels cold in my hand as I pour it over the small of her back. I push my finger through it and watch as it drips down between her cheeks.
She shivers as I massage it into her skin, my fingers circling her tight hole.
“Dom,” she moans into the pillow.
I press the plug against her, applying gentle pressure before pulling back.
“Patience,” I murmur, continuing to massage and tease. She squirms underneath me, her fingers gripping the sheets.
I lean down, my lips brushing her ear. “Such a dirty girl,” I whisper, feeling her tremble beneath me. With steady pressure, I push the plug inside her, savoring her gasp. “I’m taking your ass later when Caleb takes your pussy. But now...”
I turn her over on the bed.
“Now what?” she smiles.
“I want you all to myself.”
I slice the sourdough bread, watching Amara move around the kitchen. She’s wearing nothing but my shirt, her long tanned legs bare, the plug still nestled inside her.
Every so often she catches me looking and smiles. It’s like a secret we share, one that tells me she’s thinking about what’s coming.
“Hand me the olive oil,” I say, pointing to the shelf above her head.
I’ve sent the staff away for the day. It’s just us in this big house, preparing lunch for three.
Three.
I never thought I’d be in this position—sharing Amara with Caleb. But here I am, making bruschetta and grilling salmon like this is the most normal thing in the world.
Strange how life works out. I’ve seen it with Dante, Rafe, and Cade with Lia. The way they orbit around each other, a perfect balance. Dante’s devotion solely to Lia, while she gives equal attention to Rafe and Cade, who have their own relationship too. It works for them. And it’s beautiful in its own way.
And now I’m following their example. Me, Dominic de Luca, the man who’s shared nothing important in his life. But for Amara, I’m willing to try. Her happiness matters more than my possessiveness. I’m softening in my older years, becoming someone that I barely recognize.
“What are you thinking about?” Amara asks, tossing the salad with delicate movements. The sound of the wooden spoons against the bowl is rhythmic, soothing.
“You,” I tell her honestly.
She sets down the spoons and comes to me, pressing a kiss against my arm. “I love you, Dom.”
I cup her face in my hands, tilting it up toward mine. Her eyes, those beautiful blue eyes that have haunted me since the first day she walked into my home, look up at me with such trust, such adoration.
“I love you, Amara,” I whisper against her lips. “I love you more than I thought possible.”
“You really do?”
“I do.” I lean down and our lips meet, softly at first, then with growing hunger. My tongue slips between her parted lips, tasting her, claiming her.
She moans into my mouth, her body pressing against mine as I back her against the counter, and my hands slide down to her hips.
But then the external buzzer interrupts us.
“That’ll be Caleb,” I growl and reluctantly pull away, my breathing heavy. I press the intercom. “Good timing. Lunch is almost ready.”
I watch her—my Amara—as she rides Caleb, her slender body arching with every movement. Her dark hair cascades down her back, swaying with each rise and fall of her hips.
Caleb’s hands grip her possessively, his fingers digging into her flesh as she clutches his shoulders for support.
Our eyes meet across the room—Caleb’s and mine—a silent acknowledgment passing between us. I stroke myself, my cock hard and ready as I approach the bed.
