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“Fuck,” Milo pants, his strokes becoming erratic as he nears his own release and he grabs my hair. Sweat beads on his brow, and his grip on my hair tightens just enough to send a delicious thrill through me.
“So tight,” Leone says, his voice edged with lust as he shoves his fingers deeper, making me squirm. “I can’t wait to fuck your tight ass.”
I’m lost in the sensation.
“Come for us,” Leone commands, his voice vibrating against my core, and it’s the last thread holding my composure together that snaps.
The orgasm rips through me, igniting every nerve ending. My teeth graze over Milo’s cock, and he curses and spills himself into my mouth, making me gag, not expecting it to be so thick and salty. Milo chuckles, choking me on his cock, forcing me to swallow around him. All the while, Leone continues to work me through it, milking every shudder and twitch until I’m limp, spent, and utterly boneless.
“God, she’s perfect,” Milo whispers, wiping a bead of sweat from my forehead as he pulls away, his touch unexpectedly tender.
“She is, and she’s ours,” Leone confirms, finally withdrawing his fingers and leaning down to press a possessive kiss to my lips while I try to catch my breath.
And even as I lay there, raw and exposed, I can’t deny the truth of his words. At this moment, my body is still thrumming with the aftershocks of their attention proving I am irrevocably theirs, and I can do nothing about it.
TWENTY-FIVE
MILO
I walk into the bathroom, my mind still a whirlwind from what just unfolded. The faucet hisses as I soak a face washer, the fabric absorbing the water until it’s drenched and heavy. Returning to Fallon, I kneel beside her, my touch gentle but firm as I start to clean her up. She winces slightly when my hands sweep between her legs, a brief tremor running through her slender frame.
“Sorry,” I murmur, though my voice is low enough that only she can hear. She offers no reply, just a shallow nod, her eyes fixed on something distant.
Leone looms large in the room, stretching his limbs. He easily slides off the bed, leaving an impression on the sheets, next to Fallon and me. A chuckle escapes my lips because even now, I see evidence of his restraint—the bulge in his pants, evidence of his focus on her pleasure above his own.
Dragging his gaze from us, Leone moves purposefully, retrieving his smokes from the nightstand. He fumbles for a moment before his fingers find the pack, and then he saunters over to crack the balcony doors wide open. The night air rushes in like an invisible wave, curtains moving from the cool draft.
Fallon startles, sitting upright, her movements sharp and erratic, as if waking from a trance. “Where did he go?” Her voice is tinged with confusion, eyes darting toward the window.
“The balcony,” I answer, laughter spilling from my lips at the absurdity of her concern.
She blinks, her shock apparent. “There’s a balcony?” She tugs down her shirt, a futile attempt at modesty, and edges closer to where Leone just disappeared.
“Yep, and it’s not just for show.” I watch her take it all in, pulling back the curtain to reveal more than she expected—floor-to-ceiling windows and a sliding door, offering a view of our dark empire below.
She murmurs a soft “Huh” under her breath, yet I can tell she hadn’t noticed it before. “Don’t get any ideas. Falling from this height will probably hurt.”
“No issues there. I’m petrified of heights.” Her words are flippant, but a tremble in her voice gives her away. She’s brave but not foolish.
Peering out, Fallon locks eyes with Leone, who’s taken the role of a brooding prince surveying his domain. The dim lights of the gardens twinkle like distant stars; a scene that is often breathtaking.
Leone lights his smoke, the orange glow briefly illuminating his features. Fallon steps out into the cool night, and I watch her lean over to peer over the railing before swiftly moving back. Leone raises an eyebrow at her, wondering what she is doing. Turning away from the glass railing, she looks at Leone before moving toward him. She plucks the cigarette straight from his lips, taking a huge drag of it before blowing the air out with a sigh that almost sounds orgasmic.
“Finally!” She tells no one. Leone reaches for his smokes, but she pulls it away.
“Nope, you can take whatever the fuck you want from me, but not smokes and coffee!” she tells him.
“You shouldn’t smoke,” Leone scolds, his glare sharp enough to cut glass.
“You shouldn’t either,” she fires back with biting sarcasm. “Besides, I am less likely to be killed by this smoke than I am by you.”
Her audacity would’ve made lesser men combust, but I stand there silently, an onlooker to this game of death she has decided to play with Leone; I’ve seen him kill other men, over them using his first name when addressing them. No one calls Leone by his first name until they’ve earned it, or they’re family, and right now, she is not only speaking her mind, she is directly defying and challenging him. And Leone looks on the verge of losing his mind.
“It is unladylike!” he tells her, trying to take it from her.
“Hey, I never agreed to be ladylike; I said I’d marry you, fuck you, be kidnapped by you; I never mentioned acting like a lady or being forced to quit smoking!” she snaps at him.
I watch Leone clench his teeth.
