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“Fuck you,” I gasp.

He grins. “Say it.”

I want to fight. God, I do. But it’s slipping through my fingers. My defiance. My logic. My fucking breath.

Every inch of me is burning.

My mouth opens on a gasp—part rage, part surrender.

But I know the truth deep down.

“Yours,” I choke out. Voice wrecked. Eyes wild. “I’m—fucking—yours.”

Bodhi’s snarl is animal. Pure possession.

He slams in harder, until my vision whites out again, until I’m clawing at the dirt, until my second orgasm tears violently through me.

Bodhi follows with a loud, broken groan, hips jerking as he spills inside me.

When it’s over, we’re a tangled mess of limbs and sweat and come and dirt.

For a long moment, there’s just the sound of panting. Wind threading through the trees. The faint shift of leaves above us like the forest itself is catching its breath.

I blink up at the sky, my body wrecked—core pulsing, thighs trembling, throat raw, and a warm, slick mess dripping between my legs.

Then reality decides to be a bitch.

“Ow,” I mutter, voice wrecked. “Everything fucking hurts.”

Bodhi laughs. A hoarse, satisfied sound as he slumps beside me, one hand dragging through his hair, the other lazily resting across my thigh like he’s claiming the territory all over again.

“Didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago,” he says, smug.

I roll my eyes. Or try to. “That’s because I was too busy choking on your cock.”

“Poetry,” Matteo murmurs behind me. His hands are already moving—wiping sweat and dirt from my face, gentle now in the way that always throws me off balance. “Hold still.”

He grabs my pants, crumpled and ruined in the dirt, and shakes them out. They’re stiff with soil, torn a little at the hip, and damp with more than just sweat.

I glare down at them as Bodhi tugs me upright with a hand under each arm, then brushes a few leaves from my hair.

Matteo crouches to help me step into my pants, holding them steady while I wobble like a newborn deer. My legs still don’t work right. The fabric drags up my thighs, catching on grit and the wet stickiness of come clings between my legs.

It’sawful.

I groan, face twisting. “Oh myGod. That’s disgusting.”

Bodhi snorts behind me. “That’s what happens when you let two men fill you like a fucking cream donut.”

“Don’t ever say that again,” I growl.

“Cream... filled... donut,” he says slowly, delighting in every syllable.

I shoot him a death glare over my shoulder as Matteo pulls the waistband over my hips. I flinch when it tugs against the fresh cuts. He carefully sheathes the knife in the holster at my back again.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low now. The one he saves for damage control. “You look so annoyed. Is that the pants or the losing?”

I narrow my eyes. “Yes.”