Page 38

His resistance crumbles, and he pulls me into the mass of bodies at the center of the room, where the music hits hardest and the smoke hangs thick. His hands find my hips as I loop my arms around his neck. The beat drives through us, dictating our movements.

I press closer, feeling how tense he is. Around us, the dancing has morphed into something much more intimate. Couples—and sometimes more than couples—move against each other with obvious hunger. I follow their lead, rolling my body against Damiano’s with practiced ease.

He exhales sharply, tension evident in every line of his body, and tightens his hands on my hips, pulling me closer despite himself.

“You know what this is doing to me, right?” he mutters, his eyes darkening.

“That’s kind of the point,” I say, boldly holding his gaze.

Over Damiano’s shoulder, I spot Viktor again, now standing with a clear view of us. Can’t read his expression behind that bone-white mask, but his attention is definitely locked on us.

“He’s watching,” I murmur into Damiano’s ear. “What now?”

Damiano doesn’t hesitate. He backs me against a nearby column, his body shielding mine from the crowd but perfectly positioned for Viktor to see. He cups my face in his hand, tilting it up. “Trust me,” he whispers, and then his mouth is on mine.

The kiss burns through me, lighting up every nerve. His tongue traces my lips, demanding entry I immediately give. One hand tangles in my hair while the other presses against my lower back, pulling me flush against him.

I kiss him back just as hard, losing myself completely. For a moment, I forget where we are, forget why we came, forget everything except how he feels against me.

When he pulls back, we’re both breathing hard. His eyes, visible through his mask, are dark with desire. “We need to go someplace more private,” he says roughly. “Now.”

Damiano guides me through the crowd, his grip firm on my wrist. The pulsing lights and writhing bodies blur around us as we push deeper into The Vault, past the main floor where we were dancing. My pulse quickens from the desire building between my legs since Damiano’s kiss.

“Where are we going?” I ask, barely audible over the thundering bass.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he answers, pulling me closer. “I need you now.”

We turn down a hallway, dimly lit with sconces that cast everyone in amber shadows. Masked figures press against the walls, hands exploring, mouths meeting hungrily. Damiano pulls me past them all, toward a door at the end.

He pushes it open to reveal a small room with plush velvet seating and a privacy curtain. As soon as the door closes behind us, muffling the music to a distant throb, he’s on me.

His mouth finds mine, hungry and demanding. There’s no hesitation, just pure need as he slides his hands under my shirt, gripping my waist. I press against him, equally desperate, tangling my fingers in his hair.

“I’ve been thinking about this all night,” he growls against my lips. “Watching you dance, feeling you against me. Driving me crazy. ”

“Then do something about it,” I challenge, nipping at his bottom lip.

He doesn’t need further invitation and backs me against the wall, his thigh pushing between my legs, creating delicious friction exactly where I need it. I grind against him shamelessly, already wet and aching.

I push my hands under his shirt, feeling the ridges of muscle and ink I’ve already memorized. His skin burns against my palms as I trace the path of the nightshade tattoo curving around his ribs.

He yanks up my shirt, exposing my stomach to the cool air. His mouth leaves mine to trail down my neck, teeth scraping paths that make me gasp. When he reaches the edge of my camisole, he doesn’t hesitate—just pulls it down to expose my breast, his mouth hot and demanding on my nipple.

I arch against him, fingers digging into his shoulders. The party, everything outside this room fades away. All that matters is his mouth on my skin, his hands gripping my hips.

“I want you,” I pant, fumbling with his belt. “Please.”

He catches my wrists, pinning them above my head with one large hand. “Not yet,” he murmurs. He slides his free hand down my body to the waistband of my jeans. “First I want to feel how wet you are for me.”

The button pops open under his fingers. The zipper slides down with a sound that seems too loud in the small space. He slips his hand inside, past the thin fabric of my underwear, finding me already slick and swollen.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re soaked.”

“Your fault,” I gasp as he circles his finger around my clit with a maddening caress.

He releases my wrists to pull my jeans down further, giving his hand more room. I cling to his shoulders, legs trembling as he slides a finger inside me, then two, the heel of his palm grinding against my clit with each thrust.

The door to the room opens suddenly. I whip my head toward it, but it’s Flint who stands there, his expression darkening with lust behind his mask.

“Started without me?” he asks, closing the door behind him and leaning against it, arms crossed. He takes us in, his gaze lingering where Damiano’s hand disappears into my jeans.

“Couldn’t wait,” Damiano tells him, not taking his eyes off my face. His fingers curl inside me, making me gasp.

Flint tosses his mask aside and crosses the room in three quick strides. “Clearly.” He grabs the back of Damiano’s neck, pulling him into a rough kiss over my shoulder. “My turn.”

Damiano doesn’t stop his fingers working inside me as Flint claims my mouth next.

I moan against his lips, tasting whiskey and mint.

His hands replace Damiano’s on my breast, rougher, more impatient.

He pinches my nipple between thumb and forefinger, sending jolts of electricity straight to my core.

“Been watching you two all night,” he says against my ear. “Wanted to drag you both out of there an hour ago.”

They work in tandem now, as if they’ve done this a thousand times. Maybe they have. Flint’s mouth on my neck, my breasts, while Damiano’s fingers drive me higher. I buck my hips against his hand, chasing release.

“Please,” I gasp, not sure what I’m asking for, just knowing I need more than fingers.

Flint pulls back just enough to look at Damiano. Something passes between them, an entire conversation in a single glance. Then Flint is moving, pushing the privacy curtain aside to reveal a low couch.

“Here,” he says, guiding me to it. “I want to watch you take him first.”

I sink onto the couch, my jeans halfway down my thighs, my top pushed up. Exposed. Vulnerable. Neither of them seems to mind. Damiano kneels between my legs, pulling my jeans completely off while Flint sits beside me, his hand replacing Damiano’s between my legs.

“Christ, you’re wet,” Flint murmurs, fingers sliding easily into me. “You want us both tonight?”

“Yes,” I gasp, spreading my legs wider. “God, yes.”

The air changes, thickens with focused intent. They exchange another look then Flint is standing, unfastening his pants while Damiano does the same. There’s no awkwardness between them, just fluid coordination like two parts of the same machine.

Damiano positions himself on the couch, and Flint guides me to straddle him. I hover above him, feeling the blunt pressure of his cock against my entrance. One of Flint’s hands steadies me while the other wraps around Damiano’s length, positioning him perfectly.

“Take him,” Flint says, his breath hot against my ear. “I want to watch you fall apart on his cock.”

I sink down, taking Damiano to the hilt in one smooth motion. We both groan at the sensation, his hands gripping my hips to hold me in place for a moment. “So tight,” he hisses, head falling back. “So fucking perfect.”

I start to move, lifting and lowering myself on his cock, feeling every inch of him drag against my walls. Flint moves behind me, his hands on my shoulders, my waist, my ass. I feel the press of his cock against my back, hot and hard.

“You want more?” he asks, even though he must know the answer.

“Yes,” I say, not stopping my movements on Damiano. “Everything. Both of you.”

Flint slides his hand down my back, fingers slick with something—lube, probably kept in these rooms for exactly this purpose. Or maybe that there are now three of us… he knows what’s to come .

He circles my asshole, the pressure insistent but careful. I relax into it, grateful for the distraction as his finger breaches me.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, working a second finger in alongside the first, stretching me carefully. “Just like that.”

I continue riding Damiano, who watches me with half-lidded eyes, guiding my hips with his hands into a rhythm that hits perfectly with each stroke. When Flint lines himself up behind me, Damiano stills my movements, holding me flush against him.

“Ready?” Flint asks, his cock pressing against me.

“Yes,” I breathe, and then he’s pushing forward, the pressure intense as he enters me slowly, inch by careful inch.

The sensation is overwhelming—both of them inside me, filling me completely, stretching me to my limits. For a moment, none of us moves, simply adjusting to being connected so intimately.

This is different than the lighthouse. This lacks pain… in fact it’s so fucking good. It feels so fucking right.

Then Flint rocks forward slightly, and I gasp as pleasure shoots through me. That small movement triggers Damiano to move as well, and soon they find a rhythm, one pushing in as the other pulls back, never leaving me empty.

The pressure builds quickly, almost too intense. I’m pinned between them, completely at their mercy, and I love it. I let my head fall back against Flint’s shoulder as Damiano’s mouth finds my breast, sucking hard enough to mark.

“That’s it,” Flint says, his pace increasing. “Take us both. Show us how much you need this.”

The bass from the club pulses through the walls, matching the rhythm of our bodies. I’m close, so close, trembling on the edge. Damiano reaches between us, circling his thumb over my clit with each thrust.

“Come for us,” he says, eyes locked on mine. “I want to feel you squeeze around us both.”

That pushes me over. I shatter, my body clenching around them as pleasure crashes through me in waves. They follow quickly, Flint with a curse, Damiano with my name on his lips, both of them holding me tightly as they empty themselves inside me.

For a long moment, we stay joined, sweaty and panting, the reality of what we’ve done slowly seeping back in. The club beyond these walls. The body buried in the maze.

But right now, in this moment, none of that matters. Only the three of us, tangled together, finding something like peace in the eye of the storm.

“I need to get back to work,” Flint says.

And there’s that reality smacking us in the face again.

“Take her home,” he adds to Damiano. “The night’s only going to get crazier with every hour. The Hunt starts tonight.”