Page 45

Chapter 44

Seanna

The mat is cool under my bare feet. The air isn’t. It’s charged—hot and electric with the promise of violence.

Matteo cracks his neck to one side while Bodhi circles behind me, smug, and already radiating too much heat.

"Rules?" I ask, voice dry. "Or are we going full chaos today?"

"One-on-one," Matteo replies, stretching his shoulders, slow and deliberate. "Only one of us engages at a time. No interference. No pile-ons. Unless you ask nicely."

I roll my eyes. "Cute. And what's the wager?"

Bodhi steps forward, smirking. "You lose? Twenty-four hours. No complaints. No fighting us on decisions. You keep that sharp mouth shut and wait ."

"And if I win?"

Matteo’s eyes narrow just slightly. “Then we do it your way. For twenty-four hours, you call the shots.”

"Deal," I say without hesitation.

Bodhi moves first.

I barely have time to register his forward lunge before I duck and twist, slipping past him with a grin.

“You move slower when you're trying to impress me,” I taunt.

He spins, and this time he’s faster—more brutal. I block the elbow, redirect the follow-up punch, but he grabs my wrist and twists, shoving me backward toward the edge of the mat.

I recover quick, swinging my leg up and landing a sharp heel against his side. He grunts, but it only fuels him.

“You call that a kick?” he growls, charging again. “Your left was better last week.”

“You liked my left last week,” I snarl, driving my shoulder into his chest.

He catches me, grips me around the waist, and I’m airborne for a second before I twist out of his hold midair and land in a low crouch. My tank top rides up. His eyes drop.

“I know what you're staring at,” I snap.

“I’m appreciating the view,” he says—and lunges again.

This time when we collide, his hand tangles in the hem of my shirt. He uses the motion to spin me, but I drop down and wrench free, the fabric ripping as I twist out of his grip. I feel it tear over my ribs.

“Oops,” he mutters with zero remorse.

“Next one of you that tries to rip something is getting kneed in the dick,” I promise.

I don't even get to finish my breath before Matteo’s hands are on me.

No warning. He just comes in low and fast—slamming into my side like a freight train, spinning me across the mat. I crash shoulder-first, barely catching myself before I eat the floor.

“Cheap shot,” I hiss, pushing to my feet.

“Adapt,” Matteo says, stalking toward me like he’s already inside my next move.

I launch at him—fast and vicious—but he grabs my arm mid-swing, redirects me with a smooth pivot, and slams my back into the mirror wall.

“Fuck off,” I growl, twisting in his grip.

“Only if you say please.”

He grins—too smug, too sharp—and I snap.

I grab the front of his shirt in both fists and yank. The sound of it tearing is sharp and satisfying.

Except it doesn’t go how I want.

He freezes for half a beat… then lets out a low, dangerous laugh as he steps back and strips the rest of it off himself. It’s slow and deliberate, revealing smooth muscle, scars, and those tattoos I always pretended I hadn’t noticed crawling up his ribs during ops.

Shit.

I hate how fucking good he looks. Hate how my breath catches even though I knew it would. Hate how the bastard knows it, too.

“Feeling better now?” he asks, tossing the ruined shirt aside.

I don’t answer. I lunge instead.

We clash again—harder now. He catches my kick with a knee, absorbs the impact, spins me by the hips and slams me chest-first into the mirror. His hand grabs my tank at the back and yanks it up high enough to expose my bare skin underneath.

I’m reminded that I have no bra on. No panties. Just sweat-slick cotton and attitude.

I manage to twist before I lose my shirt, shove Matteo off me, and spin fast enough to catch Bodhi with an elbow to the ribs.

Bodhi laughs. Laughs .

“You're getting sloppy,” he murmurs, grabbing my wrist. “Thought you were better than this.”

“I am better than this,” I snap, twisting out of his grip and landing a solid knee between his legs.

He grunts, staggers back a step—but recovers fast.

“Warned you,” I say, teeth bared.

“You did ,” he growls—and then he's right back on me.

He lunges low, trying to sweep my leg, but I pivot fast and catch his shoulder, using the momentum to swing behind him. My hand grabs the back of his shirt, fist twisting in the fabric as I pull.

"Payback," I snarl—and rip .

His shirt tears up the middle, splitting open in my grip. I shove it off his shoulders and throw it to the side.

Fuck.

All I can see is ink.

I’ve never seen him without a shirt, even sparring at the organization he had a shirt on. His back— all of it—is tattooed. Shoulder to waist, spine to ribs. A solid canvas of black and gray, sharp lines and winding chaos that moves like smoke across muscle and scar. There’s a serpent coiled around a dagger. A storm cloud shattering over a cracked crown. Wings— ripped , not spread.

I forget to breathe.

God. Fucking. Damn it.

I hesitate. Half a second.

Just long enough.

Matteo is behind me again before I can blink.

His hand snakes around my waist—tight, possessive—and his other grips the hem of my tank top and yanks it up over my head in one fluid motion. It’s just gone .

“Shit—” I gasp, trying to twist out of his grip.

Too late.

My arms are tangled in the cotton for a beat too long, leaving me exposed—bare from the waist up, breathing hard, sweat-slick skin pressed to his chest as he holds me still.

Bodhi laughs, the sound low and brutal as he turns back toward me.

"Aw, princess," he purrs, eyes dragging down over my now-bared chest. "You hesitated. Never hesitate in a fight."

“Fuck you ,” I growl, struggling in Matteo’s hold—but the way his hand slides down, gripping the waistband of my shorts while Bodhi prowls forward?

It’s not a fight anymore.

It’s a war.

And I’m losing.

And God, part of me wants to.

But it doesn’t stop me.

I slam my heel down onto Matteo’s foot, twist at the same time, and break free with a grunt—dropping low and sweeping his leg hard.

He crashes onto his back, cursing.

“You think I’ll roll over just because my tits are out?” I snarl, chest rising with every breath.

Bodhi grins like the devil. “No,” he says, circling. “We’re counting on you fighting harder.”

I rush him.

We collide mid-mat, limbs locking, muscles straining, sweat and skin sliding against each other. He grabs me around the waist, tries to lift—I twist, slam my elbow into his ribs, and bring us both down in a messy tangle.

He’s under me for a second—just long enough for me to straddle his hips and grind down with enough force to make him groan.

"You’re slipping," I hiss, hand sliding across his throat in a mock choke. “Getting soft on me?”

He snarls— snarls —and the next second, we’re flipping again.

His grip tangles in my hair, yanks me back just enough to expose my throat as he pins me under him, breath hot and ragged over my mouth.

"You really think you're winning?" he pants, dragging his hips tight to mine. " This is you losing."

"Then fuck—" I twist hard enough to throw him off, only for Matteo to step in, catching me mid-lurch, slamming me sideways against the mirror again with enough force to rattle it.

“You’re gonna break the glass,” I rasp, struggling against his hold.

“We’ll replace it,” he growls into my neck.

His hand slides up my ribs, fingers catching the underside of my breast with bruising intent, and I bite him—right at the edge of his jaw.

I slam my heel back into his shin and twist out of his grip with a snarl. He grunts, but lets me go.

Good.

I spin fast, fist already cocked, and throw a punch at Bodhi the second he lunges. He dodges—barely—but I follow with a knee aimed straight for his ribs. He catches it mid-air, grunting as we crash to the mat together in a tangle of limbs and sweat.

We roll. Hard. He tries to pin me. I bite his shoulder.

“Fuck—” he hisses, grabbing both my wrists and forcing them to the mat above my head as he straddles my hips.

“You done?” he pants, chest heaving.

“Not even close,” I growl—and bring my head forward hard enough to crack against his.

He flinches back just long enough for me to reverse us.

Now I’m on top again.

My bare chest brushes against his sweat-slick one as I hold his wrists down and snarl into his face.

"You were always too fucking cocky."

His smile is blood and lust and savagery.

Matteo growls low from behind. “My turn.”

I barely have time to shift before he’s there— ripping me off Bodhi like a fucking ragdoll and throwing me onto the mat. I hit hard. My body bounces once, air knocked from my lungs.

Then his body crashes down over mine. All heat and weight and muscle.

“Don’t—” I start, breath ragged.

His hand wraps around my throat.

Not choking. Not cutting off air. Just claiming .

“Fight me,” he says.

I do.

We roll again—his hips between my thighs, my nails clawing down his back, my teeth bared before he crushes his mouth to mine.

It’s not a kiss. It’s violence and claiming.

Teeth. Tongue. Bruising pressure. His other hand yanks my shorts down past my thighs in jerky, brutal tugs. I kick at him, twist, snarl— wanting the fight. Demanding it.

And he gives it.

Bodhi’s suddenly there—his hands joining Matteo’s, helping to tear the shorts the rest of the way off until I’m completely naked.

Matteo’s grip shifts hard as he flips me over and shoves me down.

Palms slap the mat. Knees scrape. I catch myself on all fours, breath heaving, body slick with sweat.

“Stay down,” he growls, chest pressing into my back as his hand fists in my hair and yanks my head up.

“Make me,” I snarl.

He laughs, low and ruined, then drags the head of his cock along my slick folds, slow just to piss me off—just to make me tremble in spite of myself.

“You’re soaked,” he mutters like a fucking accusation as he starts pushing inside me.

“You’re delusional.”

But the second I say it, he slams into me—hard.

That first thrust nearly folds me in half. The weight of him, the sudden burn— and the piercings, those fucking piercings —drag a raw sound from my throat.

My arms buckle and I collapse to my forearms, a gasp tearing loose as his cock fills me, thick and brutal and so goddamn deep I swear I see stars.

“Fuck,” I choke out, hips jerking.

He doesn’t give me time to recover. Doesn’t pull back gently. Just drives in again, rougher, and the piercings scrape my inner walls with every thrust like it’s branding me inside out.

Again. Again. And again.

My fingers claw at the mat for purchase. My breath stutters. My body betrays me with every wet, harsh slap of skin on skin echoing off the walls. The sounds leaving my throat are obscene.

And then Bodhi moves into my line of sight.

Bare chest gleaming, rising and falling with ragged breath. His hand fists his cock as he watches Matteo fuck me from behind—watching me collapse a little more with every thrust.

“You look fucking feral,” he says, stepping in front of me.

I bare my teeth but don’t stop him when he drags the tip of his own pierced cock across my lips.

“Open up,” he says, voice dangerously calm.

I glare up at him from under sweat-drenched lashes—but I open.

I don’t just open. I suck him in hard , my teeth scraping against his length just to remind him I can bite .

He hisses through his teeth, head tipping back.

Behind me, Matteo groans—his hands bruising at my hips, dragging me back into each thrust with a punishing rhythm.

I moan around Bodhi’s cock, and the vibration makes him swear, his piercings glide over my tongue as I take him in. Smooth. Heavy. Fucking filthy .

“Fuck, she likes it,” Matteo pants behind me.

“She wants to come like this, don’t you, little storm,” Bodhi growls, hand threading into my hair.

He rocks hard into my mouth just as Matteo thrusts deeper from behind, and the stretch—front and back—makes my arms tremble beneath me.

I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

Not when they’re using my body like a battlefield. Not when I asked for this with every punch, every insult, every twist of resistance I threw in their faces.

Matteo leans forward, one hand wrapping tight around my throat from behind, his chest flush with my back as he fucks me harder.

Bodhi groans, head tilting down as he looks into my eyes.

“Good fucking girl,” he snarls.

I growl around his cock in answer.

I’m not giving in.

I’m giving everything .

Every thrust from Matteo slams me forward into Bodhi’s cock, and every time I try to pull back, Matteo yanks me right back down his length like I’m a toy built to be used between them.

“Still think you were winning?” Matteo growls into my ear, his voice savage. He pulls me up enough to arch my spine and make the next thrust hit even deeper . “Still think this is your fight?”

Bodhi's hand tightens in my hair too, guiding my mouth up and down his cock, pushing deep into my throat, making me gag.

“She won’t say it,” Bodhi pants. “Even now. She’s too fucking proud.”

“She’ll say it,” Matteo growls, grinding in deep and holding there, his cock pulsing inside me. “She knows who won.”

I moan around Bodhi’s length, my body burning, every nerve ending stretched to its breaking point. Sweat slicks my skin. My thighs tremble. My hands dig into the mat so hard my nails hurt.

“Say it,” Matteo snarls, snapping his hips forward.

I choke on a breath, on Bodhi, on the need crawling through my veins like poison.

“Say we won the wager.”

I shake my head, lips parting around Bodhi’s cock as I gasp for air, broken but defiant.

“Say you’re ours,” Bodhi says, voice razor-sharp. “Say you lost.”

Another thrust. Another slam of bodies. Another pull of hair.

And then Matteo’s other hand slips between my legs, rubbing ruthless circles over my clit as he drives into me from behind.

I jerk violently, the pleasure too much, too sharp, my body a livewire about to explode.

“You want to come?” he demands. “Say it.”

I fight it. I swear I do.

But my body’s already folding. Already tightening. Already fucking breaking .

Matteo bites at my shoulder, growling into my skin. “Say we won, little storm. Say it, or we don’t let you come.”

My moan turns guttural, helpless. Bodhi drags his cock free from my mouth and grips my jaw tight, forcing my eyes to meet his.

“You lost,” he says, breath harsh. “Now admit it.”

I snarl. I shake. I burn .

But it slips out anyway—choked, shattered, gutted.

“You… fucking… won.”

“Louder,” Matteo demands, slamming into me again, fingers moving faster over my clit.

“I said you won ,” I cry out, voice raw.

And then I break.

I come with a scream, body clenching violently around Matteo’s cock, my thighs shaking as my vision whites out from the force of it. It hits like a detonation—hot, filthy, brutal.

Behind me, Matteo fights against the tightness of my body, his thrusts stuttering, and he growls deep in his chest as he spills inside me.

Bodhi strokes himself once, twice—his breath coming in short, ragged bursts—then snarls low in his throat.

His grip tightens in my hair.

Without warning, he jerks my head back— hard —forcing my spine to arch further and my mouth to fall open in a gasp. My eyes flick up to meet his again, and he holds me there, trembling with it, chest rising like he’s barely holding himself back.

“Fucking look at me,” he growls.

I do.

Because I want to see it.

Because I want to watch him fall apart over me while my thighs are still shaking from the brutal rhythm Matteo fucked me through just moments ago—our combined releases dripping down my thighs, marking me from the inside out.

Bodhi’s hand works his cock with a brutal rhythm—wet, fast, hungry—and then he breaks .

He groans through clenched teeth, a deep sound that barely sounds human as he comes—thick, hot, and everywhere . My throat, my breasts, my collarbone, mixing with the sweat that coats every inch of my skin.

His hand stays tangled in my hair, anchoring me. Holding me in place like a possession, like a prize .

He watches me with dark, wild eyes—his lips parted, his breath caught somewhere between awe and exhaustion.

When he’s done, his thumb drags across my jaw as he murmurs, “You were made for us.”

And I’m still shaking.

Still panting.

Still braced on all fours in the middle of the mat, sweat-drenched and wrecked, lips swollen, thighs and chest slick and dripping with both of them.

“I hope,” I gasp finally, voice hoarse and full of venom, “you enjoy your twenty-four hours, assholes.”

Bodhi chuckles darkly and drops to his knees in front of me, brushing a kiss against my temple.

“Princess,” he murmurs, dragging the word out like a kiss, “you gave them to us.”

Matteo presses his mouth to my shoulder, voice still ragged.

“And we’re going to savor every second.”