“You’re such a mess,” he murmurs. “One minute on your knees, the next running your mouth like a goddamn menace. What am I supposed to do with you?”
“Ruin me,” I gasp.
He doesn’t warn me. Just that sharp inhale, that second of coiled restraint, and then his hands tighten on my hips and hepushes in—slow, inch by inch until I swear the whole world tilts sideways and all I can do is scream.
Except Ican’t.Because Damian’s hand claps over my mouth a heartbeat later, smothering the ragged moan I let loose as he bottoms out inside me, hips flush to my ass, water sloshing against the edge of the pool.
My back arches and my legs tremble.
“Easy,” he murmurs behind me, voice all gravel and reverence. “Take it.”
Itry, but it’s too much too fast and I’m already raw from the blowjob and the chase and the fucking look in his eyes when he caught me.
He pulls back and thrusts again—hard.It sends me forward on the tile, cheek pressing to my own arm, knuckles white against the edge.
Water spills and I sob into his hand because he’severywhere.Caging me. Filling me. Dragging me back against his cock with steady, merciless rhythm like he doesn’t care we’re in a public pool in avery expensive resort.
And then I glance up and Iseesometouriston the beach, probably drunk, probably high, probably just out for a fucking walk—and now he’s standing there, eyes wide, frozen, watching as I getfucked into the wallby myhusband.
Iwhine—a high, desperate little noise—and bury my face deeper into my arm, whole body flushing red under the moonlight.
Damian chuckles behind me. “You see him?”
I nod, miserable.
“Good,” he grunts, thrusting deeper. “Let him watch.”
“Cap—”
He shushes me. “You’re mine. That’s what he’s seeing. That’s what he gets to remember when he jerks off later—my husband bent over, stuffed full, taking it like he was made for it.”
I moan, raw and wrecked. My legs are shaking so hard they barely hold me up anymore.
He keeps driving into me, one hand still over my mouth, the other steady on my hip, dragging me back again and again until the water’s slapping, the tile is slick with sweat and splashes, and I’m unraveling so fast I can barely think.
His voice drops, rough and reverent. “Come for me, Elias. Be good.”
I shatter—violently, silent except for the broken little sounds caught behind his hand as it hits, vision blowing white, knees giving out as my body folds forward onto the stone, shaking so badly I can’t hold myself up. He’s there instantly, holding me together when I can’t, arms locked around me as I come apart completely, breath stuttering, muscles trembling through the aftershocks.
He keeps me upright. Finishes inside me. And through all of it he never stops touching me for a single second.
He’s on his third mango daiquiri, which—fine. Vacation. Celebration. Two weeks into marriage and we’ve already broken a hammock, nearly gotten ourselves kicked out of the resort, and fucked in more locations than our room has pillows. He’s earned it.
But I’m watching him now. The way he licks the straw without thinking, the lazy sway of his body as the music drifts through the open bar, curls backlit by firelight and tiki torches, skin golden and catching the glow like it was made for it. His cheeks are flushed, legs sprawled across my lap like I’m nothing more than furniture, a stupid little flower tucked behind his ear like someone dared him and he said yes without hesitation.
He looks like sex on a postcard.
And the bartender is staring.
Not a glance. Not a polite look. Staring—smiling slow, pouring drinks just a little too carefully, leaning over the bar farther than necessary. Making conversation. Saying Elias looks familiar. Asking if he plays a sport. Complimenting his drink choice. Telling him mango looks good on him.
I set my whiskey down.
Elias blinks at the bartender and smiles back like the drunk little menace he is, lips soft around the straw, eyes bright, and then he drawls my name in that slow, sing-song way that only comes out when he’s tipsy. “Caaaaaaap…”
And that’s it. That’s the line.
There are exactly two people on the planet allowed to flirt with Elias Kade without me committing a felony: me, and Cole fucking Vance. Cole only survives because they’re essentially the same chaos gremlin split into two bodies with different trauma settings—and because I know exactly where Cole sleeps, and who he sleeps next to.
