My breath hitches. It’s a relentless, deep stretch that burns in the best way. He doesn’t stop until he’s fully seated, his hips flush against mine. I’m so full it’s dizzying, every nerve ending lit up.
Oh god. I don’t know if I can go again. I don’t think it’s physically possible.
He’s still for a moment, letting me adjust, letting my body accommodate his size. I can feel his heartbeat—a rapid, heavy thud—where our bodies are joined.
He starts to move.
He pulls out almost all the way, leaving me achingly empty, before he slams back in. The force of it rocks my whole body, a gasp tearing from my throat. He sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust hard and deep and precise. His hands pin my wrists above my head, his fingers wrapped tightly around them, holding me in place. I’m completely at his mercy, and the thought sends a fresh wave of liquid heat through me.
The sound of our bodies meeting fills the room—a rhythmic slapping sound that’s raw and primal. My world narrows to this: the feel of him moving inside me, the way his muscles bunch and flex under my hands, the fierce concentration on his face. The pleasure builds, a tight, hot coil winding in my core, growing tighter with every powerful snap of his hips. I can’t think, can’t speak, can only feel. I’m a raw nerve, and he’s playing me with expert, brutal skill, pushing me closer and closer to the edge.
I shatter, my body convulsing as a powerful orgasm rips through me once more. I actually begin to sob from the force of it, certain it’ll kill me. The clenching of my body sends Ryker over the edge. He roars his release, his hips jerking as he comes inside me.
I can hear the other men reaching their own peaks, their groans filling the air as they find their release.
I’m a mess—covered in cum, sweat, and my own arousal.
And as I lie there, panting on the bed, surrounded by the five men who just claimed me, I’ve never felt more loved.
47
ELLIE
FIVE YEARS LATER
The dining room smells like sage and butter and something sweet that’s probably burning in the oven.
I’m lining up place settings—real plates, not the mismatched ones we lived with for years—when Landon slides in beside me and adjusts a fork that’s already perfectly straight.
“You’re nervous,” he says gently.
“I’m not,” I reply automatically, then sigh. “Okay. I am.”
One year out of witness protection, and I still half expect everything good to be temporary. Old instincts die hard. But today feels different. Solid. Earned.
Beckett sets down the centerpiece he insisted on making himself—autumn leaves pressed into glass, candlelight flickering warm and steady. Dominic double-checks the seating chart like this is a diplomatic summit instead of Thanksgiving dinner. Zane is on his third trip to the kitchen for something (no idea what, because he didn’t help cook any of the food), and Ryker—quiet, steady Ryker—rests a hand at the small of my back as he passes, grounding me without a word. Frodo, older now, rests on his bed in the corner of the room.
Semi-back to normal. That’s what we’ve been calling it.
The Paragons of Prosperity are gone now. Not rumors, not shadows—arrested. Disbanded. Dead. The hearings are over, the last appeals denied. For the first time in years, no one is watching our house. There are no aliases taped to our fridge. There are no bags packed just in case.
We’re…free.
I still can’t wrap my head around it. I half expect to open my eyes and discover thatthisis nothing but a dream, and reality is a horrific nightmare I can’t escape from. Sometimes, when no one is looking, I’ll pinch myself to be sure I’m awake.
The doorbell rings.
My heart jumps—but this time it’s with excitement instead of fear.
Piper barrels in first, cheeks red from the cold, her smile bright and unapologetic. Her girlfriend follows close behind, warm-eyed and steady, carrying a bottle of wine like she’s done this a hundred times already.
“There she is,” Piper says, pulling me into a hug. “You hosting Thanksgiving like a real person now?”
“I’ve always been a real person.” I laugh.
“Debatable,” Zane mutters, and Piper flips him off affectionately.
Victoria arrives next, composed as ever, her boyfriend at her side. I haven’t met him yet, and I’m not sure if their relationship is serious, but my friend is smiling, and that’s all that matters.
