Page 179 of Filled

I stand and hold out my hand.

The bedroom barely contains all five of us, but we make it work because we always make it work. Cruz’s bed is generous and still not built for this many bodies, and nobody cares. Tonight there’s no choreography, no careful strategy. Just need, immediate and overwhelming, all of us reaching for each other at once.

Clothes come off in a tangle of eager hands. I peel Dakota out of Cruz’s hoodie while Brady works her jeans down her legs and Cruz drags his own shirt over his head. Dante’s already bare when I glance his way, efficient as always, dark eyes cataloging everything.

“Missed this,” Dakota breathes as my mouth finds her throat. “Missed you. All of you. God, I missed?—”

“We know, sweetheart.” Cruz kisses her shoulder blade. “We know.”

She ends up in the center of the bed because she always ends up in the center. It’s where she belongs, the heart of this family, the axis the rest of us orbit. Her skin glows gold in the lamplight, and watching the others touch her—Cruz’s huge hands spanning her waist, Brady’s lips on her shoulder, Dante’s fingers tracing patterns up her thigh—fills me with more than desire. Gratitude. Reverence. The knowledge that I almost let fear take this from me.

I settle beside her and kiss her the way I couldn’t for two weeks. Every night I spent alone poured into the press of my mouth against hers. She responds with a sound that’s half sob, her hands fisting in my hair, her body arching like she wants to climb inside me and stay.

Cruz takes her other side, his mouth mapping her neck, her collarbone, the swell of her breast. Brady moves lower, spreading her thighs and settling between them with single-minded focus.

The first stroke of his tongue makes her gasp into my mouth.

“Brady—” Her whole body shudders. “Oh fuck, Brady, right there?—”

He doesn’t answer with words. He answers with his mouth, slow and devastating, and Dante watches from the foot of the bed with his hand moving unhurried on his cock, patient, waiting for his moment.

We work her together, four men focused on nothing but her, and she falls apart beautifully. The first orgasm hits when Brady slides two fingers inside her and seals his lips around her clit. She cries out against my mouth, back bowing off the mattress, hands scrabbling for any skin she can reach. Cruz captures her nipple between his lips and sucks, drawing the wave out longer, until she’s shaking and cursing and begging.

Brady doesn’t stop.

“Fuck.” She writhes between us. “It’s too much, it’s—don’t stop, don’t you dare stop?—”

He works her through the aftershocks and straight into a second build, mouth and fingers relentless. Her pleas dissolve into a breathless stream of our names tangled with profanity. When the second one crests, it hits harder, her thighs clamping around Brady’s head, her whole body tensing.

He finally pulls back with her arousal shining on his chin and a grin that could power the whole building.

“Two weeks,” he pants. “Been thinking about that for two weeks, angel.”

I’m so hard it hurts. I need to be inside her, need the confirmation that this is real, that I’m here, that I haven’t lost her. Dakota reads it in my face the way she reads everything in me. She reaches up, pulls me over her, wraps her hand around me and guides me home.

The heat of her swallows me whole. I have to stop, forehead pressed to hers, jaw clenched, because two weeks of nothingand now this and I refuse to embarrass myself in the first ten seconds.

“Daddy.” She breathes it against my lips, and my whole spine lights up. “Move. Please.”

“Give me a second, princess.” My voice comes out torn. “You feel too good.”

Cruz shifts behind me. His hand lands warm on my lower back, a question and an offer in one touch.

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

I nod, beyond speech, and hear the click of the lube cap from the nightstand.

His fingers work me open while I stay buried in Dakota, barely moving, the stretch and burn giving me an anchor against the impossible heat of her clenching around me. Brady climbs up the bed to her head and she turns, takes him into her mouth, and her moan vibrates through her whole body as Cruz adds a second finger inside me.

“Look at you,” Dante murmurs from beside us, voice low and rough. “Both of you. Fucking beautiful.”

When Cruz finally presses inside me, the fullness steals my breath. I’m caught between them—Dakota beneath me, Cruz behind me—connected at both ends of myself. None of us moves. We just breathe, three chests rising and falling together.

Then Cruz rolls his hips.

The motion drives me deeper into Dakota and she cries out around Brady’s cock and the chain reaction begins.

We find a rhythm. Cruz sets the pace and I surrender to it, let him control the movement, let myself be the current running between his body and hers. Every thrust of his pushes me into her. Every clench of her drags a groan out of me that Cruz feels through my spine.