Luis Martinez had always been a handsome man. Tall and thin, he’d let his dark hair streak through with silver. It ran in the mustache he stubbornly kept over his upper lip, despite my mother’s objections. He had the stoop of a man beaten in life, but too determined to go down. It was painfully obvious in times of stress. It was there now, bowing him forward like an old man leaning on his cane. The sight never failed to spear me through with guilt.
“You shouldn’t be down there,” he said, warm, brown eyes jumping to the door over my shoulder. “Come upstairs. Stay in your room until I call you.”
“I’m fine, papa,” I began.
He shook his head. “No, do what I say. Come up. I’m almost done counting.”
Without waiting to make sure I did as he said, he turned and hurried out of sight. I heard the shuffle of his feet until they vanished into the room above my head and the door closed with a resounding crack.
Knowing it was an argument I would lose if I tried to stay, I started to make my way up. I was on the third step when I heard the creak of boards outside the door, when twin shadows obscured the afternoon light coming through the frosted glass on either side of the front door, when a quiet knock kicked me in the ribs.
I sucked in a sharp breath. My gaze jumped to the top of the stairs, half expecting my father to come barreling down, yelling for me to get upstairs.
Nothing happened.
The door to my parent’s bedroom remained firmly shut.
I bit my lip, my heart galloping in my chest. I could hear every beat reverberating along the walls of my skull, the thundering booms of war drums. It should have brought my father running. It was a wonder the whole house wasn’t vibrating with the force.
Accepting that he hadn’t heard the knock, I turned and hurried back. I tried not to notice the tremor in my fingers when I reached for the knob and twisted.
Hot, sticky air swirled around my bare ankles. It blew across my face, infecting my senses with the stench of cooked asphalt, baked earth, and meat, but all that was forgiven and forgotten by the pair darkening my doorway.
Each stood clad in dark denim, dark t-shirts, and scuffed motorcycle boots. But Nero had his shoulder length locks pulled into an elastic at the back of his neck. His soft, hazel eyes fixed on my face, boring and invading. He was the bigger of the two, broad and powerful with a face cut from stone and hands I longed for when alone at night. Hands that had been forceful closing into my arms and dragging me to him while simultaneously gentle when slipping around me from behind and cradling my breasts. The memory had the mounds tingling and straining against the bodice of my dress, pushing against the solitary button struggling to contain them.
I quickly tore my gaze from his before I lost my senses completely and focused on the other man, the one with the dark pits peering back at me from beneath heavy lashes and a thick patch of ebony he carelessly shoved off his brow. The tendrils immediately dropped over his eyes once more, making my fingers itch to reach out and flip them back. I knew they’d be silky to the touch, thick and wavy, and perfect for my fingers to sink into and hold while his hungry mouth moved between my parted thighs, his tongue conquering places no one else ever had. The places he’d licked and sucked pulsed with desperation, a pang of longing that woke me up at night alone in my bed, body drowning in liquid fire. I pressed my thighs together to ease the building pressure, but all that did was draw his attention to my legs, my bare thighs and toes.
Next to him, Nero watched me, face a blank mask that never failed to unnerve me.
“Hi,” I whispered for lack of anything better, acutely aware of the tremor snagging on the solitary word.
Rather than respond, his attention slipped down my features to the tiny bead of sweat crawling over my collarbone to slide down my chest. I felt it burn a trail over the curve of my right breast and disappear into the valley in between. The unwavering attention teased my nipples into hard, sharp points that jutted through the soft fabric of my dress. Without a bra, there was no way he could miss their shameless need for him to touch them again, to pinch them between his thumb and finger until the pain and pleasure ripped a wail from me. He’d been so good at that, so well versed in the art of torture. He had known exactly when to hurt and when to sooth. He had known when to alternate between rolling the sensitive peaks and holding my lips apart for Davien’s greedy tongue.
And Davien…
My focus slipped back to the other man, to the firm curve of his talented mouth, my mind lost in the hot fog of arousal. My core rushed, expelling a small flood I had no way of stopping from running down my legs. I shifted, hoping that might alleviate some of the thrumming.
It didn’t.
“Where’s your father?” Nero broke in with the steely bite of a man edging on the brink of control.
“He’s coming,” I murmured. “He’s just getting everything together.”
“Get him,” he commanded with zero room for disobedience. “Now.”
I opened my mouth when the man in question thundered down the stairs, practically tripping in his haste. Wild panic filled his eyes as they went from me to the two standing still and too close. He turned back to me, and I knew what he was about to say before he even opened his mouth.
“Go to your room, Mia.”
The part of me still throbbing for their touch panged at the idea of leaving but disobeying my father wasn’t an option either. All I could do was steal one final peek at each of them before ducking my head and hurrying towards the stairs.
“It’s the first,” I heard Nero tell my father as I reached the top of the landing.
I stopped and lowered myself down on the soft carpet. From that angle, I could see all of Nero and only Davien’s face from over my father’s shoulder. They towered over my father, avenging angels inciting their wrath upon the earth. Their hard eyes pinned him to the spot. I wondered if those hard lines that seemed to make up their entire structure ever softened. They were always so rigid. So hard.
At the thought of hard, my gaze drifted down the solid wall of Nero’s chest to the bulge pushing up against the front of his jeans. It was slanted to the left, unmistakable and gorgeous. I’d never seen a penis up close, but I’d felt his grinding into the crack of my ass while he’d teased my nipples and ordered me to sit on Davien’s face.
The whole idea of sex both fascinated and terrified me. Everything about the act seemed so extreme, so violent, yet I was always just teetering on the verge of climax.
I was always wet.
I was always on edge.
From the moment I opened my eyes in the morning until I slipped naked under my cool sheets, I wanted it.
I wanted them.
My nights were spent with my knees spread wide, my fingers tracing a familiar path through the slippery folds until I saw stars. My days were spent swapping my soaked panties for fresh ones or sneaking away to calm the fires in private.
I hadn’t always been that way. They’d done something to me that night and I had no idea how to make it stop. It was as if my body was perpetually on, perpetually hungry. And, despite my confidence that I would never be able to handle a cock when I could barely get two fingers in without wincing — for them — God help me, but I wanted to try. I wanted to feel their weight on my thighs spreading me open, holding me in place as they took turns thrusting inside me. Just the thought had my knees parting, allowing a cool rush of air to whisper over my bare, damp lips. A droplet of arousal trickled along the inner valley of my cheeks to soak into the carpet. I pulled in several calming breaths, willing my sanity to stay in place a little longer. I just needed the two on the doorstep to leave. Once they did, I would—