“Practical,” Dario corrected.
“It’s a bed the size of a small country.”
“It fits all of us comfortably. That’s practical.”
He was right. It does fit all of us. And tonight, we’re going to need every inch.
We’ve done this before. Not often, logistics are complicated, schedules don’t always align, sometimes we need the intimacy of pairs rather than the intensity of all four. But enough times that we’ve learned the rhythm.
The choreography.
The way we move around each other.
I turn and they’re there. Three beautiful problems waiting to see which one of them I’ll devour first.
Dario’s gaze is molten, unblinking, staking a claim before he even touches me. Enzo, fidgety, running a hand through his hair, caught somewhere between “handle with care” and “I’m going to fuck this up, aren’t I?” Saul just smiles, dangerous and soft at the same time.
“Well?” I say, voice gone honey-wrecked. “What are you waiting for, a written invitation?”
Dario’s the first to move. He’s standing by the bed, jacket already removed, sleeves rolled up the way I love.
His mouth claims mine, slow and deep, tasting like every good decision I’ve ever made. His hands slip under my shirt, fingers splayed, mapping the lines of my ribs like he’s committing me to memory by touch alone. Every inch he uncovers, he lingers, palms warm, knuckles dragging, sending static all the way down my spine.
Enzo’s right behind me, chest pressed to my back, all heat and wild heartbeat. His mouth lands on my neck, hot, just this side of rough, teeth catching my skin. He’s greedy, nosing under my hair, breathing me in.
“Missed you today,” he says, and it feels less like words and more like a confession.
“You saw me all day.”
“Not like this.” His teeth graze my shoulder. “Never enough like this.”
Saul lingers at the edge, arms crossed, pretending to be all cool detachment but his eyes track every breath I take. He waits, lets the tension spool out, like he knows the exact second I’ll break and beg for him.
I reach for him anyway, impatient. “Get over here,” I demand, voice all grit and need.
He smiles. That steady, warm smile that still makes my chest tight after all this time. “Bossy,” he says, but he comes.
And then I’m surrounded.
I’m caught between them. Dario’s mouth on mine, Enzo’s teeth on my neck, Saul’s hands steadying my jaw as he drags me in for a kiss that short-circuits my entire system. It’s a flood of sensation, every nerve ending singing, their hands mapping every inch of me, staking territory, making me theirs over and over.
“Too many clothes,” Enzo complains. “Why are we all still wearing clothes?”
“Patience,” Dario says.
“I don’t have patience. You know I don’t have patience.”
“Then learn.”
Enzo growls and I feel it vibrate through his chest into my back. His hands find my waistband, start tugging at buttons.
Dario catches his wrist. “Slowly.”
“You’re not the boss of this.”
“I’m the boss of everything.”
“Boys.” Saul’s voice is amused. “Focus.”
