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“That’s it, Coach.” Cruz’s mouth grazes my ear, his voice pure gravel. “Let me do the work. You just feel it.”

Dakota’s hips rise to meet each stroke. Her mouth works Brady with growing desperation, and when she pulls off him to gulp air, Dante is there, replacing him without a word. She switches between them, one cock and then the other, greedy and glorious, her pussy gripping me tighter every time one of them groans her name.

The sounds in the room are obscene. Wet flesh, ragged breath, the bed frame creaking its protest under the weight of five bodies moving as one.

“Fuck, her mouth,” Brady chokes out. “Angel, I’m—slow down or I’m gonna?—”

She doesn’t slow down. She hums around him, deliberate and merciless, and Dante laughs low in his chest.

“She knows exactly what she’s doing, man. She always does.”

I’m not going to last. Cruz finds that spot inside me and hits it with every stroke, and Dakota clenches around me each time she moans, and the sight of her stretched between all of us—it builds from somewhere deeper than my body, somewhere I locked shut four years ago and these four people pried open with their bare hands.

“Cruz—” It’s all the warning I can manage.

“I got you.” His arm bands across my chest, pulling me back against him even as he drives me forward. “Come for us. Come inside her.”

The orgasm breaks me apart. I bury myself as deep as I can go and come with a shout I couldn’t silence if my life depended on it, and Cruz follows seconds later, rhythm shattering, grip bruising on my hips as he empties himself inside me. The feel of it pushes me through another wave, aftershocks rippling while Dakota keeps rolling her hips beneath me, chasing her own edge.

Brady goes first, pulling from her mouth with a strangled sound and striping her chest. Dante follows, painting her collarbone, her breasts, and the feel of her covered in them—debauched and radiant and thoroughly claimed—tips her over. She comes with all four of our names on her lips, back arching, pussy milking the last of me until I’m shaking.

We come down in a sprawl of tangled limbs and heaving lungs. Cruz eases out of me with a care that belies his size, and I slip from Dakota, and we all end up horizontal, sweat-slick and boneless.

Someone should get a cloth. Nobody moves.

Then I feel it—the tremble in Dakota’s shoulders, the hitch in her breathing. She’s crying. Not sad tears. Release. Two weeks of holding the dam together, and this cracked it wide open.

I gather her against my chest.

“Let it out, princess. We’ve got you.”

“I thought—” She presses her face into my throat. “I thought I broke it. All of it. I thought Gerald followed me here and cost everyone everything and you were gone and it was my fault?—”

“Hey.” Dante’s hand smooths down her spine. “Nothing that man did was ever your fault, baby. Not one thing. Not when you were fourteen and not now.”

“He came here and Victor found out and Eli left?—”

“And Eli came back.” Brady’s voice, fierce despite its softness. “We all came back. That’s the whole point. We keep coming back.”

Cruz drapes himself along her other side, one massive arm reaching across all of us like he can hold the entire pile together through sheer wingspan.

“Sweetheart, listen to me. You didn’t break anything. You’re the reason any of this exists. Before you walked into that gym, we were four idiots circling each other, too scared to say a damn word. You’re not the crack in the foundation. You’re the foundation.”

She laughs through the tears, wet and shaky. “That’s the corniest thing you’ve ever said.”

“I got worse ones locked and loaded. Don’t test me.”

She shakes against my chest, laughter and crying tangled together, and I hold her through all of it while the others press close, five heartbeats slowing toward a peace well-deserved.

This is what I almost gave up. The thought is unbearable, so I don’t hold it. I hold her instead. Cruz’s hand rests warm on my hip. Brady’s breath fans across my shoulder. Dante’s steady presence anchors the whole bed.

Minutes pass. Or an hour. Time stopped mattering when I walked through that door.

Then I feel it—the shift in the air, the tension rebuilding despite exhaustion. Cruz is already hardening against my thigh. Brady’s eyes have gone dark again, tracking the mess drying on Dakota’s chest with renewed hunger. Dante props himself on one elbow and looks down at her with an expression that promises she won’t be resting long.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” Dakota murmurs, but her voice has gone low and warm, and her thigh slides over mine.

Dante’s smile spreads slowly. “Two weeks, baby. You really think that was going to cover it?”