Epilogue #2
Dante pulls my shirt over my head. His mouth drops to my collarbone, then lower, tongue tracing the curve of my breast before his lips close over my nipple. The pressure is firm. His teeth follow, and the sting pulls a sound from me I stopped trying to control years ago.
Cole's hand slides from my stomach between my legs and over my underwear, two fingers pressing where I'm already wet. The cotton is damp under his touch.
"Already?" he murmurs against my neck.
"You try being between the two of you and see how long it takes."
Cole lifts his hand. Dante pulls my underwear down, and Cole's fingers find me bare. With the pad of his middle finger, he circles my clit, slow and steady, pressure exact. He learned me early and kept paying attention.
My hips roll into his hand while Dante's mouth stays on my breast. Cole's fingers work between my legs, and my grip tightens around Dante without meaning to.
Against me, Dante shifts and strips his boxers.
I reach for him, wrapping my hand around his cock, the barbells warm under my palm.
I trace each one from base to tip. The third makes his abs clench.
The fifth pulls a sound from between his teeth.
The sixth sits just below the head, and when I press it and hold, his hips jerk into my fist.
"Maya."
"Patience."
His hips shift into my hand. "I have patience."
"You have the illusion of patience. There's a difference."
"She's right," Cole says, still working me with his fingers. "You have zero patience. You just hide it well."
"I'm being critiqued during sex."
Cole's teeth graze my neck. "You're being loved during sex. The critique is a bonus."
I stroke Dante while Cole strokes me, and the three of us find the rhythm one inch at a time. Cole's fingers increase pressure when Dante's breathing changes. Dante's mouth finds my throat when my back arches into Cole's hand. They adjust before I ask.
"I want you both," I say. "Tonight. Cole first."
Dante pulls back, and Cole rolls me onto my back before settling between my legs. His mouth moves over my throat, my jaw, my mouth, and then he pushes inside me.
My back arches off the sheets. His hands find mine and pin them above my head, fingers interlacing, grip steady and warm. Slowly, he moves, deep strokes hitting the spot that makes my fingers tighten around his.
"There," I breathe.
"I know where it is."
My nails dig into his fingers. "Cocky."
"Accurate."
He rolls his hips, changing the angle, and I wrap my legs around him to pull him deeper. The sound he makes is quiet, pressed into my neck.
Dante moves in behind Cole where he kneels between my legs. His hand traces Cole's spine, then reaches for the lube in the nightstand. Cole's body stills for a moment, and his forehead drops to mine.
"Ready?" Dante says to Cole.
"Yeah."
Dante waits for the nod, then pushes in. I feel it through Cole's body, through the break in his breathing and the way his muscles lock for two seconds before releasing. His hips press harder into mine, driven by the weight behind him, his cock shifting inside me with each of Dante's thrusts.
"Fuck," Cole says into my throat. "I can feel him. And you. Both. At the same time."
"Welcome to my world," I say.
Dante sets the rhythm, every thrust into Cole driving Cole deeper into me. Three bodies linked. Dante's hands on Cole's hips. Cole's hands pinning mine. My legs locked around Cole. The circuit closes with Dante against Cole and Cole inside me.
Cole's breathing shatters. Lifting his head, he looks down at me, eyes blown wide, mouth open. Dante hits a spot inside him, and Cole's hips jerk, sending him deeper into me. I cry out and grip his hands harder.
"That," I gasp. "Again. Whatever he just did."
"Dante," Cole manages. "Do that again."
His grip tightens on Cole's hips. "Which part?"
"You know which part."
Dante does it again. Cole's whole body tightens, and his cock drives into me at an angle that knocks the breath out of my lungs. Every thrust reaches the hands pinning me down, the mouth at my throat, the pressure building between my legs.
"I'm close," I say.
Cole's hand pulls free from mine and slides between us. His thumb finds my clit, circling with the pressure he knows I need, the pressure calibrated over four years of paying attention.
"Let go," he says.
Dante increases the pace. As his thrusts get harder, Cole braces above me, absorbing the impact, his thumb still working me. His mouth is open above mine, his eyes glassy, his jaw shaking as Dante drives into him.
"Both of you," I say. "I want to feel both of you come."
"Ladies first," Cole grits.
I glare up at him. "Don't call me a lady while you're inside me."
"Force of habit."
Dante slams into Cole. Cole's hips drive into me. His thumb presses hard against my clit, and all three points of pressure send me over. In waves, the orgasm rips through me. I clench around Cole, and he groans, his rhythm breaking.
"I can't hold," Cole says. "Maya. I can't—"
"Then let go."
He drives in deep, his body going rigid. Against my pulse, his teeth sink into my neck, my name buried in my skin. I feel him pulse inside me while Dante grips his hips.
Dante follows.
The three of us break in sequence. Me around Cole. Cole around Dante. The chain pulls tight and releases.
Dante collapses against Cole's back. Cole collapses against my chest. Their weight presses me into the mattress. I let them pin me there.
"You're both very heavy," I say.
"You love it," Dante says, muffled against Cole's shoulder.
"I tolerate it."
Cole's mouth brushes my collarbone. "Lies."
Dante pulls out first. Cole follows. Around me, they rearrange, Cole on his side facing me, my head tucked under his chin, Dante behind him with one arm across both of us.
"That was—" Cole starts.
"Good," I say.
His chest lifts under my cheek. "I was going to say transcendent."
"Cole. You were watching your own highlight reel five minutes before this."
"Transcendence has a short ramp-up time."
Dante laughs into Cole's shoulder, and Cole's chest jumps under my cheek.
Afterward, Cole's pulse slows under my cheek. My head stays tucked under his chin. Dante's arm stays over both of us.
"Serena called me today," I say.
"She calls you every Sunday," Cole murmurs, half asleep.
"She asked if I'm eating enough."
"She asks everyone if they're eating enough."
I tuck my face closer to his chest. "First she asked if Dante is eating enough.
Then she asked if Cole is eating enough.
Then she gave me the twins' update: Gia's starting something in Milan that Serena couldn't decide whether to be proud of or worried about, and Rafael sent a photo of a building he's restoring that she wants us to see at Christmas.
Then she told me about the fundraiser and asked if I knew any nice girls for Marco. "
"For Marco?" Dante says from behind Cole.
"For Marco."
His arm shifts across us. "What did you tell her?"
"I told her Marco is perfectly capable of finding his own nice girls."
"And she said?"
"She said that's what Marco says too, and look how that's working out."
Cole laughs against my shoulder, the vibration moving through his chest into mine.
"I like your mother," I say.
"My mother likes you more than she likes me," Dante says.
"That's because I call her back."
"I call her back."
I smile against Cole's skin. "You call her back on Thursdays. I call her back immediately. There's a difference."
"She told you that?"
"She tells me everything. We have a relationship independent of you, Dante. It's thriving."
His arm tightens around us. His mouth presses into Cole's shoulder.
"Milan next month," Cole says, already drifting.
I close my eyes. "Milan next month."
The fundraiser. The family. The world we walked into years ago when I chose the shower, Dante picked up the phone, and Cole washed the dishes.
Every morning between coffee and the rink, Cole checks the portfolio spreadsheet on his phone: the holdings, the restaurants, the numbers that appear in tax filings and pass audits.
Dante is the face the cameras love and the name the program wears.
On my desktop, I have a folder full of old evidence I haven't opened in six months.
It stays closed. The drawer stays closed.
"I love you," I say to both of them, with the blanket tucked around my legs and the apartment quiet around us.
"Love you," Cole murmurs, almost gone.
Dante's arm tightens. His voice is low against Cole's back. "Ti amo."
"Show-off," Cole says.
"You love it," Dante says.
Cole's answer is barely awake. "I love it." And then he falls asleep.
I close my eyes. Somewhere in Milan, Serena is probably planning a menu.
And in June, Talia's white coat ceremony.
The penthouse will fill with the people who filled Elm House.
Adrian and Clara, married now, still finishing each other's arguments.
Declan in his corner with his arms crossed and his jaw locked and his eyes completely dry.
Gio and Zoe bringing whatever chaos they've generated this time.
Genny, cool as cut glass, champagne in hand, watching the room the way she watches every room.
Scattered across cities, time zones, lives that look nothing like the dorm rooms and rink corridors where they started, the group chat still pings. RSVPs come in. Plane tickets get booked. When someone texts "come," everyone comes.
The lamp stays on. Outside the glass, the city hums. Cole's chest rises under my cheek, and Dante's arm stays heavy across us both.
My breathing reaches for its count, the old protocol waiting in the dark. Four in. Four hold. Four out. The wiring that was installed at thirteen still hums somewhere under my ribs, still waiting to be needed.
The count stays silent.
I wait for it anyway. The way I've waited for it every night for twenty years. The girl in the hospital bed running her numbers before the room can hurt her first.
Silence answers.
I press my face into Cole's chest. Cole exhales against my hair. Dante's fingers flex once at my ribs.
The lamp stays on.