26. Dante
DANTE
The lock clicks behind Brady, and the whole day unravels.
Eight hours of not touching. Eight hours of Coach Morgan and professional distance.
Eight hours of Cruz keeping his hands to himself, and I swear it looked like it caused him physical pain.
The door barely latches before Dakota has Brady by the collar, kissing him hard enough to knock him back into the wall, and Cruz is already kissing the back of his neck.
I end up pressed against my own entryway wall, watching my apartment turn into a shipwreck of clothing. Eli’s belt hits the floor. Somebody’s shoe skids into the pile. Brady’s shirt catches on his elbow, and Dakota yanks it free without breaking the kiss.
“Bedroom. All of you. Now,” Eli commands.
“Working on it,” Cruz says against Brady’s neck.
We make it down the hallway in stages, leaving a trail behind us like a trail of evidence.
By the time we hit my room, Dakota’s down to skin, Cruz has his jeans around his ankles and is swearing at them, and Eli, who irons his workout shirts, drops the last of his clothes on my floor without a glance.
The bed felt big yesterday. It doesn’t feel big now.
Dakota lands in the center because she always lands in the center. It’s gravitational. Eli follows her down, settles between her thighs, and pauses there with his hands framing her face.
“Missed you,” he says. Quiet. Like the other three of us aren’t in the room.
“Show me.”
He pushes into her in one slow stroke, and the sound she makes stops all of us.
Cruz freezes with one leg still trapped in denim.
Brady goes still at the foot of the bed.
There’s nothing like it, watching Eli claim her first—Daddy taking his girl, laying the foundation the rest of us build on.
His hips roll deep and unhurried, and Dakota’s fingers dig into his shoulders like she’s holding onto the only solid thing in the world.
Cruz kicks free of his jeans and crawls up the bed to Dakota’s head, kneeling, angling himself toward her mouth.
“You got room for me, sweetheart?” he asks.
She turns her head and takes him in reply, and Cruz’s whole body bows forward.
“Jesus. Jesus, okay. Clearly that’s a yes.”
The sight of it bolts straight through me.
Dakota stretched between them, Eli driving into her while Cruz feeds himself past her lips, her throat working, her hips rising to meet every thrust. Brady drifts to my side of the bed and his hand finds me, wraps around me, strokes slow. Neither of us looks away from her.
“She’s unreal,” Brady breathes.
“She’s ours,” I reply.
Eli’s rhythm never wavers. That’s the thing about him—the control that used to strangle him now serves him, every stroke deliberate, every angle chosen. Dakota moans around Cruz, and Eli’s jaw tightens, his head dropping to hers.
“Princess. Fuck, you feel so good.” He gives her a few more thrusts before easing out of her. “But it’s time to let someone else fuck you.”
Cruz pulls free of her mouth and takes Eli’s place before she’s caught her breath.
“My turn.” He slides into her and his eyes go black. “Goddamn, sweetheart. Your cunt is sucking me in. Do you feel that? Taking my cock so damn well.”
“Cruz!” She squeals.
“Greedy girl.” He hooks her knees over his elbows and drives in hard, nothing like Eli’s control. Dakota’s hands fist the sheets. The headboard knocks the wall.
Brady lets go of me and moves to her head, hesitant for half a second.
He’s still asking permission with his eyes even now, and Dakota reaches up and pulls him in by the hip.
She takes him sloppy and eager, moaning around him every time Cruz bottoms out, and Brady’s head tips back like a grateful parishioner at Sunday service.
Then Eli moves. He comes around behind Cruz, grabbing his hips and making his rhythm stumble.
“Coach.” Cruz’s voice cracks between the syllables. “You while I’m… ”
“While you’re inside her. Yes.” Eli reaches past me for the lube on the nightstand. “Keep going. Don’t stop for me.”
I’ve heard Cruz cocky. I’ve heard him loud, filthy, laughing through sex like it’s the best joke ever told.
What I have never heard, though, is the sound he makes when Eli’s fingers open him up while he’s buried in Dakota.
It’s less than a syllable. It’s wrecked and almost pleading.
His forearms shake where they’re planted on either side of her.
“Breathe,” Eli tells him.
Cruz tenses. “I am. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, Daddy.”
Eli groans. “You can take it. You’ve taken me before.”
Cruz’s head drops. “Not like this.”
When Eli sinks into him, the chain reaction runs through all three of them at once.
Eli’s thrust drives Cruz deeper into Dakota, and she cries out around Brady, and Brady grabs the headboard to stay upright.
They find a rhythm the way water finds level—Eli setting the pace, Cruz caught in the middle, Dakota taking everything that rolls downhill from both directions.
I stand there jerking myself off slowly, watching the best and filthiest thing that’s ever happened on my own bed.
And it’s not enough. Watching has never been enough for me. I want in—want to be wired into this circuit instead of standing outside it.
Brady keeps glancing at me. Third time, fourth time, his eyes caught between hungry and scared. He pulls out of Dakota’s mouth and his chest is heaving.
“Dante.” He swallows. “Can you… ” He stops, and then starts over, steadier. “Fuck me while I watch them.”
The room doesn’t stop. Eli and Cruz and Dakota keep moving, but Dakota turns her head and finds Brady’s face.
“Yeah?” she says, breathless.
“I want to feel what he’s feeling.” Brady nods at Cruz, who’s beyond forming words. “Getting taken. I want that.”
“Come here, then,” I tell him. “Beside her. Hands and knees. I want you two face to face.”
He positions himself next to Dakota, close enough that their breath mixes, and I kneel behind him with the lube Eli abandoned.
Brady’s never done this before. He’s fucked Eli and Cruz, but he’s never been on the receiving end.
Never let anyone inside him. He wants this but he’s fighting years of shame to get there.
This has to be done right, patience, watching for cues from not just his words, but his body that he is ready for each step.
I take my time with him. More time than I took with anyone else, because this is a door he’s never let anyone open. One finger first, working him open with patience while the bed rocks beside us. His whole body tenses at the intrusion, shoulders bunching, and I go still.
“Breathe,” I murmur. “Just breathe, baby. I’ve got you.”
Brady forces air into his lungs. Slowly, his muscles start to relax.
I keep that first finger slow and shallow, letting him get used to the sensation.
When I curl my finger to find his prostate, his sharp inhale stutters before it breaks into a moan that comes from somewhere deep, laying him bare in a way that eclipses his nakedness.
“There he is,” I say.
Dakota reaches over and cups his jaw. “Look at you. Taking his fingers so well.” Her voice hitches as Cruz slams into her. “You look so sexy, Brady.”
“Angel,” he groans.
“We’ve all got you,” I encourage.
I add a second finger and Brady tenses again, breath becoming shallow pants. Dakota keeps her hand on his face, grounding him, whispering praise. I keep it slow, scissoring, making sure he’s ready. By the time I add a third finger, Brady is rocking back to meet me, fear giving way to need.
“Ready?” I ask.
Brady nods against Dakota’s hand. “Yeah. Yeah.”
When I finally line up and start to push into him, Brady’s head drops toward Dakota’s and the sound he makes is pure surrender.
I go slow, so slow, feeling him stretch around me, letting him adjust to every inch.
Dakota kisses him through it, messy and sweet, Cruz still driving into her, Eli still driving into Cruz.
“Doing so good,” Dakota whispers against his lips. “So brave.”
I’m fully seated inside him and I hold still while he learns how to breathe through it. Brady’s hands are fisted in the sheets, his whole body trembling, and I lean forward to press my forehead between his shoulder blades.
“Tell me when,” I say.
Brady takes three shaky breaths. “Move. Please, Dante. Move.”
Two sets of us now, moving side by side.
Eli inside Cruz inside Dakota. Me inside Brady, who can’t tear his eyes off her face.
Every thrust ripples through more than one body.
Eli goes deep and Cruz goes deeper and Dakota gasps into Brady’s mouth.
I roll my hips and Brady rocks forward and his hand finds Dakota’s on the mattress, fingers threading together.
“Cruz.” Eli’s voice cuts through everything—that tone, the one that snaps all of us to attention. “Make her come. She’s earned it.”
“Yes, Daddy. Fuck yeah.” Cruz shifts his angle, grinds down.
“Dante. Deeper. He can take more than you’re giving him,” Eli orders.
I obey, pushing deeper into Brady, and he chokes out my name in pleasure. The feel of him accepting me, taking me deeper, nearly ends me right there.
“And Brady.” Eli’s voice drops lower. “Eyes open. Watch how pretty our girl looks stuffed full of Cruz while Cruz takes my cock. Watch her.”
“I’m watching,” Brady rasps. “Angel, I’m watching you, you’re so beautiful getting fucked.”
Dakota shatters first. Her back bows off the bed and she comes crying out a tangle of names and the clench of her drags Cruz right to the edge. He fights it. I watch him fight it, muscles tensing visibly along his back, but Eli doesn’t slow down, won’t let him hold the line.
“Let go,” Eli orders.
Cruz comes with a shout that starts as pleasure and lands as a plea, spilling into her on top of what Eli already left, and then Eli keeps moving, fucking him through it, and the sounds Cruz makes now are almost sobs. Overstimulated. Undone. Taking it anyway.