25. Savannah
SAVANNAH
The woodstove in Dante’s cabin crackles, spitting embers against the cast iron as I shove the door open. Three pairs of eyes snap to me—Gideon’s molten gold, Malachi’s knowing green, Dante’s steady brown.
I don’t wait.
"We’re done pretending," I say. My voice doesn’t shake, but my pulse does.
War maps litter the table between them, ink bleeding over mountain passes and supply routes. I don’t look at them. I look at them—the way Gideon’s fingers flex like he wants to reach for me, the way Malachi exhales like he’s been holding his breath, the way Dante goes utterly still.
Gideon scoffs, leaning back in his chair. "You just gonna stand there like you’re not part of whatever this is?—"
"I asked what this is." The words come out too sharp, too raw.
Malachi’s smirk falters. Dante’s knuckles whiten where they rest on the table.
Silence.
Then Dante speaks, low and deliberate—the same tone he uses when he’s ordering men into a warzone.
"No one’s asking you to choose, Savannah."
Gideon’s jaw clenches. Malachi exhales smoke from his cigarette, watching me like I’m the fuse to a bomb.
Dante doesn’t look away. "Because none of us are walking away. Not from you. Not from each other."
The honesty hits like a bullet—clean, sudden, final.
I’ve been prepared for violence, for blood, for cages. Not for this—the unbearable weight of being wanted whole, scars and silence and all.
I press my palm flat against the war table. "Then we stop pretending we don’t know where this ends."
Gideon’s chair scrapes back as he stands. Malachi crushes his cigarette between his fingers. Dante’s breath is audible, rough.
No one touches me. But it feels like they’re all holding on.
Gideon paces like a caged animal, his boots scuffing the hardwood. Every muscle in his body is coiled tight, his knuckles white where they flex at his sides. I watch the war play out across his face—the possessive fury, the reluctant surrender.
"Fuck." He stops abruptly, his back to me.
"Every goddamn cell in my body wants to drag you out of here and keep you where no one else can touch you.
" His voice is raw, stripped bare. "But the thought of you walking away because we can't figure this out—" He turns, his grey eyes burning. "That kills me worse."
The admission hangs between us, enormous. Gideon doesn’t do vulnerability. Doesn’t yield. Yet here he is, gutting himself open in front of all of us.
Malachi exhales, running a hand through his hair.
"Well, since we’re all being disgustingly honest tonight—" His usual smirk is absent.
"Savannah, darling, you’re not the only one I love in this room.
" His gaze flicks to Dante, then Gideon. "These two idiots stopped being just friends years ago. They’re the only family I’ve ever had.
" He swallows, and for once, there’s no mask.
"Loving you doesn’t change that. It just...
complicates it. In the best fucking way. "
Something inside me fractures.
I press my palms flat against the table to keep from shaking.
"I don’t really know how to do this," I whisper.
The words come out broken. "Violence follows me. Everyone I’ve ever loved—" My breath hitches. "They’re all gone. And I can’t—" My voice cracks.
"I’m not sure how to keep you safe from me. I'm a disaster."
Dante moves first. His hand covers mine, warm and steady. "You don’t have to."
Gideon’s at my side in two strides, his calloused fingers brushing my jaw. "We’re not going anywhere, Savage."
Malachi’s arm slides around my waist, his lips brushing my temple. "Ruination looks good on us."
And just like that—I break. I melt into them, and they surround me, a blurred tangle of heat, tongues, teeth, and hands.
The moment Dante’s hands slide under my shirt, it’s like a fuse burns out in my skull.
Those rough fingers tug at the fabric, ripping it open before his mouth crashes down on mine.
Gideon’s already at my back, his teeth sinking into my shoulder blade in a sharp, possessive bite that makes me gasp into his mouth.
Malachi’s laughter is dark velvet, curling around us as his hands slide between us to unbutton my pants practiced ease.
“Bedroom,” Dante growls against my lips. His voice is rough—commanding—but his grip on my waist shakes just enough to betray him.
Gideon doesn’t wait. He hooks an arm around my waist, yanking me onto his thigh as he walks us backward, grinding me against the hard muscle.
I rock into him instinctively, breath stuttering as Malachi drags his tongue up the column of my throat, fingers twisting into my hair to wrench my head back.
“Christ, she’s fucking soaked,” Gideon bites out, palming me through my jeans.
Dante’s hands are on my zipper, peeling denim down my legs with ruthless efficiency before spinning me toward the bed.
I don’t hit the mattress—Malachi catches me, flipping me onto my back and pinning my wrists above my head.
Dante’s already stripping, muscles flexing as he kicks off his boots.
Gideon kneels between my thighs on the bed, his thumb circling my clit through my panties with a pressure just short of pain.
Malachi leans down, breath hot against my ear. “Tell us what you want, dulce mío.”
I arch off the bed. “Everything. All of you. Right fucking now.”
Their answering growls send heat licking through my veins.
Dante's fingers tighten brutally in Gideon's dark hair, dragging his head back in a display of raw dominance. The moment stretches taut between them—black leather creaking as Gideon bares his throat instinctively—before Dante shoves him aside just far enough to claim me.
My thighs hit his shoulders with bruising force, his grip unyielding as iron shackles.
His tongue spears into me without warning, rough and punishing like he intends to carve himself into my flesh through sheer force of will.
The obscene sound of his mouth working me fills the room, wet and filthy, louder than Gideon's ragged breathing beside us.
I gasp as his fingers join the assault—two thick digits stretching me mercilessly while his tongue flicks my clit in quick, stuttering circles.
Gideon doesn't move from where Dante threw aside, his fist pumping his cock in slow, deliberate strokes.
His smoke-rough voice grits out, "Fuck, look at that," as Dante devours me like I'm his last meal after a decade of starvation.
Gideon's knuckles whiten around his length, his rhythm stuttering when Dante growls against my skin—the vibration rattling through both of us оконе.
He's marking, claiming, proving something neither of them will say aloud.
And Gideon watches every second like it's holy writ, his gray eyes burning with something between worship and violent need.
Malachi's grip tightens around my wrists, his palm pressing hard against the delicate bones—not quite enough to hurt, but firm enough that the slightest shift reminds me how effortlessly he could restrain me.
His other hand slips beneath my bra with practiced ease, fingers skating over my nipple once, twice, teasing before rolling it viciously between his thumb and forefinger.
The sharp burst of pain-pleasure makes me jerk violently against his hold, my moan fracturing into Spanish curses through clenched teeth.
Behind me, Dante growls approval, his palm smacking hard against my ass before gripping my hips and yanking me higher onto the edge of the bed.
His fingers push inside without warning—two thick digits stretching me ruthlessly before adding a third, the stretch burning deliciously below the relentless flick of his tongue against my clit.
Every stroke is precise military efficiency until my thighs start quivering, until my curses dissolve into broken pants against Malachi's shoulder as he croons filthy praise against my ear like a serpent whispering heresies in church.
The contrast—Dante's punishing rhythm below and Malachi's slow, cruel torment above—has my vision whiting out at the edges, my entire body strung taut between their contradictory demands.
“Fuck—” My thighs shake, toes curling into the sheets as heat coils tight in my gut. Gideon sees it before I do, slapping his hand down to still Dante.
“She’s gonna come.” His smirk is feral. “But we’re not letting her yet.”
Dante pulls back, my arousal slick across his lips as he pushes Gideon toward me. “Your turn.”
Gideon doesn’t hesitate.
The initial thrust drives into me with such brutal force that I gasp, body arching beneath him as every ounce of oxygen is brutally forced from my lungs.
Gideon is massive—his thickness stretches me to the point of sweet agony, my nerves alight with that perfect edge of pain-pleasure as he sheathes himself entirely inside me with a guttural groan.
His forehead inactive mine, damp with sweat as his breath comes in rough, uneven pants against my parted lips.
Malachi finally releases my wrists, allowing his elegant fingers to trail possessively down my arms before he braces himself above me—all coiled grace and almost-feline focus.
His lips find the pulse point at my throat, teeth scraping lightly against the frantic flutter of my heartbeat.
His hips press into my side, the hard outline of his arousal pressing insistently against my hipbone even as Gideon pins my lower body beneath him.
The contrast between their touches—Malachi’s deliberate, teasing control and Gideon’s raw, unrestrained power—leaves me trembling, caught between them like prey surrendering to predators who’ve already claimed every inch of me.
Dante slides his fingers back between my legs to rub tight circles around my clit, timing his rhythm perfectly with Gideon's powerful thrusts.
“Come like this,” Dante orders, his voice gravel.
I shatter.
White-hot pleasure rips through me on a scream, my nails scoring down Gideon’s back as he fucks me through it, grunting curses against my skin.
Malachi rolls me onto my stomach before my muscles stop trembling. “My turn.”
His cock presses against my ass—slow, deliberate—his fingers slicking me open while Gideon kneels between my legs, tilting my hips up for Dante to fuck my mouth on his knees.
Malachi sheaths himself inside me, filling me until I choke on it.
“Mírame,” Malachi rasps, gripping my jaw to turn my face back to his. “Look at me while they fuck you.”
Their rhythm turns merciless, a collision of perfect synchronization—Gideon's thick fingers curling inside me at wicked angles, working me open and dragging another orgasm from my shuddering body while Malachi's cock plunges relentlessly into my tight backside, each deep thrust testing the limits of my endurance.
Dante's grip in my hair tightens, tilting my head back at an unforgiving angle as he rocks into my mouth, the thick head of his cock hitting the back of my throat with every controlled snap of his hips.
The pressure builds, relentless—my body trapped between them, rebelling and yielding in equal measure. Sensation overloads me, radiating outward until I'm nothing but a quivering mess beneath their combined assault.
When the next climax tears through me, it feels like being gutted—half-sob, half-scream ripped from my throat, my muscles fluttering feverishly around Gideon’s fingers while Malachi groans obscenities against my spine, his hips jerking erratically before he buries himself to the hilt, spilling inside me with a shudder.
Gideon follows with a guttural snarl, striping my thighs with his release as Dante empties himself down my throat, his low groan vibrating through me while I swallow around him.
They collapse around me like fallen sentinels, their massive forms bracketing me in a fortress of battered muscle and spent desire.
Dante exhales against my temple, his breath warm and steady like summer earth after rain—his hand still tangled in my hair, though the grip has gentled to something almost tender now.
Behind me, Malachi presses his forehead between my shoulder blades, his sweat-slicked skin sticking to mine, his long hair brushing like silk against my back.
Gideon, ever territorial even in aftermath, keeps his rough palm anchored on my hip, fingers flexing slightly as if reassuring himself I'm still there.
My face rests against Dante’s thick thigh, my lungs fighting for air like I’ve surfaced from drowning.
Every gasp burns, my chest heaving against the rough fabric of his cut, each inhale tinged with the scent of leather and sex and salt-sweat musk.
My body hums—oversensitive, electric—every nerve still sparking aftershocks that make my thighs twitch involuntarily.
The room pulses with heat and the heavy musk of our coupling, the silence broken only by our uneven breathing: Malachi’s measured inhales, rasping through his nose; Dante’s low, controlled exhales; Gideon’s faint growl vibrating through his chest where our skin connects.
Then—Gideon’s calloused fingers drift upward, tracing the ladder of my ribs.
They pause over the fluttering birdcage of my lungs, savoring the residual race of my pulse beneath sweat-damp skin.
His thumb presses deliberately against the silver scar bisecting my collarbone—not a question, not an apology, just acknowledgment.
His breath gusts hot against the nape of my neck when he rasps:
“Again.”
The word isn’t a request. It’s a vow—low and graveled with promise—feeding the wildfire already licking back to life in my veins.