Chapter 71 Dove
My roller skates hum against polished concrete as I carve lazy loops around Luke’s hypercars.
This space is big enough to swallow Monty’s garage with room left over for echoes. Everything gleams with glass, steel, and chrome, orderly to the point of obsession.
I drift past a wall of tools, snag what I need without stopping, and coast back to the red lady that owns my attention.
All it needs is a tune-up. I roll close, drop into a crouch, and set to work, losing myself in the rhythm of hands and thought.
A week ago, Jag and Wolf arrived in a storm of testosterone and truth bombs. A week of recalibration and sleeping soundly in the arms of two men.
Jag disappears into meetings most days, deep in the inner machinery of the cartel, sliding into his cybercriminal skin. He spends the rest of his time with me, checking in without hovering, present without crowding. It’s a careful balance, and he’s good at it.
Wolf took Van’s job offer the way Wolf takes anything, headfirst and smiling like a weirdo.
He sits in on cartel meetings, planning the demise of every monster that preyed on the victims of House of Crowe.
But the majority of his time is spent tattooing cartel guards, service staff, and the inner circle, filling his calendar with names, skin, and stories.
And me? I skate. I make things run right. I fix what was neglected. I remind myself that I’m allowed to be happy.
I’m torquing a bolt when I sense Jag behind me.
It’s always been like that. A change in the air. A shift that makes my spine straighten and my breath hitch. I don’t look up right away. I know he’ll wait.
His footsteps stop a few feet away. When I glance up, he’s leaning against a workbench, sleeves rolled, and shirt unbuttoned at the collar. Always so heart-stoppingly gorgeous. But the look in his amber eyes is different today. Not cautious. Not rushed. Finished with something.
He watches me for an endless moment, gaze hard and assessing. Not the way he watches rooms and cameras. This is him when he’s done pretending patience is a virtue.
I straighten, roll closer, and rest a hip against the Speedster. “Long day?”
“Long enough.” He pushes off the bench and steps into my space, towering over me. His eyes don’t wander. They lock with mine and stay. “Tonight.”
That’s it. One word. No explanation.
My stomach drops in the best possible way. Heat slides low and deep, gathering and swirling. I know what he wants, and he’s done waiting for me to finish punishing myself.
Extending his hands between us, he pinches strong fingers around the barbells in my nipples. With that grip, he tugs me to him.
My breath leaves me as the skates roll forward, bumping his boots. My mouth tips upward, and he plunders it. Hot breath. Sinful tongue. His lips raid in sucking pulls.
A moment later, he releases me, pivots on his heel, and leaves without another word.
I stand there, hands still, pulse hammering, the hum of the garage suddenly too bright.
A shiver creeps up. Then it’s everywhere, tightening my skin and rattling my bones as every nerve ending stretches to chase him.
Images invade, memories of Wolf’s hands, Jag’s mouth, their cocks rubbing together, muscles flexing, and hips thrusting.
Fuck!
I force myself back into motion. Tools clink. The 356 Speedster comes back to life. I let myself feel good at this. Let myself feel wanted without bargaining for it.
Until my concentration fractures again. I can still think, still move, but everything routes back to my body. The tingling in my belly sharpens, insistent, turning every breath into need. I’m aware of how I’m standing, how my shorts rub against my pussy, and how my nipples harden against my shirt.
When I finish the Speedster, I circle the Mustang. Van’s 1965 GT Fastback sits in the corner, darker, meaner, all muscle. I glide around it, palm brushing the curve of the fender as I think about what I’ll need to bring it back into proper shape. The plan helps. Focus helps.
But underneath it all, the anticipation simmers.
It follows me like a low current as the day toils on. I skate until my calves burn, and my shirt sticks to my back. I eat without tasting much. I keep busy so I don’t tumble into my head and stay there.
Every so often, I catch myself smiling for no reason.
Wolf breezes through at one point, ink smudged on his fingers, telling me a story about a client who cried then laughed then booked another session.
Holding his saxophone case, he says offhandedly that there were requests to hear him play.
Then he kisses my lips and saunters off, buzzing with bright energy.
I watch him go, affection warming my chest.
Jag doesn’t return to the garage. That feels deliberate.
At the end of the day, I finish what I’m doing, wipe my hands, and unlace my skates. I don’t rush. I don’t stall. I leave the garage and stride to our suite, my nerves tuning tight. But it isn’t fear. It’s readiness.
They’re on the balcony when I come in, two tall silhouettes locked in an embrace and kissing in the dark. I don’t interrupt.
I slip into the bathroom and let the shower take the day off me, warm water chasing away grease and grit and the sticky arousal that’s been dripping between my legs since Jag’s visit.
When I step back into the bedroom, I don’t bother with clothes.
Jag stands near the bed, and Wolf sits on the edge, both wearing tight briefs and nothing else.
They watch me approach, their expressions unreadable.
Meanwhile, I unravel with every step I erase between us. The fire inside me isn’t just hunger. Affection dances in the blaze along with the certainty that I’m wanted exactly as I am.
My pulse lifts. My smile comes easy. I cross the room feeling happier and hornier than I’ve ever been. Love does this to me. It makes me giddy and wanton.
“We need your consent, Dovey.” Wolf reaches for my hand.
“You have it.”
“You don’t even know what you’re consenting to.” Jag shifts his weight, subtly adjusting the bulge in his briefs.
“I’m consenting to sex with both of you, for now and forever, in all the positions.
Anal, DP, every hole, two in one hole… If it fits, I want it.
” I glance between them. “Keeping up with the libidos of two virile men may prove challenging. But that’s the beauty in having boyfriends who are boyfriends.
You can fuck each other ten times a day and still keep me satisfied. Right?”
“Hell’s balls.” Wolf grips himself and lets out a deep, guttural groan.
“Pull it together.” Jag swats him on the back of the head. “Or you won’t last the night.”
“Right.” Wolf composes himself and stands, bending his knees until his eyes are level with mine. “Jag’s going to fuck you. I’ll be right here. But when he’s inside you, it’s just you and him.”
“You guys have this all planned out?”
“Yes, with our dicks in our hands.” He kisses me, climbs to the top of the bed, and sits with his back against the headboard.
“Tonight, we leave the past behind.” Jag folds his arms over his bare chest, drawing my attention to all the defined ridges decorating his abdomen. “Look at me, Dove.”
“I’m looking.” At the muscular masterpiece on display before me.
“My eyes.”
Wolf chews on his smile, staring at Jag’s body, too.
I meet Jag’s stern gaze.
“Tonight, you’ll find nothing here but the future. A future that includes the three of us, living together, fucking together, and making decisions together.” He searches my eyes. “Any hesitation?”
“Been hesitating for seventeen years, Jag. No more running or waiting. I’m not your ward or your little sister or a promise you made when you were sixteen. I want you to fuck me and spend your life with me because I’m the woman you fell in love with and decided to keep.”
“Fuck, I love you. Never letting you go.” He grabs my face and kisses me fiercely.
I rise on tiptoes and meet his passion until we’re both gasping for air.
He sucks on my Medusa piercing and forces himself to calm, his mouth softening without losing the edge.
He draws it out, a slow provocation, lips skimming and tongue pressing in until my balance tips, and I’m leaning into him, melting.
Kissing him is never just lips. It’s the cut of his jaw as it tightens, the line of his neck as he angles closer, the sweep of his hungry tongue, all the masculine angles that pull me in.
Once I’m wobbly and breathless, he scoops me up. My arms go slack around his neck, sensation taking over everything else.
The room blurs as he sets me on the bed, my pulse galloping and every muscle in my body vibrating and clenching.
He removes his underwear and stands near my feet, dragging his gaze over my shivering flesh.
“Be a good little bird and spread your legs.” He takes himself in hand, stroking lazily.
I curl my fingers in the sheets above my head and open my knees as far as they’ll go.
“Holy fuck.” His fist moves faster on his dick, his forearms flexing in an erotic show of sculpted, veiny contours. “You’re so goddamn sexy. I love when you’re naked.”
“Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll come before you touch me.”
“Can’t stop looking. I want to kiss every inch of you, but I’ve waited years for this.” He crawls between my legs and lowers himself over me. “Not waiting another fucking second to be inside you.”
Heat and strength radiate from him as his body covers me like a slab of hot granite. He braces his weight on an elbow and reaches between us, angling his cock against my opening.
The feel of his broad head right there, sliding through my wetness, pushing against my entrance, and ready to breach my body… It makes everything else fall quiet while need and urgency tear through me.
“I can’t wait to feel you around me.” He lowers his forehead to mine and presses in, giving me the tip.
“Oh, God. This is happening.” I adjust my grip on his shoulders, shaking uncontrollably. “Please, Jag. I can feel your dick throbbing. Give it to me.”