23. Eli
ELI
Istand at the foot of my own bed, and my legs won’t stop shaking.
Forty years old. I’ve fought in cages, coached champions, stared down men twice my size without blinking.
And right now I’m naked in my bedroom, hard despite the nerves wreaking havoc on my system as my stomach does another flip.
I’m about to let a twenty-five-year-old take me apart, and I can’t decide if I’m as prepared as I’m claiming to be.
Behind me, Brady breathes slowly and deliberately.
I don’t need to turn around to know what he looks like.
I watched it last night, the way his restraint keeps him on edge.
An edge he has learned to tread carefully even when it seems that restraint might snap for someone else.
Now he’s holding onto it for me, and I would be lying if I said that didn’t make me that much harder.
Dakota is already on the bed, propped against the pillows, bare and golden in the late morning light coming through the blinds. Calm. She’s the calmest person in this room, and she knows it.
She reaches out her hand.
“Come here, Daddy.”
The name settles me. It never misses. I take her hand and let her pull me down between her thighs, into the one position in this whole arrangement I know by heart. Missionary. Her underneath me. My territory, my good girl.
She’s already wet when I slide into her, and the heat of her pulls a breath out of me that I’ve been holding since I admitted that I want this. I drop my forehead to hers.
“There you go,” she whispers. “That’s better, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” My voice comes out lower than I intended. “Yeah, princess.”
The mattress dips behind me. Brady’s knees settle between my calves, his body heat radiating against the backs of my thighs, and every muscle in my back locks up at once.
“Slow.” Dante’s voice comes from the chair beside the bed, steady as a corner man between rounds. He’s got Cruz beside him, both of them naked, both of them watching. “Prep him like you’ve got all day, Brady. Because you do. Talk him through everything.”
“I know.” Brady sounds strained already, like the leash is cutting into his palm. His hand lands warm on the small of my back. “Coach. You ready?”
I don’t lift my head from Dakota’s shoulder.
“Yes.”
The lube is cold. That’s the first thing, the shock of it, Brady’s fingers spreading it between my cheeks, his thumbs opening me, and the exposure of it punches the air out of my lungs. I’ve never let anyone touch me there. Not once in my life.
Dakota’s hands come up and frame my face.
“Stay with me. Right here.”
Brady’s finger circles my entrance. Just circles. No pressure yet, no push, just letting my body learn that the touch exists.
“Okay?”
I nod against Dakota’s neck.
The first finger presses in and my whole body clenches like a fist. The sensation foreign, sending a tendril of unease through me. I try to shake it off, refocus on Dakota as the intrusion to my nervous system has no frame of reference for.
Brady goes still. Completely still.
“Breathe. I’m not moving till you do.”
Dakota kisses my temple. “You’re doing so well. You’re safe. We’ve got you.”
I breathe. In through my nose, out through my mouth, the same way I teach fighters to when they need to manage a bad position.
I feel his other hand, the warmth of his palm just resting on my lower back at first, then his thumb stroking gently against my skin.
It’s gentle enough to reset my body’s anticipation of pain to one of pleasure instead.
My body unclenches by degrees, and when it does, Brady starts to move his finger inside me again.
Shallow. Careful. And somewhere in the third or fourth pass, the taboo fades into presence. Not pleasure yet, but not pain either.
“Can I add another?”
“Do it.”
The stretch announces itself this time. Brady works me open with a patience I didn’t know he owned, and I stay deep in Dakota. Her warmth anchors my mind to the pleasure, while Brady works on rewriting everything that my body had ever perceived as forbidden.
“Curl your fingers,” Dante coaches quietly. “Toward his belly. You’ll know when you find it.”
Brady curls his fingers and I gasp into Dakota’s shoulder because a bolt of pure sensation just detonated through my pelvis. My cock jerks inside her and she makes a sound low in her throat.
“That’s it,” she breathes. “That’s the spot. Oh, Daddy, you’re going to love this.”
Brady finds it again. And again. Precise strokes against a place inside me I didn’t know existed, and I catch myself pushing back onto his hand, chasing the sensation. My hips moving on their own. My body deciding before my brain gets a vote.
“Third?”
“Yes.” The word comes out breathless. “Do it.”
Three fingers borders on too much. The stretch burns at the edges, but Brady’s other hand stays splayed on my lower back, steady still caressing there with his thumb.
Dante murmurs adjustments about angle, and Dakota kisses along my jaw, murmuring praise.
She pulses the muscles in her pussy, reminding me that I’m still hard inside her.
Rock hard. That simple act proving that my body hasn’t rejected any of this.
The opposite. Being inside her while Brady opens me up is a fucking awakening if ever I had one.
Brady scissors his fingers, stretches me wider, and stills.
“Coach.” His voice shakes. “Are you ready for me?”
The question hangs there.
I lift my head enough to find Dakota’s eyes. Hazel, steady, full of a love that doesn’t flinch. She nods once.
“Yes,” I tell him. “I’m ready.”
His fingers withdraw and the emptiness startles me, sudden enough I feel it in my teeth. Then the blunt pressure of him lining up. Thicker than fingers. Real in a way that fingers weren’t.
My body tenses.
Brady’s palm flattens on my spine again. “Breathe. Let your body accept me.” Every word costs him. I can hear it. “Push back when you feel like you can take more. I don’t move until you say.”
Dakota takes my face in both hands.
“Look at me. Stay with me. Let him in, Daddy.”
I push back, and Brady starts to enter, and the stretch is fire and fullness and too much.
I stop twice in the first minute, and both times he remains motionless, breathing through his teeth, waiting me out.
Inch by inch. He kept his word. No matter how much he may have wanted to, he never moved. He was waiting for me to ask for it.
When his hips press flush against me, we all go still.
Me buried in Dakota. Brady buried inside me. A chain of three, and I expected to feel trapped in the middle of it. I don’t. I feel held, like I belong right where I am.
Nobody moves. My arms tremble where they’re braced beside Dakota’s head. The fullness, the pressure, the sheer vulnerability of it floods my consciousness. Overwhelming, but not wrong. Just new, in a way nothing has been new in decades.
“Coach.” Brady’s voice cracks. “You okay?”
I can feel the effort in his hands, the trembling restraint of a man white-knuckling his own need.
“Yes. Move. Small.”
He withdraws, then pushes back in, and the drag of him across that spot inside me sends a heat straight up my spine. I gasp, my hips jerk forward into Dakota, and she moans underneath me.
He does it again and again. A slow rhythm builds and my body starts answering it, discomfort dissolving into something euphoric, and I’m moving inside Dakota in shallow strokes that follow his lead whether I mean them to or not.
“You’re doing so good,” Dakota whispers against my mouth. “Taking him so well. So brave, Daddy.”
Her praise lands like sunlight on my skin.
Then Brady drags across my prostate at the same moment Dakota clenches around me, and a moan tears out of my throat, loud and involuntary, unfiltered.
The sound snaps Brady’s leash.
His grip on my hips tightens enough to bruise. The next thrust drives deep, no caution left in it, and I gasp at the force. He makes a sound behind me, half groan, half growl, and then his mouth opens and the filth pours out.
“Fuck, you’re tight. You feel that, Eli? Your ass wrapped around my cock like you were always meant to be mine.” Another thrust, harder. “You like getting fucked? You like taking my dick while you’re inside our girl?”
Heat crawls up my face and my cock throbs inside Dakota. My body answers before shame can catch up.
“Yeah, you do.” Brady’s rhythm turns rough, demanding, every thrust driving me forward into Dakota. “Look at you. Daddy’s a good little slut, taking his first cock like this.”
The degradation sends sparks through me like a live wire. A moan escapes that I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it.
He’s fucking me into her now. Using my body as the instrument, my hips no longer mine to command, and the realization cracks my chest wide open. I’ve spent my whole life gripping control like a lifeline.
Brady has it now.
And as terrifying as that may be, it’s also more right than I could have ever dreamed it would be.
“Such a perfect little bitch,” he pants against the back of my neck. “Taking it like you were made for this. You like being dominated, Daddy? Like giving up all that control you grip so tightly?” His teeth graze my shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you till you forget your own name.”
“You’re doing beautifully,” Dakota counters from beneath me, sweet as honey, her hands stroking my face, my hair. “My good, brave Daddy.” Then takes my mouth in a searing kiss.
The contrast splits my mind in half. Her sweetness. His filth. Both true at once, and I can’t reconcile it in my mind, so I stop trying and just feel.
From beside the bed, wet sounds. I turn my head enough to see Cruz and Dante kissing, deep and hungry, their hands wrapped around each other, stroking together while they watch.
Dante breaks the kiss. “Fuck Daddy harder, Brady. Make him take it.”
“You like that, Daddy?” Cruz’s grin carries in his voice. “Like getting split open by the baby of the family? Being his little fuck toy?”