Chapter 29 All Rise #4
The orgasm spread through her, unstoppable because she couldn't grip, couldn't contain it, held too open to hold anything back.
Arthur pressed deep, eliminating every inch of space between them, and came with a sound that was almost anguished, burying his face in her neck, his hips jerking as he spilled inside her.
She felt him pulse inside her, felt the heat spread, felt his breath shudder against her throat as they broke apart together.
His arms banded around her like he could hold her together through sheer force of will.
"Good girl," he said against her skin. "So good.”
Arthur withdrew carefully, he held her for a moment longer than he needed to, breathing her in, before easing her down. Jiro was already there, catching her weight against his chest like he'd been waiting for exactly this. Her feet never reached the floor.
He carried her to the couch, but instead of laying her down, he sat and positioned her, facing him in his lap. Her thighs straddling his, their bodies pressed close, his palms warm against her skin.
"Look at me," Jiro said, cupping her cheek. His eyes were warm, completely focused on hers. He started humming, a low, melodic sound that had threaded through the entire night, and she felt it vibrate through his chest into hers.
He reached between them, positioning himself at her entrance, and slid inside slowly. So slowly. The stretch was easier now, her body well-used.
"Stay with me," he murmured, and his hands slid up her back, pulling her closer until her forehead rested against his. "Right here."
His hips moved in gentle roll. Not chasing anything. Just connecting. His hands stroked her back, her sides, soothing even as pleasure built in slow, inevitable waves.
Around them, she felt the others settling. Mateo's hand on her ankle, Killian's fingers in her hair, Arthur's palm on her shoulder blade. Supporting without demanding. Letting Jiro bring her back down.
The pressure built differently this time. Not explosive. Just deep warmth spreading outward from where they were joined. Jiro's forehead stayed pressed to hers, his breath mixing with hers, his humming the only sound besides their breathing and the wet slide of their bodies.
"That's it," he whispered.
When she came, it was gentle, rolling through her in soft pulses that left her sighing instead of screaming. Jiro followed a moment later. A hitch in his breath and the warmth of him filling her. He held her there for a long moment, stroking her back. His hum lower now but still steady.
Eventually they eased her down onto the couch. The leather warm now from all the body heat, soft under her oversensitive skin. Warm cloths. Careful hands between her thighs. Water at her mouth. She drank. The room was quieter now. The touch different.
Her thighs trembled when she shifted. She could feel every place she’d been touched.
Jiro settled behind her, his chest solid against her back, his arms coming around her waist. Mateo claimed her left side, his hand tracing lazy patterns on her hip. Killian her right, his fingers still in her hair, gentle now. Arthur sat at her feet, his palm warm on her ankle.
Dante draped himself along the edge of the couch, his hand finding her other hip. Caleb and Liam filled in, creating a cocoon of warmth and bodies. Jax threw a massive blanket over all of them.
Jiro's humming starting up again, vibrating through her bones. Mateo's thumb drawing circles. Killian's fingers carding through her hair. Dante's possessive grip. All of them holding her in some way.
Everything landed at once. The warmth of eight bodies pressed close. The pleasant ache in her muscles, the wet stickiness between her legs. Bite marks on her shoulders. Fingerprint bruises blooming on her hips. Lips swollen from kissing.
"It's almost dawn," Liam said his voice barely above a whisper.
April blinked, trying to surface from the warm haze. “Can we watch?” she asked. “The sunrise. I want to see it end.”
Eight men moved without discussion, rearranging themselves. Someone lifted her, Arthur she thought, cradling her against his chest as he carried her to the massive windows overlooking the city.
They settled around her on the floor, pillows and blankets materializing as they moved. Dante lay back first, making space without a word. His hand reached for her. April shifted toward him on instinct, laying her head against his chest.
A hand stroked her hair. Another held hers. Someone’s thumb traced slow circles on her ankle. All of them touching her, keeping her tethered. Her body hummed, sore and oversensitive, still pulsing low between her legs.
She watched the sky begin to lighten, pink giving way to gold until the sun crested the horizon and flooded the room.
The light reached her face first, then her shoulders, then the bare strip of thigh the blanket had missed.
She closed her eyes against the brightness and let it press warmth against her skin.
Mateo appeared with champagne. He raised his glass. "To new days."
She drank, champagne cold on her tongue. Then they were kissing her, one at a time. She tasted each of them differently, felt the weight of each mouth. She was too tired to answer with heat, but she felt the care in it and let herself have it.
Her head rested against Dante’s chest. The steady rise and fall beneath her cheek anchored her.
Her fingers drifted, idly at first, then slowed when they found the ink along his ribs, dark letters worn soft with time, part of him now.
She traced the letters slowly, mapping the grooves.
Dante didn’t move. He let her read him with her hands.
“Si vis pacem,” he murmured, the Latin familiar enough to sound right in his mouth. Her fingertip followed the line down. “Para bellum,” he finished.
“What does it mean?”
“If you want peace,” he said, his voice low and even beneath her ear, “prepare for war.”
Her hand stilled for a beat. Then her fingers moved again, slower now.
“You prepared. You knew where you would stop.” His thumb shifted once against her shoulder. “That’s why I follow you.”
He waited.
Her hand slipped flat against his chest, right over the ink. Her weight softened into him. Her breathing evened out, slow and unguarded.
Sleep took her.
The room went silent immediately.
They froze, eight men suddenly very aware of the sound of their breathing. "She's out," Jax murmured.
"Good," Killian said quietly. "She needs it."
"Don't wake her," someone whispered.
They stayed like that for a while, talking in whispers around her sleeping form, adjusting her gently when her head slipped, making sure she stayed comfortable.
Eventually, Arthur stood and carefully lifted her into his arms.