She gasped, half a laugh, half warning. “Luca?—”
I stepped closer. “You wore a bikini under it. You knew what you were doing.”
Her cheeks flushed, but she didn’t deny it.
“Be a good girl,” Luca murmured. “Let us see you.”
Her hands lifted slow, gathering the straps. Fabric slid down, dropping to the ground. White bikini left, thin straps.
I exhaled rough. Couldn’t help it.
“Our angel,” I said under my breath. “Look at you.”
She shifted like she wanted to cover herself, but I caught her wrist. “Don’t.”
Her eyes flicked up.
“You’re perfect like this. Don’t hide.”
She stilled. Then nodded, letting me hold her hand down.
Luca was already in the pool. “Come here, sweetheart.”
She hesitated. I leaned in, mouth brushing her temple. “Jump. We’ll catch you.”
She smiled, then stepped in, water over her shoulders. Luca’s hands slid to her waist immediately, grounding her. I followed.
Her hair floated around her. Luca pressed closer, mouth to her ear. “Good girl. Always listening.”
I bracketed her from behind, chest against her back, my hands on her thighs. “Baby, you were made for our hands.”
She leaned back into me, head tipping against my shoulder, eyes fluttering shut when Luca kissed her jaw.
Her hands floated up, fingers brushing both of us.
The party below kept roaring. None of them knew their queen was up here, between the only two men who’d ruin any of them if she asked.
Her body went weightless in the water, and still I felt everyline of her. My chest against her back, Luca’s hands braced at her waist.
“Angel,” he whispered, lips brushing her jaw. “Let us taste you.”
Her head turned before she kissed him first, soft. The kiss deepened instantly—Luca’s hand sliding up her spine, holding her like she was fragile and ours.
I pressed my mouth to her shoulder. “Good girl, baby.” I couldn’t stop myself, the fact she was giving in. It meant everything. I kissed up, slow, until her throat arched, and then I caught her mouth when she turned back.
Her lips were warm, and fuck—I’d forgotten how quiet the world got when she kissed us back.
She had one hand on Luca’s shoulder, nails dragging lightly. Her other hand on my chest.
She broke the kiss just enough to whisper, “You’ve changed these.”
I looked down. Her fingers traced the new tattoos on my chest, that weaved into the older work.
“When?” she asked softly, as if it bothered her she didn’t know.
“Last year.”
She dragged her nail over a scar, pale against black tattoos. “And this?”
