He grips my hips, jerks me back, and I moan, burying my face in Lev’s stomach as Michael spreads my legs wider and sinks deep inside me.

I whimper, wrapping my arms around Lev for support. But I feel a bulge in his jeans and pull my head up.

He laughs under his breath. “Sorry.”

Michael’s cock stretches me, and I grip Lev’s belt as I start rolling my hips and fucking Michael slow. He squeezes my body, pulling me back into his cock, while I roll forward, pulling myself into Lev. Our pace quickens.

Alex takes more shots, and I arch my back, feeling my hair drape down my skin.

Samara pants and cries from somewhere beyond the tanks, and I moan, the light layer of sweat on my back cooling me as Michael jerks me back harder and faster.

“Hold on to me,” Lev says, and I feel him lower to his knees as he puts my hands on his shoulders. I can’t see him, but he’s close, his breath falling on my breast.

“Michael,” he says, struggling. “Please let me taste her again.”

Another flash goes off as Lev’s mouth hovers over my nipple. I breathe hard, rocking back and forth into both men, my orgasm starting to crest already. I push off Lev into Michael and off of Michael, holding onto Lev.

“Ugh, fuck, Rika,” Michael grunts, his fingers digging into my hips. He pumps his own up into me, and I can’t hold back anymore.

“Yes,” I moan. More pictures snap.

I bounce up and down on him, going deep and hard, my orgasm building and my moans and cries get louder. I rock back and forth, chasing it and then…it explodes, racing through my body, and I feel Michael grip the back of my hair, pulling my head back as he grunts and groans, Lev’s hot mouth damn-near boiling over where it hovers over my nipple.

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

I writhe a little, groaning as the pleasure courses. A trickle of sweat glides down my back, and Michael loosens and tightens his fist in my hair as he spills inside of me, and I try to catch my breath, noticing the flashes have stopped.

God…

God, that was so good. I pull down my blindfold and lean back, diving into Michael’s mouth again. Alex leans against one of the tanks, the camera dangling from her fingers as she watches us, photography forgotten.

Michael’s still inside me, and I look between Alex and Lev, both of them looking at us like they can’t tear their eyes away.

“Yo, Lev,” I hear David call. “She wants more. Come on.”

Lev smiles at me, his eyes peeking out from under his black hair, and he rises, leaning over me.

“At your service anytime, Miss Fane,” he whispers.

His eyes flash to Michael, and then he turns and heads back to his own party.

Alex opens the slot on her camera and pulls out the memory card. She comes over, handing it to us.

“Look at them together some time,” she tells us, and I take it.

She turns to head back, as well, but then she stops and looks over her shoulder at us. “And it’s probably good that you didn’t let Lev have that second taste.”

I pinch my brows.

“He would’ve sucked you off Michael,” she explains.

My eyes go wide, and I think Michael stops breathing. She grins and leaves, disappearing beyond the tanks.

It takes a moment to find my lungs, but all of a sudden, I break out in a quiet laugh.

Oh, my God. What would Michael have done? The image floats through my mind, and I don’t hate it, actually. It might be incredible to see him experience something new for a change. Put the shoe on the other foot, so to speak?

But Michael clamps his hand over my mouth and whispers in my ear. “Don’t even think about it,” he warns.

I smile, rising from his lap, and he stands up, giving me his shirt, since my dress is ripped to shambles on the floor. I hear the camera click again as Samara goes for round three or four—I lost count—and Michael scoops up my dress and takes my hand, leading me out of the engine room.

I can’t believe we just did that.

But then, I can. We don’t have to hide around these people.

We climb the steps and make our way to the owner’s deck, his warm hand gripping mine so tightly, like he’s afraid I’ll be lost.

“The wedding is in one month,” he finally says, pulling me along.

I hold his white Oxford closed around my body. A month? I start to protest. “Michael, I can’t…”

“One month.” He turns to look at me. “Devil’s Night. We have until then to find Will and get him back.”

He grips my hand, leading us both down the corridor to our cabin, and we pass Winter and Damon’s room, but all I can hear is muffled words and moans.

A month? I’m thrilled to have a date, but…

We’ll be paying through the roof to have everything ready in time.

But still…

A month. I smile, hugging his arm like I do when I’m feeling sixteen and smitten with him all over again.

He swings open the door to the cabin, tossing his jacket and tie, and both of us head to the bathroom. I jump into the shower, him following me, and he holds me, kissing my forehead as the steam billows around us.

And I don’t let go of him as he washes my hair and my body, barely blinking as I watch how good he loves me and how lucky we are.

After we get out, we dry off, and I let my hair down as he passes me my toothbrush with paste already on it. “I’m sorry I said those things earlier in the lounge,” he tells me, the toothbrush in his mouth. “I was pissed. And intimidated. You weren’t talking to me, and my pride was shot.”

I start brushing as he spits, and I meet his eyes in the mirror. “I was lying to you. I’m sorry, too.”

Omission is lying, and it was hurting us.

I finish up and rinse, patting my mouth dry with a hand towel. When I enter the room, he’s dressed in a pair of lounge pants and sitting by the windows, smoke from a cigar billowing into the air above his head. It’s so funny. Damon quits, and everyone else starts.

I slip on some white panties and a matching cami, walking over and sliding into his lap. I throw my legs over the arm of his chair as he cradles me, and I rest my head on his shoulder, watching the black sea spread out before us.

“No matter the money or the meetings or the mayor’s office, Michael,” I tell him, “I’ll always be perpetually twelve. Searching for Trevor’s older brother in every room I enter.”

He never has to feel intimidated. Nothing is worth anything without him. I bury my head in his shoulder, his hold tightening around me.

“And I’m not wearing white to the wedding,” I say sweetly.

Just so we’re clear.

He snorts, and I smile, looking up to see him taking another drag.

“Yeah, me neither,” he teases.

I run my hand up his beautiful chest, tracing the dips and muscles, and then circle my arms around his neck again and kiss him there. Nothing has really changed in all this time. His smell is like my matchboxes. It feels like Christmas and the Fourth of July together.

“I love you.” I pause and then add, because I can’t help myself, “Mr. Fane.”

“Oh, Jesus, fuck,” he grumbles and sits up. “I need a drink.”

Huh? I hold tighter, damn-near falling off as he tries to get up from the chair.