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Somewhere between the lust roaring in my blood, the violent urge in my fingertips, and the wet slap of our bodies, we find a balance. I tighten my grip on her throat, not enough to cut off air completely, but enough to make her feel owned. My other hand digs into her hip, bruising. I start pounding into her with deep, ruthless strokes that make the bed creak and her tits bounce, the garnets catching light.

Every thrust forces broken, desperate sounds from her throat. She’s soaking my cock, clenching around me like she never wants me to stop.

“That’s our girl,” Damon murmurs, stroking his own thick erection as he watches. “Take him. Take everything.”

I fuck her harder, hips snapping, thumb pressing against the side of her throat. Her eyes roll back, lips parted on a silent cry. I feel her start to tighten, fluttering wildly around me.

“Come for us, Nettie,” I growl, leaning down to bite her shoulder. “Let me feel you.”

She shatters with a sharp cry, pussy clamping down on my cock, her whole body shaking. The sight and feel of her coming pushes me over the edge. I thrust deep one last time and come hard, groaning as I spill inside her in thick, pulsing waves.

I collapse over her, careful not to crush her, burying my face in her neck. Relief floods through me so strongly it almost hurts. We did it. I didn’t break her. I didn’t lose control completely. And Jesus Christ, that felt so fucking good.

Still stroking himself, DK rises and walks over. He looks down at Arianette’s flushed, blissed-out face with dark satisfaction.

“Open your mouth, baby.”

She does, tongue out, eyes hazy and content. Damon strokes himself faster until he comes with a low groan, painting her tongue and lips with thick ropes of his release. She swallows what she can, looking utterly wrecked and perfect.

He drops his head, licking her bottom lip with his tongue and praises, “Good girl.”

I pull out and roll to the side, tugging her against me. Damon climbs onto the bed on her other side, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead.

For the first time in longer than I can remember, the three of us just lie there together–tangled, sticky, breathing the same air. No boundary between us. No panic. No shame. Just warm, heavy contentment.

We’d finally made it past the biggest roadblock between us, and if we can get through this, I have no doubt we can get through anything.

You’d think the tension would ease after finally sleeping with Arianette.

It only gets worse.

Now that I know what it feels like to be inside her, to have what I want, the way I want it, it’s not enough.

It’s never enough.

At night we sleep together–the three of us–on two beds pushed together in our room. I’m sure DK could take the King’s quarters, but he doesn’t. Instead, he climbs in with us, arm anchored tight around Nettie like she might disappear if he lets go. I still watch. I can’t help it. It’s how I’m wired. I get so fucking hard watching her body tremble when he pushes her to the edge. Or the way her eyes roll back in her head when he licks her pussy clean.

I could watch him eat her out all fucking day.

But when her lips curve into that soft, sleepy smile and she begs me to join them, I don’t fight it anymore. Her pussy feels too good. I can’t get enough of her mouth. I could spend hours sucking on her tits, tasting her skin, listening to the little sounds of pleasure she makes when I get rough.

And if I get too rough, she says the word “DK,” and everything stops.

But even though I can finally have her, I can’t follow her around campus with my dick in my hand, waiting to bend her over the nearest piece of furniture.

I could. It’s the nature of the Baron and Baroness relationship, but I don’t. Restraint is something I’m used to.

Instead, I focus on my engineering classes and, when I’m not tied up with frat business, I slip out to work on the outbuilding every chance I get. It’s getting close. The floors are finished, the walls painted, the lighting installed. I hope she likes it.

After checking the email to make sure the next delivery is coming as planned today, I stand just inside the auditorium doors, arms crossed, watching the stage. Madame Duval’s sharp voice echoes through the space as she corrects Arianette’s posture during her solo piece. Nettie moves with a grace I’ll never get tired of–fluid, powerful, completely focused. Sweat glistens on her skin under the stage lights. Every extension of her leg, every controlled spin, sends heat curling low in my stomach.

The lesson wraps up a few minutes later. Arianette thanks Madame Duval with a respectful nod and starts gathering her things near the edge of the stage.

The auditorium door behind me opens. I glance over my shoulder, expecting it to be someone coming in for the next class. It’s the last person I expect: Remy Maddox.

“Heard you might be in here,” Remy says casually.

“From who?”