Page 126 of Sin & Sapphire

“Ana!” Luca cried as his rhythm turned ragged and he came inside me.

I collapsed into the space between their shoulders. Swiftly, Angelo arranged me on his lap, my feet draped over Luca’s thighs, as I cried, utterly overwhelmed, terrified I’d fucked up everything, that they’d abandon me, that they’d hate me.

“Such a good fucking girl for your daddy,” Angelo said, finally, dragging his hand up my arm and pressing me into his chest. I looked up at him through watery eyes, and he gently kissed my forehead. “I promised you I’d take care of you,” he murmured. “And that means giving you what you need, no matter how much I might hate it.”

Luca’s lips tilted up into a small smile, but he didn’t say anything. I watched him for a sign that he was okay with this, that he didn’t think I was a slut, that?—

Angelo elbowed him. “Give her what she needs, asshole.”

Luca’s eyes widened, but when he looked at me, all I could see was familiar affection. He held his arms out to me, and Angelo pushed me over until I’d turned around, safely ensconced in Luca’s arms, with my calves draped over Angelo’s legs. Gratitude for his easy acceptance brought tears to my eyes. It shouldn’t have surprised me—Luca had never once judged me, not for my family, not for my rebellion, not for anything. I lo?—

“You made a mess, baby,” Luca murmured, interrupting my train of thought as he looked at Angelo’s pants. I flushed. “I fuckin’ love it,” he continued.

Angelo grunted, his lips twisted in a grumpy scowl, but he didn’t make any move to clean himself up. “Filthy, messy slut,” he murmured, then took my hand in his and kissed my knuckles. “My slut.”

“Ourslut,” Luca calmly corrected.

“Yours,” I affirmed.

46

ANA

I floated around the apartment,still riding the high of the morning. For the first time in months, I felt like myself, like I wascontributing. Like I might be worth more than just my pussy and my womb. And Luca still wanted me, even though I’d left him.

My stomach growled, and I opened the fridge, looking for something to satisfy myself. Valentin and Angelo typically didn’t leave me alone long enough to get hungry, and neither of them snacked much.

I scrounged the apartment for ingredients, determined not to be the spoiled princess they still believed me to be. I’d make myself dinner—no, better yet, I’d have dinner waiting for them when they got home.

Pasta, sauce, and a salad? Yeah, I could do that. How hard could making a quick sauce be?

Humming softly, I imagined Angelo and Valentin’s delight when they came home to dinner on the table and ignored the part of me that cringed at the thought of being a happy homemaker for my two owners.

Not that there was anything wrong with that, I corrected myself quickly. But I didn’t know shit about keeping or making a home. My mother had been a terrible example, and my father had been worse.

Cheerfully, I gathered ingredients and set them on the counter. First, the salad. I put a mindless comedy on the television while I chopped ingredients, then mixed a vinaigrette. That, at least, I was confident I could do.

Vague memories of cooking shows noting that the pasta shouldn’t wait on the sauce had me reaching for tomatoes and onions for the sauce first.

Garlic and onions in … butter? Valentin was French. We had to have butter. I dropped a large dollop into a pan and turned the heat up so it would melt. To my surprise, the butter quickly began bubbling.

While it cooked, I chopped up garlic and onion before adding it to the pan. It smelled delicious, but in seconds, the pan was smoking. Frantically, I tried to scrape the garlic and onion from the pan as it blackened and acrid smoke filled the room. When it didn’t work, I shoved it under the faucet and the pan caught fire. Before I could put it out, the fire alarm went off.

Nonononononono!I opened the door, and the bodyguard stood there, furious. “You stupid bitch, do you think this trick will work twice?”

I shook my head. “It was an accident, I’m sorry! I’ll go with you, I promise.”

Grumbling, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me along with him. We joined the rest of the building in the stairwell and escaped outside.

“Please, call Valentin,” I begged the bodyguard as tears streamed down my face. They’d never believe me. They’d be so disappointed in me, and I hated it. “Please!”

His phone rang. “Too late—he’s calling me.”

I snatched the phone out of his hand.

“Valentin?”

“Ana? What the fuck is going on?”

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