Page 174 of Gathered Sparkle

“Come on my tits.”

A growl tears from my throat, and pleasure slams into me as my release spills over her fingers and tits, my body trembling as I come undone.

Her gaze locks with mine as she drags a finger through the mess on her chest, circling her nipple with a teasing smirk. My hand shoots out to grip her throat. “Fuck, you’re something else.”

She giggles as I let her go, turning her attention back to Alaric, who’s still panting, his chest heaving. He’s still buried inside her, and his body trembles as he finally pulls out. The movement draws a gasp from Sparkle’s lips, which he quickly captures with a kiss.

Their kiss deepens, then turns tender as Alaric murmurs against her mouth, “That was everything. You’re so much trouble.”

Sparkle giggles again, making Alaric pull back with a curious smile. “What?”

“You’re covered in Sylus’s cum.”

Alaric glances down at the streaks across his chest, his expression shifting to exasperation. “Of course. Why the hell not.” I laugh hard, almost doubling over, until Alaric grabs a pillow and chucks it at my head.

“You fucking jackass.”

“Hey, I didn’t come onyourchest.” I shrug, making him only glare even more at me. “Go ahead, you guys can use the shower in my en suite.”

“Thanks,” he says tersely before he gathers Sparkle into his arms in a bridal carry, standing while she puts her arms around his neck, nestling her head in the crook of it.

I consider giving them some space after theirfirsttogether, but Alaric stops at the en-suite door and looks back over his shoulder. “You coming, dickhead?”

I pause, tucking myself back into my sweatpants. “You want me to?”

He huffs a laugh, glancing down at the mess on his chest. “Can’t get any more bromantic than this, can it?”

“Fair enough.”

Following them into the en suite, I grin.

God, life’s fucking good.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Nicholas

My heart is pounding like that time I miscalculated the jump off the hotel scaffolding, barely catching the ledge before I hit the ground. It was the same day Koen stopped talking to me—when everything between us cracked, and I should’ve known better than to make a move with my mind a mess, just like I should know better now.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I’m staring at the tangle of wires spread out across the sheets and running my hand over my face, trying to calm down.

This is it.

I pick up the small recorder and loop the wire around my chest, clipping the mic beneath the collar of my shirt. The wire is thin, practically invisible, but I still take my time adjusting it. No mistakes.

Not today.

My nerves threaten to get the best of me as I stand, moving to the mirror. I have to force out a breath at the reflection staring back at me. I look pale, tired, but also determined. I tug the front of my shirt down and smooth it out, twisting to check from every angle, ensuring the mic doesn’t show.

“You’ve got this,” I mutter under my breath. “This show is happening in two days, with or without the evidence.”

But Oscar…

He died because Veronica wanted him to, and she thinks she gets to walk away clean.

No.

My hand brushes the small button on the recorder. Then, with another deep breath, I straighten my spine, pressing it. A faint beep signals that it’s running, capturing everything.

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