Page 90 of Last Hand

Once he is gone, Leone turns for the stairs. “Where are you going?”

“To see what she has bought and is trying to hide.”

TWENTY-FOUR

Fallon

I lay back on the velvet comforter, the curtains drawn tight, the late-morning light filtered in gold through the high arched windows. The baby shifted low in my belly—just enough to remind me he was there, watching everything from the inside.

I didn’t care.

I’d waited days, hoping they would change their minds before buying it, waiting while my body begged, ached, screamed in silence for something neither of them would give me.

They kept saying no.

Too risky,you need rest,what if we hurt you? Are you trying to give the baby a golf ball-shaped head?

And I was done asking so they won’t give me what I want. I will find it another way.

I peel back the paper. The toy inside is sleek and soft, charged and ready, thank god. My thighs clench in anticipation as I slide out of my robe and crawl onto the bed, sinking into the cool sheets. I lean back against the pillows, legs spread just enough to make room for indulgence and press the toy between them.

The first buzz sends a ripple up my spine.

My head drops back. Finally.Finally.

One hand sliding slow and deliberate between my legs. My breath hitched as the ache that had been living in my bones for weeks began to unravel. I moan softly, biting my lip.

My skin prickles. I closed my eyes, let the tension start to melt. I don’t hear the door open. Don’t hear their footsteps.

Not until it is too late.

A low sound of disapproval rumbles from the doorway, and my eyes snap open to see Leone with Milo right behind him.

Shit. My hand freezes, toy still pressed tight against my clit, the vibrations humming through me. For a second, no one moves, no one breathes. The air crackles, thick with unspoken things. My cheeks burn, but defiance, hot and sharp, cuts through the embarrassment. I don’t try to hide what I’m doing. Let them look. Let them see what their stubbornness has driven me to. Leone’s eyes, dark and molten, are fixed on my hand, then travel slowly up my body, lingering on my swollen belly, then my breasts, before finally meeting my gaze. A muscle jumps in his jaw. Milo steps farther into the room, his shadow falling over the bed. He says nothing, but his eyes are doing all the talking – a mix of fury and something else, something possessive and raw that makes my core clench. “What do you think you’re doing, cara?” Leone asks.

“What does it look like?” I challenge, my voice a little breathless. I press the toy harder, a defiant pulse against my clit, and a small, involuntary gasp escapes me. Fuck them. Fuck their rules. Leone’s nostrils flare. He takes a step closer, then another, until he’s looming over the edge of the bed. The scent of him – expensive cologne, gunmetal, and something uniquely male – fills my senses.

“It looks like you’re playing with our pussy, amore. And it looks like you’ve forgotten who that pussy belongs to,” Leone warns, his voice deceptively soft.

My hips give a small, involuntary lift.

Leone’s eyes flash. He moves with predatory grace, one hand shooting out to grip my wrist, his fingers like steel bands. The toy clatters to the sheets. "You think this is funny, tesoro? We don't like denying you, but we didn't think you were this upset over it that you'd replace us for a toy?" His other hand snakes out, palm flat against my belly, a possessive, branding heat. "You're carrying my son. You belong to us. Your pleasure belongs to us, not some toy."

Milo circles the bed, his gaze burning into me. He stops on my other side, his presence a heavy weight, an unspoken promise. His hand finds my thigh, fingers digging in just enough to make me gasp, his touch sending shivers down to my toes.

"You wanted something, little bug?" Leone murmurs, his face close to mine, his breath warm against my ear. "You should have just asked properly."

"I did ask," I spit out, even as my body betrays me, arching subtly into his touch.

"Not like this," Milo's voice is a low growl from my other side. He leans in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear, sending a jolt straight to my core.

Leone’s hand slides from my belly, lower, his fingers brushing against the damp curls between my legs. "You're already wet for us," he observes, his thumb finding my clit with unerring accuracy. I cry out, a sharp, broken sound, as he circles, presses, teases. The ache I'd tried to soothe with plastic is nothing compared to the inferno his touch ignites.

"Is this what you wanted?" he demands, his eyes locking with mine. His thumb strokes harder, faster.

Milo’s hand on my thigh tightens, his other hand coming up to cup my breast, his thumb flicking over the already tight nipple. Pleasure, sharp and overwhelming, floods me. I’m caught between them, a willing captive to their dual assault.

"Answer me," Leone commands, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.

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