Page 126 of Dukes of Peril

“More,” she nods, leaning into Remy as I work a second finger inside. Her shoulders shudder with a moan. “I’m not going to last much longer.”

“Don’t hold back,” I tell her, pumping my fingers in and out. I hear the rustle of fabric next to me as Sy drags his hand over his cock. “You held out long enough, baby. Look at him,” I say of Remy, whose thighs are flexing in time with her, jaw clenched taut. “He’s about to bust, too. Come on Remy’s dick.”

She’s panting like she wants to make it last, but the breaths are short and quick, punctuated with these sharp grinds of her hips. Remy stares up at her, muttering, “Super-fucking-nova, Vinny. Give it to me. Gonna make you so full…”

She claws at the back of the seat when she comes, her ass clamping tight around my fingers. Falling against him, she lets the orgasm roll through her as Remy punches upward, fucking into her hard and fast. He comes with a growl, and through the barrier between him and my fingers, I can feel his cock surging, pumping her full of his cum.

I’m so fascinated by it that when the car lurches to an abrupt stop, I slam into the dash, my fingers slipping free.

“What the fuck!”

But Sy is spitting a low curse, hopping out and slamming the door behind him. I look out the window and see that we’re off the main road, headlights shining into a grove of trees. My brother stumbles behind a bush, and it might be dark, but I can see enough to realize he’s dropped his pants, hand stripping his cock.

The car is hot, filled with erratic breathing.

I shoot Remy a look. “Guess he couldn’t last either.”

The bacon is sogood that even Sy orders a plate.

“So,” Remy says, gesturing between us with his milkshake. “You two have made up, I take it.”

Lavinia is tucked into my side, head tipped back onto my shoulder as I lick the taste of milkshake from her lips. Sy and Remy are on the opposite side of the booth, watching us with calculating eyes.

“Because for a second there, up on that stage,” Remy goes on, “I thought Nick had really lost his shit.”

Lavinia grins, plucking a fry from her plate. “We make a pretty convincing captor-prisoner team, huh?”

“We did have a lot of practice,” I point out. In a surlier tone, I add, “Although, at leastIdidn’t electrocute you while eating tacos.”

Sy and Remy share a look, but my brother is the one to clear his throat, asking, “Electrocute?”

“Tacos?” Remy repeats.

“Eh,” Lavinia flicks her hand, “you kind of had to be there.”

“You’re both psychos,” Sy mutters, wadding up his napkin and tossing it on his plate. “And that’s my official diagnosis.”

Fuck we really have been though a lot. It’ll make a good story to tell our kids one day.

Shit.

Kids.

I place my hand over her belly, imagining such an absurdity. A little Nick. A little Sy? A littleRemy. Jesus, maybe even a little Lavinia.

“I’ve been thinking,” Remy says, his somber tone interrupting my thoughts of blond kids and their dark-skinned siblings. “Maybe you should ask them.” When I look up, he’s staring at Lavinia, mouth pressed into a grim line. “The thing about Tate?”

Her eyes shutter. “You said it wasn’t true.”

“What?” Sy asks, looking between them.

Lowering his eyes, Remy rakes the tines of his fork over what’s left of his pancakes. “Something Mama B told Vinny about Tate. That she was working for Saul.”

Sy and I scoff in unison, the sound punctuated by the sound of my plate as I push it away. “No chance,” I insist. “You know how much Tate hated the gun trade.”

“Well… yeah,” Remy agrees, flicking his eyes up. I sense the reluctance more than I see it–the way Remy fidgets, like he’s coming to a decision. Finally, he says, “But maybe it was something else. Saul’s got more than one hustle.”

My brows pull inward. “What, like gambling? Fighting?”

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