I want to walk upstairs right now. I want to drag Dominic out of his bed. I want to shatter his jaw with my bare hands. I want to break his fingers one by one until he begs for mercy. I want to paint the walls with him.
I force the urge down.
The mission requires discipline. The MC requires the ledger. I am the Commander. I cannot compromise the entire operation for a woman.
I have to keep my head clear. I have to keep my men focused.
“We have a massive problem.” I look at my brothers.
Rafe glares at me. “The problem is Dominic. The problem is Ferraro walking into this house.”
“No.” I reach into my tactical vest. I pull out my encrypted phone. “The problem is our focus.”
I unlock the screen. I open the security group chat. The explicit masturbation confession is still right there, mocking me. She might have deleted it from her own device, but on mine, her words are a permanent stain.I just had one of the best orgasms I’ve had in years…The text is a goddamn siren song, and every time I read it, my cock thumps against my thigh, demanding I go find her and finish what she started.
I drop the phone onto the glass table. It lands next to the tablets with a sharpclack.
“We need to talk about the text,” I order.
Rafe stares at the screen, his golden eyes fixed on her confession. His jaw clenches so hard a thick muscle leaps in his cheek, his breathing turning ragged as he pictures her fingers working her clit while she looked at his file. He rubs his scarred chest with a closed fist.
Jude does not look at the phone. He looks at me.
“She is a landslide of a woman.” The words leave my mouth with conviction.
I do not hide the truth. I do not play games. I am a grown man. I know exactly what I want. I claim what is mine.
“Every time she moves, that emerald silk dress fights a losing battle to hold her in.” I plant my hands flat on the table. I lean forward. “I want Lucia. I don’t want some fragile princess; I want those thick, lush curves shaking under the weight of my body. I want to feel her heavy tits crushed against my chest while my rough hands bruise her hips. I’m going to sink my cock into her so hard her eyes roll back, and I’m going to keep her wrapped tight around my waist until I’ve filled her pussy to the brim with my seed. I’m not just going to fuck her; I’m going to breed heruntil she realizes the Costas never owned her—she belongs to the Halos.”
Rafe exhales a harsh, ragged breath. He refuses to meet my eye.
“The Thunderbolt hit me the second I crossed the threshold.” I admit the primitive biological hijack aloud. I own it. “If we were not on a ticking clock. If she was not a cartel target. I would have had her on her knees on that marble floor before the front doors even closed.”
Silence fills the sitting room.
Not an uncomfortable silence. A heavy, honest understanding. We are brothers. We bleed for the same club. We do not lie to each other. We do not hide our demons.
Rafe resumes his pacing.
He walks to the bay window. He stares out into the dark grounds. His massive shoulders lock rigid. His hands curl into fists at his sides.
“She is a distraction.” Rafe spits the words out. “A beautiful, thick-thighed distraction we do not need right now.”
He grips the heavy silk drapes. His large knuckles strain against the delicate fabric. The brass rod rattles.
“But she has a mouth that could start a war,” Rafe continues. The gravel in his voice softens a fraction. The feral admission bleeds through his anger. “She has the eyes of a fighter. Most women in this life are just shadows. They blend into the background. They do what they are told.”
He turns around. His golden eyes blaze in the dim light.
“She is a goddamn sun.” Rafe says it like a confession. “She burns bright. That makes her dangerous. That makes me want to burn with her.”
He shakes his head. He steps back from the window. He rejects it the only way he knows how—by putting distance between himself and the thought.
I turn my head. I look at Jude.
The quietest man is always the deadliest. Jude observes everything. He dissects every interaction. He operates with cold, surgical precision. He does not waste words.
“And you?” I ask him. “Where is your head at, Surgeon?”