Chapter 12

12

Lyric

O n the less busy days at the library, I get to whip out my personal laptop and add more lines of code into my algorithm. It’s a lengthy and tedious process. I often end up working for hours just to tweak a single parameter interpretation within the entire program—yet that small change can make a world of difference from one prediction to another.

If I’m to hand a version of this over to a company someday, I can’t risk any errors, not even by a fraction. I’m insanely proud of how far I’ve come with this already, and it drives me to keep pushing.

It's also the only thing that seems to keep me focused in the middle of the shitstorm that has somehow become my life. I tell myself that maybe it was meant to happen this way, but I still feel guilty. I’m scared. I want this baby, and I intend to see everything through to the end.

I just don’t know if I’ll do it alone or with Max, Ivan, and Artur by my side. It’s such a weird situation and it makes my brain hurt just thinking about it, let alone trying to make sense of it.

I take a break from coding and go into one of my news apps to check recent events. I need to stay on top of what’s happening in order to further calibrate the algorithm; I’ve already started running a few possible scenarios regarding Chicago and its mob families.

I take a few minutes to go through several recent videos. The violent crime rate has dropped since the city council implemented some of the new measures they had voted on earlier last year. An Italian-American lieutenant of the Camorra family was found dead in his pool last night. A Sokolov…

“What in the ever-living fu—” I swallow that last word as I watch Ivan being arrested on camera, dragged out of a shipping company’s loading bay infested with federal agents. I catch a glimpse of Max in the background on the phone, eyes wide as he spots the camera filming him. I see the smirks on some of the Feds’ faces.

The news chyron makes it unclear as to what they were raiding that location for in the first place, but there’s an article link for me to follow.

My blood runs cold as I realize that the motive expressed by the Bureau to the press sounds shoddy, at best. “Suspicion of illegal activity, are you kidding me?” I blurt out, anger quick to set in. “This is ridiculous!”

I need deep breaths for the fire in my veins to settle. I grab my phone and call Artur. He doesn’t pick up. I try Max next. Still, no luck. I get anxious, restless in my seat as I immediately go into my “focus on the solution, not the problem” mode, which has me digging deep into my list of contacts.

Since my father is a politician and a darling of the media, I’ve had my share of interactions with reporters and journalists from pretty much every outlet in the Greater Chicago area and beyond. I saved many of their numbers over the years, thinking they might come in handy someday.

And here we are.

“Hi, Lindsey. Sorry to disturb and call you out of the blue like this. It’s Lyric Phelps,” I say then pause, waiting for her to remember me. “That’s right. Listen, I’m wondering… I saw something on the news about Ivan Sokolov being arrested. Ahh, yes. Did you or one of your colleagues run that story?” I take a deep breath as she tells me all about it. “Okay. So, you were there. Okay. Do you have any idea where they took him?”

She doesn’t, but she sends me the number of someone who followed the Feds’ van across the city after Ivan was picked up. Ten minutes and five calls later, I’m finally on the phone with the guy.

“They haven’t released him yet?” I croak upon hearing the news. “Boy, it sounds like they’re really sinking their claws into him, huh? Why do I want to know?” I need a decent, reasonable lie for this. “I’m a reporter for a small, independent online newspaper. Just trying to break into the game, ya know?”

Finally, after another ten minutes, I get a location.

At about the same time, Max calls me back, and my heart practically jumps out of my chest as I answer. “Are you guys okay? I just saw the news.”

“Yeah, for the most part. The Feds have done quite the number on us,” he says.

“I saw. What happened?”

“I’m sorry, Lyric, I can’t talk about this over the phone. Right now, I’m dealing with another issue because I can’t get Ivan out of jail. Not today anyway.”

My stomach drops. It can be so easy to upset the balance of an otherwise sturdy ecosystem if you know which buttons to push. The Feds were pretty smart and organized with this particular stunt.

With trembling fingers, I enter new data into one of the algorithm’s ongoing processes, listening as Max tells me about how stuck he and Artur are, for the time being.

“So, until we figure something out, Ivan has no choice but to spend the night in jail,” he says.

“That’s just insane. What about the other families?” I ask.

“None of them will touch this. As soon as the incident hit the news, they all went radio silent. I can’t exactly fault them. The Feds expect a reaction from us, which is precisely what we’re not giving them. It’s messed up, but I know Ivan understands. I just don’t like the idea of him sitting in jail, not even for another minute.”

“They are doing this on purpose, aren’t they?”

“Yeah.”

“Divide and conquer, I’m guessing.”

Max lets out a heavy sigh. I can almost feel his anguish. I’d give anything to be there, to hold him and run my fingers through his rich, brown hair, comforting him. But I know they want me to stay away from this whole situation. It makes sense. I’d want me away, too, especially after SSA Smith’s last visit.

“I’ll be in touch once I know more,” Max says before excusing himself and hanging up.

I can’t just sit here and do nothing. However, I can speed up the algorithm’s process for a few possible solutions, so I do that instead. An hour passes before I manage to come up with a reasonable resolution. I’ll have to explain it to the guys when it’s done, but I decide to do it anyway. There’s a lot that Max, Ivan, and Artur don’t know about me.

Maybe it’s time I start letting them in.

After all, if I’m to have their baby, there should be a higher degree of intimacy between us on every level of an already insanely complex relationship.

When I arrive at the precinct, I recognize members of the press gathered outside. I approach them tentatively, thankful that I’m not easily recognizable. My dad may be a camera sweetheart, but I ‘ve done my best to stay out of their range ever since he first ran for public office. Wrapped in a camel brown overcoat, I make my way up the steps and chat up one of the photographers.

“Who are you all waiting for?” I ask with a soft smile.

He gives me a hard look at first, but when I refuse to budge or stop smiling, he softens, ever so slightly. “What’s it to you?”

“Just curious,” I reply and slip a one-hundred-dollar bill in his jacket pocket.

“Ivan Sokolov. One of the uniforms from the reception desk tipped us off,” he says, softer and a hundred bucks richer. “They set bail, but apparently all of the Sokolov accounts have been frozen, and the Feds are doing their best to stop Sokolov’s brother from getting him out.”

“That’s pretty bold of them, don’t you think?”

The guy shrugs, checking his camera settings. “I guess. I don’t know what they expect to gain, though. You can’t take the Bratva down, not like this. It’s never going to be that easy.”

“Because of their influence?”

“Because of their history. The Russian mob were here long before the FBI was even founded. These are hard bastards. A warrant and a couple of nights in jail won’t make any of them crack. These Bratva folks will kill you if you look at them the wrong way. And no one will even know you’re dead. They’ll just make you disappear. Poof. Like you never existed.”

I know this as well, yet hearing a stranger tell me such stories causes shivers to run down my spine. We’re talking about the three men that I am profoundly intimate with. I’m pregnant by one of them. And in a few moments, I’m going in there to help them.

Frankly, I don’t really know how I feel about that.

I bid the photographer farewell and go inside.

The inside of a police station is the last place I had on my bingo card for this week’s city travels, but as the situation beckons, I have no choice but to take a deep breath, keep my cool, and do my best to navigate what comes next. These are murky, perhaps even dangerous, waters.

More than once, I’ve heard Max and the guys talking about the level of corruption within law enforcement. More than once, they’ve let slip that they can’t trust the local Feds with anything. And if they can’t trust the federal government, how can they even think about trusting the local police?

“Hi. I’m here to post bail for Mr. Ivan Sokolov,” I say matter-of-factly to one of the uniformed officers at the reception desk. I manage to muster up a flat smile but I’m burning up on the inside, my stomach the size of a pea. Hopefully, they can’t tell.

“You’re here for what?” the guy blurts out, giving me surprised look.

“Bail. For Mr. Sokolov. I understand he’s being held here. I’m here to bail him out.”

“And who are you, exactly?”

I shrug. “Does it matter?”

“You’re in a police station, miss. When an officer of the law asks you to identify yourself, you are obliged to do so.”

“Actually, no, I’m not. Not unless you are charging me with something. I know my rights, officer. But since I would like to get out of here sooner rather than later, my name is Lyric Phelps.”

“And you’re here to post bail for Mr. Sokolov,” the officer reiterates, tapping away at his computer with a permanent frown in his brow.

“That is correct.”

“Why?”

It’s my turn to give him a cold look. “I’m not required to disclose that information, either.”

Silence falls between us, and with it comes the glares of several of his colleagues. The mild ruckus up to this point of cops and felons buzzing around, admins shouting and phones ringing seems to have slowed down. I suddenly feel pressure bearing down heavily on my shoulders.

I do not yield, however. My head stays high, my heart still in my throat, but I power through every soul-crushing second until the officer concedes with a slight nod.

“Bail was set at four-hundred and fifty-thousand dollars,” he says, a smirk testing the corner of his mouth.

“Great. I suppose cash will work?” I instantly reply as I set a black bag on top of his desk.

He stills at the sight of it, eyes round with pure shock. “Cash?”

“Taxes already deducted, and I can provide a full paper trail for every single bill, if needed,” I say, half-smiling. “I’m a city councilor’s daughter, officer. I can’t afford to play dirty while my father advocates for righteousness in this great city.”

He nods slowly and hands the bag over to one of his colleagues. “There’s a money counting machine in Rhonda’s office,” he tells the guy. “Double-check that it’s all there while I draw up the paperwork.”

“Why would you do this?” his colleague asks me with an expression of sheer disgust. “These people are the worst. Russian mobsters. Criminals. Killers. And you’re Matthew Phelps’s daughter. The man who’s trying to put them away.”

“I’m just here to pay Mr. Sokolov’s bail,” I insist with the same flat, pleasant smile. The less I say, the less I entertain this clearly tense conversation, the easier it will be for me later down the road. “Will there be anything for me to sign?”

They don’t like this, but they are compelled to oblige.

The money gets counted in a back room, while I go through a slew of paperwork with the reception officer. Signature after signature. Initial after initial. Approvals, agreements, receipts. Everything needs to be accounted for, so that nobody has any questions left to ask at any point in the future.

Once it’s all done, I sit patiently in a corner, watching the buzz of the precinct continue.

“Lyric?” Max’s voice startles me.

I didn’t see or hear him coming. I glance up and find him standing so close to me, I can smell his heady cologne. I can almost feel his heart thudding against mine. “Oh,” I mumble and get up. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“What are you doing here?” he asks.

“You’re angry,” I mutter.

“I’m frustrated. They’re hell bent on treating us like criminals,” he replies.

“Well, you did… you know, do that thing with Bowman,” I shoot back with a low voice, careful so no one can hear me.

Max lets a sigh leave his broad chest. “Yeah. I guess we had it coming. I just didn’t think it would be on such flimsy warrants. Our law firm is halfway done dismantling every single piece of paper that they’ve been throwing at us lately. It’s the bank accounts that really set us back, though, even if it’s just for a couple of days.”

“Oh, I took care of that. It’s why I’m here.”

He gives me a confused look just as the reception officer comes over with a final receipt. “You’re all set, Miss Phelps. The money has been counted, every penny there. I’ll have someone send Mr. Sokolov up in just a few minutes,” the guy says.

“Thank you,” I reply.

The officer backs away, stealing a dark glance at Max in the process, but he doesn’t say anything else. Max, on the other hand, is positively and understandably befuddled, unable to take his big green eyes off me.

“Lyric, what is going on here?”

“I paid Ivan’s bail.”

“You what ? Are you serious?”

Shock is the first thing to hit. But then relief rushes in, softening his features before discomfort comes along. All I can do is gently touch his forearm and smile. “Yes. It’s taken care of. I didn’t want Ivan in jail for a moment longer, either.”

“That’s a lot of money, Lyric. I know your father’s well-to-do, but he’s still a public servant. Where in the hell did he get that kind of cash?”

“It’s not his cash. It’s mine.”

Max is even more confused now, while I grow increasingly uncomfortable being in this police precinct. My anxiety levels rise as I notice more and more people looking at me, watching me, trying to listen and pick up on anything that I say.

I’ve captured the attention of every uniform in this place. It shouldn’t come as a surprise; I knew it might happen. But I didn’t expect Max to be here. It will make it easier for the cops to associate us.

“Lyric, where did you get that kind of money?” Max asks in a low voice, a muscle twitching nervously in his square, bearded jaw.

“That is not a story that I can share with you here,” I say.

“What the hell just happened?” Ivan cuts in as two officers bring him over to us. They both look clearly displeased about the whole thing, throwing daggers at my face, while I have the urge to shrink into something the size of an ant and disappear. All of my earlier bravado seems to have fizzled away, now that I see how rattled the vipers’ nest really is. “Lyric?”

“Not here,” I insist before heading out the door, Max and Ivan trailing me in confusion.

I’m nervous and quiet in the back seat of Max’s car, sitting next to an even more befuddled Artur, while Max gets behind the wheel, Ivan in the passenger seat. None of us say anything for a minute or two, the situation still sinking in. It had seemed simpler in my head, even as I analyzed the algorithm’s possible scenarios. Then again, maybe I let my heart lead me with this particular move, finding ways to justify my decision.

“Lyric, we owe you a great debt of gratitude and money,” Artur says, his grey eyes searching my face while I try to understand the emotions that glimmer across his. “The longer Ivan stayed in that cell, the worse it would’ve been. But we obviously need to talk.”

Ivan turns around in his seat. He’s confused. Conflicted. Torn between anger and frustration, yet his gaze remains soft upon mine. “Where’d you get that kind of money?” he asks.

“And cash at that,” Max adds, gripping the wheel so tight that his knuckles are turning white.

“So here’s the thing,” I begin, trying to find the right words to explain myself and my eerie capabilities in a way that makes sense. “You are already aware that I’m rather good in computer programming. Computer science, to be specific, with a specialization in finance”

“It doesn’t explain four-hundred-and-fifty large in cash,” Artur insists.

“I’m getting there,” I chuckle nervously. “It’s my money. I earned it fair and square. I paid taxes on it, too. It is perfectly legal, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Max starts the engine and pulls the SUV out into the steady flow of traffic. The farther we get from the police station, the more relaxed I begin to feel.

“As you also know, I insisted on gaining my financial independence as soon as I went away to college, not wanting to have anything to do with my father in that sense. I didn’t want to depend on him for anything. In order to survive throughout college, to buy my own apartment, to be my own person, I needed a hefty revenue stream. I suppose I’ve told you enough about my algorithm project. I used its earlier versions to check odds on several online betting websites.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Artur laughs. “You did what?”

“I went to five major betting sights. I did my research, checked the odds, introduced every megabyte of data into my algorithm, and went over its proposed win scenarios. It worked. I achieved seventy-five percent accuracy. I made a lot of money betting on pretty much everything. Soccer matches in Europe. Football and baseball in the states. Horses. Boxing and MMA fights, including the UFC. I made it as far as Thailand with the higher bets. Over the years, I managed to put together well over three-and-a-half million dollars. That’s how good my algorithm was then. It’s only gotten better since, which is why I’m using it for my doctorate thesis.”

“Holy shit,” Max mutters while keeping his eyes on the road. “Lyric, we clearly don’t know nearly enough about you.”

“I manage on my own. Quite sure I said that more than once,” I reply with a shy smile.

“This is more than managing on your own,” Max says. “Jesus, Lyric, you’re a fucking genius aren’t you?”

“I was approved for Mensa, yes.”

Ivan laughs, looking infinitely relieved as a free man. “Damn. I did not see this coming. I was ready and bracing myself for another night in jail and a heap of bloody trouble ahead. I feel like I’m the fucking damsel in this story.”

“No, you’re not. You’re my man. You’re all my men,” I reply, raising my chin in defiance. “I did what I did because I understand now. I understand the risks you took when you freed Bowman to keep the FBI away from me. Don’t think for a second that I wasn’t aware. All I did was repay the favor.”

“Does your father know?” Artur asks me.

I shake my head. “Not yet. He’ll find out eventually. I was hoping I might be able to post that bail anonymously but the cops weren’t having it.”

“We’re VIPs to those bastards,” Artur sighs. “They were so thrilled to have caught one of us, even though they all knew they didn’t have a leg to stand on. They’ve been trying so hard to get to us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” Ivan shoots back. “You’re not responsible for your father’s sins.”

“No, but she very well may have just tanked his chances at the senate by bailing you out,” Artur cuts in.

I cringe. “Yeah, that’s something I’ll have to deal with, I’m sure. Just another great disappointment.”

“Wait, a minute. Let me get this straight,” Max begins. “Circle back to that algorithm of yours, because I’m curious. You said it gives you possible scenarios of how events might turn out based on the information that you feed into it, right?”

“Right.”

Artur glances behind us. I follow his gaze. “We have a tail,” he says. “Grey sedan, two cars back, second lane.”

“What do we do?” I ask.

“Don’t worry about it,” Max says. “We have nothing to hide. They’re desperate to find something, so they’ve been keeping a detail on us twenty-four-seven. Lyric, the algorithm, talk to me.”

“That’s pretty much it. I’ve spent years developing it. I started my junior year of high school and it’s been advancing ever since. The clearer the parameters, the more information I can feed it, the more accurate the predictions.”

“Could you apply it in a situation where a certain organization is looking to shift gears and change its business model altogether?”

I give Artur a wry smile. “For the Bratva, you mean.”

“Yes.”

“It could definitely have an application there, yes,” I answer. “I would need a lot of information though. And it would take weeks to build a viable set of future models. But yes.”

“Could it help us spot potential situations? Say, traitorous associates, FBI raids, that kind of thing?”

I nod. “Anything law enforcement related would need a ton of details such as arrest records, warrants, a thorough history of yours and your predecessors’ activities, etc. But again, yes. It’s doable. I need more research and more years to develop it, but I’m sure I can pull off a level of accuracy never seen before.”

“This feels like something out of a sci-fi movie,” Max mumbles.

“I guess it kind of is. But sixty years ago, robots were the stuff of sci-fi movies, and yet here we are,” I reply.

“We got ourselves one hell of a woman, fellas,” Ivan cuts in, giving me a playful wink. “You’re just full of surprises aren’t you?”

We reach a side of Chicago I’ve not seen in a while. It’s one of the most affluent parts of the city, with high rents and an even higher cost of living. I know this because I was originally interested in moving here after I finished high school. I had yet to make my money though, and I was on a slightly tighter budget at the time.

It’s a nice area, clean and quiet, with a string of coffee shops and fro-yo cafes on every corner.

As we get out of Max’s SUV, I look around. “Do we still have a tail?”

“No, it’s why we took the tunnel,” Max replies. “They were expecting us to go straight ahead but we lost them when we turned.”

A massive luxury apartment building towers to my right, its front fa?ade made of white marble and steel, mirrored glass, and open terraces. “What is this place?”

“We have a penthouse here,” Max points upward at the high-rise. “I figured we could all use some peace and quiet for a couple of days. They’ll have eyes on the mansion for sure.”

“The boys are keeping an eye on the place,” Artur reminds him. “But I would imagine the Feds have run out of bogus warrants by now. We should be able to enjoy a respite for at least a week before they find somethingelse to pick on.”

I follow them into the building and past the polite and impeccably dressed doorman, then into a large, round elevator that takes us all the way up to the top floor. “How can you live like this?” I ask in a low voice. “Constantly dealing with this kind of harassment. Because that’s what it is. Harassment.”

“We brought this on ourselves the minute we decided to stop funding local corruption,” Max says, his brow furrowed. But the glances he gives me are soft, almost spicy, in their intensity. “It’s the price of trying to do better than our father and the men who came before us.”

My heart skips a beat when Ivan’s hand rests on the small of my back. Everything has been so tense and stressful up to this point, that I’d almost forgotten myself as a woman, if only for a minute or two. But now that I’m in this enclosed space with my men, the elevator working its way up, I’m bombarded by lustful sensations as I quickly begin to realize where we’re headed.

Their penthouse.

Their bedroom. Oh, God, I’d missed this.

“You’re doing the right thing,” I look at Max. “You said it yourself. How many people are willing to go through hellfire for that?”

“Few. Very few.”

“Thank you, Lyric,” Ivan says, then pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around my shoulders and planting a soft kiss on my temple. “I didn’t see you coming, but I’m glad you took this chance.”

“I know you guys would’ve worked it out eventually,” I reply, resting my head on his shoulder for a sweet moment. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of you being stuck in that place.”

Artur chuckles softly as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Yeah, like you said, we’re your men.”

“I meant it.”

Artur takes me by the hand while Max and Ivan go ahead. We follow a narrow, burgundy and gold hallway until we reach the door at the very end, for which Max takes out a special keycard. I find comfort in Artur’s touch, the kind of comfort I need, now more than ever.

“I just didn’t expect to hear those words from you,” Artur whispers with a hint of a smile. His gaze deepens as it becomes locked on mine, and I feel my breath faltering. There is something in the darkness of those grey pools that creates a tingling sensation in my chest while heat begins to gather in my core. “We don’t yet know where this is going, Lyric, but we do know we want you here with us.”

“I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

That’s not a lie. There’s a chance I’ll suffer one way or another for today’s deeds. But right now, in this moment, I feel like it’s all worth it. I’m safe again, in a sense, because I’ve brought my men back together. I did what I had to do.

I’ll face the consequences later.

Artur closes the door behind us, then promptly proceeds to remove my overcoat. Max takes his jacket off, while Ivan pours himself a drink from the bar in the lounge area. There’s a giant, cream-colored sofa that stretches out in a half-moon shape, a fire burning in the digital wall-mounted fireplace, its flames crackling and flashing orange, yellow, and red.

“You’re one hell of a woman, did I ever tell you that?” Max says, coming closer.

I can feel Artur lingering behind me. I can hear him as he takes deep breaths, his nose brushing against the back of my neck. He inhales me deeply as shivers dance along my spine, his fingers nimbly working around my hips to unzip my jeans.

Max kisses me first, our tongues fighting for dominance until I surrender, while he and Artur peel the clothes off my body. Ivan joins us, wearing only the hint of whiskey on his lips as he captures my mouth in a ravenous kiss next. I taste him. I breathe him in. I lose myself in the moment as their hands move up and down.

I gasp when Ivan removes my pink lace bra and takes a nipple in his mouth. “Oh, yes,” I hiss as I feel Artur’s fingers dig into my buttocks.

Slowly but surely, we move closer to the sofa. Lips collide. Tongues swirl. Minds are lost until I find myself laid onto my back, knees up as Ivan goes down on me. My eyes glaze over with raw desire as I feel his tongue sliding between my wet folds, fingers eagerly priming my entrance for one hell of a meaty feast.

Artur and Max flank me on the sofa, and I eagerly take each of their hard, pulsating cocks in my hands, gazing deep into each pair of eyes before I lick the tips and suckle most voraciously. I taste the precum and swallow every drop as Ivan’s fingers curl inside me, thrusting faster and deeper as his lips close around my swollen clit.

“Oh, don’t stop,” I cry out before I let Max slide all the way down my throat.

“Fuck,” he groans, while Ivan works me over.

Tension gathers in my core, the pit of my stomach tightening as every muscle in my body contracts to the highest point. “I’ll never stop,” Ivan moans and sucks my clit until I finally come, crying out as my juices cover his face.

I stroke Max and Artur’s cocks, reveling in the feel of their veins throbbing against the palms of my hands. I devour them both before Max switches places with Ivan. Heat burns through me, ecstasy rippling outward as I shudder, melting in my orgasm just as Max drives himself deep inside of me.

“Yes!” I hiss as he fills me to the brim, stretching me into the realms of sweet madness.

“Take it all, baby,” Artur beckons me to deep throat him and I do exactly that as Max starts pounding into me.

Before I realize what’s happening, I’m shifted on my axis.

I ride Max, while Artur comes up behind me and joins him inside. Ivan takes the top of the couch so I can taste him, so I can stroke his magnificent cock with both hands while I lick and suckle on his delicious tip. “Tastes like heaven,” I say, then relax the back of my throat and let all of him in.

“I’m your man,” he replies, lovingly gazing down at me, watching as I devour him. Watching as I ride Max like there’s no tomorrow, as Artur fucks me harder and faster, slapping my ass with every vicious thrust. My pussy clenches, a second orgasm blowing through me as I beg them to fuck me harder until I feel nothing and everything at once.

“Please!” I beg.

“Fucking hell Lyric, you were made for this,” Ivan gasps as he thrusts himself deeper.

All I can do is stare and hold my breath until I feel him come, shooting his seed down my throat, moaning in sheer bliss. It’s music to my ears, as Artur and Max join him at the pinnacle of heaven itself. Harder. Deeper. Deeper, until they explode inside of me. Until I finally feel nothing and everything at once.

Sweat drips down my face. I taste Ivan on the tip of my tongue as he pulls back, leaving one last salty drop behind. I swallow it and give him the laziest smile I can muster, while Artur and Max give me their last pumps, panting and twitching in a sweet afterglow.

“I was made for this,” I whisper. “For you.”

“Yes, Lyric. And although it puts us in a line of deep trouble,” Max replies, gently caressing my breasts, “I’ll gladly suffer the consequences.”

“We’ll all suffer the consequences gladly,” Artur jokingly corrects him, then plants a string of kisses down my back.

I soften in their hold, coming down from my own perfect cloud, my pussy aching yet yearning for more as I briefly glance out the window.

It’s not even nighttime yet.

Perfect. It means we have plenty of hours left before sunrise.