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“I’ll hurt you?—”

“You’ll complete me. Get over here and finish it.”

He climbs up. There’s barely room—Eli beneath me, Dakota’s thighs spread over my hips, Dante crouched over her back—and Brady kneels behind them and finds the last angle, and when he presses in?—

The world disappears.

There’s no word for it. Beyond pain, beyond pleasure, beyond vocabulary. Three cocks stretching my ass past every limit I thought I had, Dakota’s pussy hot and clenched around me, every nerve ending I own firing at once like a city grid lighting up block by block. I’m sobbing openly now, chest heaving, tears sliding freely, and it has nothing to do with pain. It’s theintimacy. The impossible, obliterating intimacy of holding my entire family around my body at the same time.

“Cruz.” Eli’s voice cracks. “Cruz, talk to us.”

“Full.” That’s all I have. “I’m so full. Don’t—don’t any of you dare move yet. Just let me feel it.”

They hold it there. Five people fused into a single trembling architecture. Dakota’s forehead drops to mine. Eli’s arm crosses my heaving chest from beneath, palm splayed like he’s taking my pulse through my sternum.

“Okay.” I exhale. “Okay. Move.”

They start moving carefully. They have to—there’s no other way, four bodies negotiating one rhythm, small shallow rolls of their hips that ripple through me like stones dropped in still water. Eli sets the tempo. Dante follows a half-beat behind so there’s never a gap, one of them always dragging deep while another withdraws. Brady barely thrusts at all, just rocks, and even that is enough to make my vision blur.

And Dakota. Dakota moves on top of me like she was built for this moment, grinding down in slow circles, her pussy squeezing my cock in rhythm with the three of them filling me, and the sensation from both directions at once erases every thought I’ve ever had. There’s no blackmail. No commission. No twenty-four hours. There’s only this—slick heat and fullness and the sounds we’re all making, wet and broken and holy.

“Look at him,” Dante groans. “Look at what he’s taking. Cruz, baby, you feel—God, I can feel Eli against me, I can feel your heartbeat around us?—”

“He’s crying,” Brady chokes. “Cruz?—”

“Good tears.” I grab Brady’s hand. “The best tears I’ve ever cried. Harder. All of you. I want to feel this when I walk into whatever tomorrow is.”

The rhythm builds. Not fast—it can’t be fast—but deeper, heavier, the four of them finding a pattern that rolls throughmy body without end, and Dakota rides it, rides me, her head thrown back, her hands clawing at my chest, moaning with every rise and fall.

“Cruz—every time they move, I feel it in you, I feel all of us?—”

“That’s the point, sweetheart.” My voice is destroyed. “That’s the whole point.”

Eli turns his head, his mouth finding my ear, and this man who spent forty years locked in a tower of control whispers, “You’re the strongest one of us. You know that? You broke us all open. You made this possible.” His hips drive deep on the last word and I wail. “Take what’s yours.”

I don’t get a warning. My orgasm doesn’t build; it’s ripped out of me from somewhere deeper than my body can account for, my whole frame tensing, my cock pulsing inside Dakota while my ass clamps down around all three of them at once. Somebody shouts. Maybe me. My spine bows and the world dissolves into white noise, and I’m coming harder than I ever have in my life, endless, brutal, cleansing.

Dakota follows before I’ve finished. Her pussy spasms around me, milking me through it, and her cry tangles with mine into one sound.

The clench of my body around them drags Eli over next. He curses, low and reverent, and I feel him pulse inside me, feel the heat of him spilling deep. Then Dante, his groan vibrating through the room. Then Brady, last, always last, coming with a sob that sounds like his heart tearing loose, and I feel every one of them, every pulse, wave after wave of them emptying into me until I’m carrying all of them at once, in my bones, in my blood, in the deepest reaches of myself.

We come apart slowly. Careful withdrawals, one at a time, each loss pulling a raw sound out of me, Eli easing out from under me last, until finally it’s just Dakota, still astride me, both of us slick and shaking.

Then we collapse. A heap of tangled limbs and heaving breath and salt-streaked skin. Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. We just exist in the wreckage of it, five people who pushed past every boundary the world drew around us to prove that this is real. That it matters. That whatever they do to us, they can’t takethis.

Eli recovers first. He retrieves warm cloths. Water bottles pressed into hands. His fingers checking me over with a tenderness that makes fresh tears sting. Dante changes what can be changed of the sheets around bodies too heavy to lift. Brady won’t stop touching me—my hair, my chest, my face—like he’s confirming I’m still here.

Much later, we’re still in my bed. Dakota’s head rests on my chest, rising and falling with my breath. Brady curls into my side with Dante wrapped around him from behind. Eli lies on my other side, one arm thrown across all of us like he can hold the whole family together through sheer force of will.

“I don’t know how to let you go. I’ve spent my whole life losing things. My twenties. My parents. Every good thing I touched before you. And I finally found the thing worth keeping, and the thought of losing it makes me want to burn the world down just to watch it hurt the way I’m hurting.”

Dakota’s voice is soft against my chest. “Maybe we don’t get a choice. Maybe the world’s too big and we’re too small, and sometimes love isn’t enough.”

I don’t have an answer. None of us do. So we hold each other in the dark and wait for the dawn that’s coming to end everything.

The light creeps in gray and pale through my curtains. Brady’s already gone—slipped out before sunrise while the rest of us slept, his spot between Dante and the headboard cold. I get it. Some goodbyes can’t be survived when said out loud.

The others go one by one. Dante first. He presses a kiss to my forehead and it feels like a period at the end of a sentence. Eli stays longest. He stands in my bedroom doorway looking at Dakota and me still tangled in the sheets, and his eyes move over us like he’s committing us to permanent memory.