Chapter 10: Sunrise Sharing
The dawn in Monaco was a slow, gorgeous bleed. From deep indigo to a wash of lavender, then the first razor-cut of gold on the horizon. The Mediterranean stretched out, a vast, ink-black sheet slowly being set alight.
Lando stood on the penthouse terrace, barefoot on the cool stone. He hadn’t slept. The image of Aya over the desk, the confession, the fear—it all played on a loop behind his eyes. He heard the soft slide of the glass door opening behind him.
She came to stand beside him, her shoulder nearly touching his. She wore one of his discarded t-shirts. It hung to her mid-thigh.
“You’re thinking,” she said, her voice still rough with sleep.
“Always a dangerous pastime.”
She leaned her hips against the railing, looking up at him. The first true rays of sun caught the side of her face, gilding her skin. “About him?”
Lando didn’t answer. He turned to her, his hands coming up to frame her face. He kissed her, slow and deep, a desperate attempt to map a territory that felt suddenly unfamiliar. She responded, her mouth soft and yielding, but her eyes were open, watching him.
He broke the kiss, resting his forehead against hers. “I can’t get it out of my head,” he murmured. “His hand on you. Your eyes when you looked at me over his shoulder.”
“What did you see in my eyes?” she whispered.
“That you were mine. That you were his. That it was the same thing.” The truth of it was a sick, thrilling punch to his gut. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hands sliding down to the hem of the t-shirt. He pushed it up, his palms skimming her bare hips. He turned her, gently, until her back was to the railing, the cold glass a shock against her skin. The view behind her was the awakening world, but he saw only her.
He dropped to his knees on the hard stone. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her panties, pulling them down her legs. She stepped out of them, her breath hitching as the morning air touched her. He didn’t use his fingers or his mouth. He simply looked, his gaze a physical touch. In the pure, accusing light of dawn, she was utterly exposed.
“Lando,” she said, a note of vulnerability threading through her voice.
“Shhh.” He leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of her thigh, his stubble scraping her delicate skin. Then he stood, his own sleep pants already tented. He pushed them down, freeing his erection, which stood thick and eager against his stomach. He spat into his palm, slicking himself roughly before positioning the head at her entrance. She was warm, but not yet ready. He didn’t care.
He pushed in, a slow, inexorable invasion that made her gasp and claw at his bare shoulders. He filled her, the tight, hot clutch of her body a paradise he was ruining. He set a rhythm that was all possession, each thrust a punctuation mark on a sentence of anxiety. He gripped her thigh, hitching it higher over his hip, driving deeper.
“Tell me,” he grunted, his voice low and strained.
“You’re there,” she panted, her head thrown back against the glass. “I can feel you.”
“Who do you belong to?”
“You.”
He pulled almost all the way out and slammed back in, making her cry out. The terrace was open, exposed; the sound felt dangerously loud in the silent morning. “Who?!”
“You! God, Lando, you!”
He fucked her like that, with a brutal, single-minded intensity, his hips pounding against her. The sun rose higher, painting their straining bodies in vivid gold and long, dancing shadows. He slipped a hand between them, his thumb finding her clit and circling with a cruel, precise pressure. He wanted her to come like this, pinned against the edge of the world, with nothing but his name on her lips.
Her climax began as a tremor, then a quake. She shattered around him, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her body bowed against his, her inner muscles convulsing in rhythmic pulses that milked his cock. He watched her face, mesmerized by the raw beauty of her release.
He was close, so close, the tight coil in his groin ready to snap.
“Well, this is a better view than the fucking travel brochures.”
The voice, laced with familiar, easy-going amusement, came from the open doorway.
Lando froze, buried inside her. His head snapped to the side.
Daniel stood there, leaning against the frame, a paper bag in one hand and a cardboard tray holding three coffees in the other. He was in jeans and a worn racing hoodie, his expression one of pure, unfazed delight. His eyes traveled slowly, appreciatively, over the scene: Aya, half-dressed and pinned, Lando rooted deep within her, the evidence of their frantic coupling glistening between them.
“Brought coffee,” Daniel said, his smirk widening. He stepped fully onto the terrace, setting the tray and bag down on a low outdoor table with deliberate casualness. The sound was obscenely normal.
Aya tried to move, to cover herself, but Lando’s arm around her waist held her fast. His grip tightened. A possessive claim. A challenge.
Daniel straightened up and took a few steps closer. He stopped just within arm’s reach. His gaze dropped to where their bodies were joined. Lando didn’t pull out. He remained inside her, a hot, rigid declaration.
“You rang the bell?” Lando’s voice was a gravelly rasp.
“Mate, it’s Monaco. The doorman knows me. Let me up.” Daniel’s eyes were on Aya’s face. She stared back, her expression a complex canvas of shock, shame, and a dark, undeniable thrill. Her breath was still coming in ragged pants.
Daniel reached out. Not towards Lando. His hand went to Aya’s bare thigh, which was still hitched over Lando’s hip. His fingers were warm and calloused. They trailed slowly, deliberately, up the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Higher. Until his fingertips brushed the damp, tangled curls at the apex of her legs, just beside where Lando was sheathed inside her.
Aya jerked as if electrocuted. A low whimper escaped her.
Lando’s entire body went rigid. He watched, hypnotized, as Daniel’s finger traced a slow, wet circle around her stretched entrance, gathering the slick evidence of their sex.
“You two started the party without me,” Daniel said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. His eyes lifted to meet Lando’s. There was no mockery now. Just a blunt, open hunger. “So. You asked for a bomb. Here I am. The question is…” He applied the slightest pressure with his fingertip, making Aya gasp. “…can you share properly this time? Or was the jet just a one-off, a bit of messy turbulence?”
The world narrowed to the three of them on that sun-drenched terrace. The past, the future, the championships—all of it dissolved into the present, into the feel of Aya’s body gripping him, into the heat of Daniel’s hand so close to his own, into the dangerous, glittering promise in Daniel’s eyes.
Lando didn’t speak. His answer was an action. A slow, deliberate withdrawal that made Aya moan. He pulled almost all the way out, his cock slick and gleaming. Then, holding Daniel’s gaze, he pushed back in, a deep, claiming stroke.
He was sharing. He was claiming. He was throwing a lit match onto the fuel-soaked chaos of his own heart.
And from the way Aya’s head fell back, her eyes closed, a ragged sob of pleasure tearing from her throat, she had already surrendered to the blast.
The ragged sob became a sharp, panicked inhale. Reality, cold and brutal, crashed through the pleasure haze. Aya’s eyes flew open, meeting the endless sky. Her body went rigid against Lando’s. “Wait,” she choked out, her hands pushing weakly at his chest. “Stop. Lando, stop.”
It was a reflex, pure and sudden, the instinctive recoil from the edge they were about to go over. She tried to twist away, to dislodge him and create space where there was none.
Daniel’s movement was fluid and immediate. His arm snaked around her waist from behind, yanking her back flush against his chest. Lando was forced to slide free from her with a wet, abrupt sound as Daniel pulled her across the few inches of stone that now felt like a canyon.
“Ah-ah-ah,” Daniel tutted, his voice a low, warm vibration against her ear. His left hand came up and closed around the front of her throat, not squeezing, just holding, a collar of possessive heat. “None of that now. You don’t get to light the fuse and then run from the bang.”
His other hand slid down her stomach, through the damp thatch of curls, and found her swollen clit. He pinched it, hard, between his thumb and forefinger. Aya cried out, a sharp, pained sound that melted instantly into a guttural moan. Her head fell back against his shoulder, her body arching into the cruel touch.
“See?” Daniel murmured, his lips brushing her temple. He worked her clit in rough, circular strokes, his grip on her throat firm and steadying. “Your body’s smarter than you are. It knows what it wants. It’s dripping for it.”
Lando stood frozen, watching. The morning sun felt clinical now, exposing every detail: the terror and want warring on Aya’s face, the confident mastery in Daniel’s hold, his own cock, still hard and glistening with her wetness, throbbing in the empty air. He felt deposed. He felt complicit. A wild, hot jealousy coiled in his gut, but it was tangled inextricably with a blinding, depraved arousal.
“You gonna watch, champ?” Daniel asked, his eyes locking with Lando’s over Aya’s shoulder. He ground the rigid line of his erection, still confined by his jeans, against the bare, reddened skin of her ass. “Or you gonna come claim what’s yours?”
The challenge was a spark in dry tinder. Lando closed the distance in one stride. He gripped his cock, giving it two rough, slick pulls, and lined himself up with her entrance again. He pushed back inside her cunt in one brutal, reclaiming thrust, burying himself to the hilt.
Aya screamed, the sound strangled by the hand on her throat. She was impossibly full, stretched and speared, a conduit between their competing demands. Daniel’s fingers worked her clit with a punishing rhythm, a counterpoint to the deep, pounding drives of Lando’s hips.
“Tight little thing, isn’t she?” Daniel grunted, his own breath coming faster. He rocked against her ass, the denim harsh on her skin. “Fucking perfection. And you tried to keep this all to yourself. Selfish bastard.”
Lando didn’t answer. He fucked her with a focused, driving intensity, each snap of his pelvis slamming her back into Daniel’s chest. The wet, slapping sounds of their joining were obscenely loud in the dawn quiet. He watched his length disappear into her, watched Daniel’s hand moving between her legs, watched her face contort in a agony of pleasure.
“She comes harder with someone helping, doesn’t she?” Daniel taunted, his voice dripping with dark delight. He increased the pressure on her clit, his movements becoming frantic. “You felt it on the jet. Admit it. You love it. You love watching her come apart because of both of us.”
Lando’s control shattered. “Shut up,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic and punishing.
“Make me.”
Aya was babbling, a stream of broken pleas and fragmented words in languages Lando didn’t know. Her body was a live wire, vibrating between them, coiling tighter and tighter. Daniel’s hand tightened minutely on her throat, just a shade past comfort. “Come on, gorgeous,” he rasped in her ear. “Let go. Show your champion how it’s done.”
The orgasm ripped through her with violent, silent intensity. Her cunt clamped down on Lando in a series of vicious, rhythmic spasms that milked him relentlessly. Her whole body seized, held taut between their grips.
It tipped Lando over the edge. With a raw, torn shout, he plunged deep and came, pouring himself into her in hot, pulsing jets. His vision whited out, his hips stuttering against her as he emptied himself.
He slumped forward, his forehead resting on her shoulder, spent. Daniel slowly released Aya’s throat, his hand gentling on her clit to soft, coaxing strokes that drew out the last shudders from her. For a long moment, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant cry of gulls.
Daniel was the first to move. He pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to the side of Aya’s sweaty neck. Then he carefully extracted himself, stepping back and leaving her swaying, supported only by Lando’s weakened embrace.
“Coffee’s probably still warm,” Daniel said, his voice returning to its normal, easy cadence as if commenting on the weather. He walked to the table, pulled a cup from the tray, and took a long sip. He looked out at the sea, now a brilliant, innocent blue. “Might need a minute, though.”
Lando, still buried inside her, still holding her up, felt the world come back into a terrible, sharp focus. He had done it. He had shared. He had claimed. And now, in the brutal light of the Monaco sun, he had absolutely no idea what came next.