Chapter 6: Breakfast Interrupted
Sunlight, sharp and merciless, carved lines across the black marble floor. Jamie awoke tangled in a labyrinth of limbs and dark silk. Luca’s arm was a heavy weight across her ribs, his breath warm against her neck. Nico’s back was pressed against hers, a solid wall of heat. For a suspended moment, in the quiet hum of the penthouse, the previous night felt like a strange, vivid dream.
Then she moved, a slight shift, and a dull ache bloomed between her thighs. The memory crashed back in Technicolor detail: the steel balls, Nico’s tongue, Luca’s piercing, the brutal claiming that was also, somehow, a pledge. A family. The word Nico had used hung in the air, more fragile than the morning light.
Luca stirred, his blue eyes opening. They were clear, unguarded for a second before the shutters came down. He extracted his arm, running a hand through his disheveled blonde hair. He didn’t look at her. He looked past her, to Nico, who was already awake, watching them both with those unreadable green eyes.
“Coffee,” Luca grunted, his voice sleep-roughened. He slid from the bed, naked and unselfconscious, the intricate tattoos a moving tapestry across his back and shoulders as he padded toward the kitchen.
Nico shifted, rolling onto his side to face Jamie. He traced the faint bruise on her shoulder where Luca’s teeth had marked her. “You okay?” His voice was a low rumble.
She nodded, not quite trusting her own. Okay was a distant country. She was sore, confused, and a part of her felt shattered open. Another part felt fiercely, dangerously alive.
“Good,” Nico said, simple and final. He leaned in, kissed her forehead—a shockingly tender gesture from the man who had done such filthy, wonderful things to her hours before—and then followed Luca.
Jamie lay there, listening to the domestic sounds of the coffee machine, the soft clink of china. The normalcy of it was the most surreal part. She finally rose, wrapping a sheet around herself, and ventured out. They were at the kitchen island, Luca pouring three cups of black coffee, Nico scrolling through his phone. They were both dressed in low-slung sweatpants, bare-chested. It was a portrait of easy intimacy she was intruding upon.
“Sit,” Luca said, not unkindly, pushing a cup toward her. She took a stool, the cold marble seeping through the sheet.
Silence stretched, thick and awkward, broken only by the sound of sipping. Nico finally put his phone down. “Marius can be here at eleven. He’ll bring the shot.”
Luca’s jaw tightened. He stared into his coffee. “The shot” was the unspoken answer to last night’s problem. The temporary solution. No heir. Not yet.
“My father will ask,” Luca said quietly. “He’ll want to know why there’s no pregnancy.”
“We’ll tell him it takes time,” Nico shrugged, but his shoulders were tense. “Or we tell him nothing. It’s not his business.”
“Everything in this house is his business,” Luca countered, a flicker of the previous night’s anger in his eyes. He turned to Jamie. “You understand what this is? A contraceptive shot. It lasts three months. It’ll buy us time.”
Time for what? She wanted to ask. But she just nodded again, her pre-med mind cataloging the type, the dosage, the implications. “I understand.”
Luca studied her, his gaze analytical. “You’re not fighting it.”
“Would it matter if I did?” The question slipped out, honest and sharp.
A ghost of a smile touched Luca’s lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. “No.”
Nico stood abruptly. “I’m making food. We need to eat.” He moved to the Sub-Zero refrigerator, pulling out eggs, cream, bacon. The action seemed to break a spell.
An hour later, the scent of frying bacon and vanilla hung in the air. Nico, surprisingly, was an excellent cook. He’d whipped up a stack of fluffy pancakes, thick-cut bacon, a bowl of glossy berries. They’d moved to the large sofa, plates balanced on laps, the sprawling city view their television.
Jamie, feeling a strange surge of defiant courage, had taken her plate and climbed into Luca’s lap, facing away from him. She felt him tense beneath her, then slowly relax. His hands settled on her bare thighs where the sheet had fallen away. She could feel him, hard and warm even through his sweatpants.
Nico watched from an armchair, a slow smile spreading across his face. He cut a forkful of pancake, dripping with maple syrup, and held it out to her. “Here. Taste.”
She leaned forward from her perch on Luca, her body stretching, and took the bite from his fork. The sweetness exploded on her tongue. As she chewed, Nico’s free hand snaked out. His fingers, still slightly sticky from the syrup, trailed down her spine, over the curve of her ass cheek. He didn’t go for her cunt. His thumb found the pucker of her asshole, still sensitive from his attention last night, and pressed against it with a blunt, possessive pressure.
Jamie moaned around the mouthful of pancake, her hips rocking back instinctively. The movement ground her down onto Luca’s lap, her thin panties doing nothing to hide the heat of her, or the hard line of his erection. She felt him twitch beneath her.
“Fuck,” Luca breathed into her ear, his hands tightening on her thighs. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
She was. She leaned forward again, this time taking Nico’s whole fork from his hand. She speared another piece of pancake, drenched it in syrup, and turned to offer it to Nico. He accepted it from her fingers, his lips closing around the fork, his eyes locked on hers. All the while, his thumb continued its slow, circular pressure against her back hole.
Jamie rocked again, a slow, filthy grind against Luca. She felt the distinct outline of his piercing through the fabric. The dual sensations—the intimate pressure from Nico behind, the promising friction from Luca beneath—sent sparks up her spine. Her breathing hitched.
“Breakfast is getting cold,” Nico murmured, but he was already setting his plate aside. His gaze was dark, hungry.
“Fuck breakfast,” Luca growled. In one fluid, powerful motion, he grasped Jamie’s hips and lifted her. He flipped her onto her back on the wide couch cushions, coming down over her, caging her with his body. Nico was there in an instant, moving with the lethal grace of his profession. He pinned her wrists above her head with one large hand, his other hand sliding down her stomach, under the waistband of her panties.
Luca didn’t bother with removal.
Luca didn’t bother with removal. He simply tore her panties aside, the silk shredding with a sharp sound, and guided the thick, pierced head of his cock to her soaked entrance. He pushed inside, a brutal, claiming stroke that drove the air from her lungs. She gasped, arching off the couch, her wrists straining in Nico’s unbreakable grip.
“So fucking tight,” Luca grunted, his hips already settling into a deep, punishing rhythm. “Always so goddamn tight for me.”
Nico watched, his green eyes blazing, his free hand stroking himself through his sweats. He leaned down, his mouth close to her ear. “You love this, don’t you? Being used. Being filled.” His voice was a rough whisper, laced with dark possession. “Look at you, taking him so deep.”
Jamie could only nod, her world narrowing to the furious drive of Luca’s hips, the stretch and burn of him, the scrape of his piercing against that sweet, secret spot inside her. Pleasure coiled, hot and urgent, low in her belly. Nico’s hand released her wrists only to cup her breast, thumbing her nipple harshly. Then his fingers traced her lips, smearing the sticky residue of maple syrup from their abandoned breakfast.
“Open,” Nico commanded, and she did, sucking his syrup-sweet fingers into her mouth, her tongue lapping at the sugar. The obscene contrast of tastes—sweetness and sex—unlocked something raw in her.
Luca’s pace grew frantic, his breaths coming in ragged pants against her neck. “Gonna come inside this perfect cunt,” he snarled, his control fraying. “Mark you up inside. Fuck his shot.”
The words, the sheer possessive violence of them, triggered her own climax. It ripped through her without warning, a silent, screaming wave that clenched around his invading length. Her back bowed off the couch, a strangled cry caught in her throat.
Luca swore, a vicious, beautiful sound, and followed her over the edge. He drove deep, grinding into her as he pulsed, his release hot and profuse inside her. He collapsed upon her, his weight a crushing, welcome anchor.
Nico’s hand slid between their sweat-slicked bodies, his fingers finding her oversensitive clit. “Not done,” he murmured, his voice thick. He rubbed tight, relentless circles, pulling a second, sharper orgasm from her trembling body. She whimpered, oversensitized and shaking.
As the aftershocks subsided, Luca rolled off her, lying back on the couch, his chest heaving. Nico gathered her against him, his arms wrapping around her from behind, his face buried in her hair. The room was silent save for their labored breathing. The city glittered, a indifferent panorama beyond the glass.
Jamie felt the warm trickle of Luca’s spend seeping out of her, onto the cool leather of the couch. A stark, physical reality. Her mind, usually so clinical, felt scoured clean by sensation. Nico’s arms tightened around her. Luca’s hand found hers, their fingers tangling.
In the quiet, the truth of the last words spoken hung between them. Fuck his shot.
“Luca,” Nico said softly, a warning in his tone.
“I know.” Luca stared at the ceiling, his expression bleak. “I know what it means.”
Jamie’s heart hammered against her ribs. The silence stretched, taut and heavy with unspoken decisions. She thought of the steel balls, of the cold dining room, of Michael Rossi’s calculating eyes. She thought of Nico’s whispered “family” in the dark. She thought of Luca’s rage, and his kisses, and the piercing clarity of his body inside hers.
The words came from a place deeper than fear, deeper than debt.
“Don’t.” Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper. She cleared her throat, pushing herself up on one elbow. She looked at Luca, then turned her head to Nico pressed against her back. “Don’t tell him no.”
Luca turned his head, his blue eyes sharp. “What?”
She took a shuddering breath. The vulnerability was a physical ache. “Marius. The shot. Don’t tell him to come.”
Nico went very still behind her. Luca pushed himself up on his elbows, his gaze searching her face. “Jamie. You understand what you’re saying?”
She nodded, her auburn hair sticking to her damp cheeks. “I don’t want his plan either.” She swallowed, forcing the rest out. “But I… I like the idea. Of it being yours. Of it being ours.” She looked from one to the other, her blue eyes fierce with a terrifying sincerity. “I’m falling for both of you. And I want it. I want your baby.”
The confession hung in the air, more shocking than any act they’d performed. It was raw, unguarded, and utterly disarming.
Luca stared at her, his facade of cold control utterly shattered. Something profound and vulnerable flickered in his eyes. Nico’s arms convulsed around her, pulling her tighter into the solid warmth of his chest. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder, a hard, grateful press of his lips.
Before either man could form a reply, a discrete chime echoed through the penthouse. The security system. Someone was at the private elevator door.
Nico tensed, his body shifting immediately from lover to protector. “Marius,” he said, the single word laced with implication. “Early.”
Luca’s expression closed, the moment of vulnerability snapping shut like a vault. He swung his legs off the couch, pulling up his sweatpants. “Get dressed. Both of you.”
He stood, naked to the waist, his torso a map of ink and tension. He looked down at Jamie, her confession still luminous in the air between them. He reached out, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from her face, a gesture so tender it made her heart stutter.
“We’ll talk,” he said, his voice low. “After.”
The chime sounded again, more insistent this time. The decision, for now, was deferred. But the path had been chosen. Jamie scrambled for her sheet, her body humming with the echo of his touch and the weight of her own words, as the outside world, with its injections and its calculations, demanded entry once more.
Jamie scrambled for her sheet, her body humming with the echo of his touch and the weight of her own words, as the outside world, with its injections and its calculations, demanded entry once more. Nico was already at the door, securing a pair of jeans, his movements efficient and silent. Luca threw on a black t-shirt, his expression retreating behind that familiar, impenetrable wall. The domestic heat of the moment shattered like glass.
“Clean up,” Luca said to her, his voice devoid of its earlier rasp. It was a command, flat and cold. “Meet us in the living room. Now.”
He didn’t wait for a response. He followed Nico, leaving her standing on the cool marble, the scent of sex and syrup clinging to her skin. The sudden shift was a physical blow. She wrapped the sheet tighter, a useless shield, and hurried to the guest bathroom she sometimes used. The water from the faucet was a shock, scrubbing away the stickiness but not the feeling of him inside her, nor the echo of her own confession. I want your baby. The words felt foolish now, childishly naive against the sterile chrome and porcelain.
She dressed quickly in simple cotton leggings and a soft sweater, fabric that felt like armor. When she stepped into the main living space, a man she didn’t recognize was placing a sleek medical case on the glass coffee table. Marius. He was older, with a tired, intelligent face and eyes that registered her without a flicker of interest. Luca and Nico stood like sentinels on either side of him, their postures rigid.
“This is Jamie,” Luca said, the introduction a transaction. “Proceed.”
Marius nodded, clicking open the case. Inside, nestled in foam, were vials, a sealed syringe, alcohol wipes. The tools of her reprieve—or her betrayal, she no longer knew. “Arm, please,” he said, his voice calm and impersonal.
She offered her left arm, rolling up the sleeve. Nico’s gaze was a physical pressure on her, but she fixed her eyes on a point beyond the windows, on a distant skyscraper gleaming in the sun. The wipe was cold. The needle was a sharp, precise pinch. She didn’t flinch. The plunger depressed, a cool flood entering her muscle. It felt like a conclusion.
“It’s effective immediately,” Marius stated, capping the needle. “I’ll return in eleven weeks for the next dose, unless instructed otherwise.” He looked at Luca for confirmation.
Luca’s jaw was a hard line. “You’ll be instructed,” he said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. Nico saw Marius out, the elevator’s soft chime a final note.
The silence after the door sealed was heavier than before. Luca didn’t look at her. He poured himself three fingers of whiskey, though it was barely noon, and downed it. “You did the right thing,” he finally said, his back to her. “Taking it.”
“Did I?” The question hung in the air. She wasn’t sure who she was asking.
He turned, his blue eyes glacial. “Yes. This isn’t a fairy tale, Jamie. A child right now is a target. A weapon he would use.” He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture frustrated. “We protect what’s ours. Sometimes that means waiting.”
Nico re-entered, the quiet tension in his shoulders easing only slightly. “Marius is gone. No one else knows he was here.” He looked at Jamie, his green eyes softening. “You okay? Your arm?”
“It’s fine.” She rubbed the spot, a small, tender ache. The real ache was deeper, a hollow disappointment she hadn’t known she could feel. Her bold declaration in the afterglow now seemed like a fantasy. This—the clinical shot, the strategic delay—was the reality.
Luca’s phone buzzed, a harsh sound on the marble. He glanced at it, his face tightening. “I have to go. Nico. With me.” It wasn’t a request. Business, the endless, shadowy business, had reclaimed him.
Nico crossed to her, cupped her face in his hands. His thumbs stroked her cheekbones. “We’ll be back. Don’t… don’t overthink.” He kissed her, a brief, hard press of his lips, full of unspoken things. Then he was gone too, grabbing a jacket, following Luca out the private entrance. The lock engaged with a solid, final thud.
And then she was alone.
The penthouse, so vast and opulent, felt like a gilded cage. The silence was a living thing. She wandered from room to room, trailing her fingers over cold surfaces. She thought of her dorm room, cluttered with textbooks and ambition. She thought of the steel balls from the night before, now probably cleaned and stored away. She thought of the warmth of them pressed against her in bed, a warmth now absent.
Hours bled into one another, marked only by the shifting sun across the floor. She tried to read a medical textbook she’d requested, but the words swam on the page. Ovarian function. Hormonal suppression. They were just words. Her dreams felt like pages from someone else’s life.
Evening arrived, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. No call. No text. She made herself a simple meal she didn’t taste. The bed in the guest room, her room, felt vast and cold. She finally retreated there, pulling out a simple leather-bound journal from her nightstand. The pen felt heavy in her hand.
She titled a page GOALS. Underneath, she wrote: Got into med school. She stared at it, then drew a single, dark line through it. Beneath, she scribbled, Need a new plan since Dad messed that up for me. The ink bled a little.
On a fresh page, she began to write, not about goals, but about them. About Nico’s watchful eyes, the surprising gentleness in his brutal hands. About Luca’ storms of anger and the devastating vulnerability underneath. She wrote about the feel of Luca’s piercing inside her, the filthy things Nico whispered in her ear, the way they moved around each other in a silent, understood dance. Her pen slowed, then wrote the truth she hadn’t fully admitted to herself until the words hit the page: Well I never dreamed I’d fall for them but they are my prefect men… If I can’t have my dream of med school at least I have them…
She underlined have them. The words looked pathetic and desperate and terribly honest. She closed the journal, leaving it open on the bedside table, the pages a raw, exposed nerve. She turned off the light, curling onto her side in the big, empty bed, unsure of everything, especially of her place in the violent, beautiful puzzle of their lives.
The city’s neon glow bled around the edges of the blinds. Sleep was a fitful guest.
The key turned in the lock well past midnight. Luca entered first, his shoulders slumped with a deep, familiar exhaustion. Nico followed, closing the door softly behind them. The penthouse was dark, silent. A single lamp glowed from the hallway, casting long shadows.
“She’s asleep,” Nico murmured, his voice gravelly with fatigue.
Luca nodded, shedding his jacket. The events of the day—a messy collection issue, a territorial dispute that required his personal, threatening presence—clung to him like a bad smell. He needed a shower, a drink, oblivion. He moved toward the guest room door, paused. He never usually checked on her sleeping.
He pushed the door open quietly. She was a small mound under the duvet, her auburn hair fanned across the pillow. Something on the nightstand caught the sliver of light from the hall. Her journal, splayed open.
He shouldn’t. It was a violation. He stepped closer anyway. Nico appeared in the doorway, a silent question on his face. Luca didn’t turn. His eyes scanned the page titled GOALS, the crossed-out line through med school, the bleak scribble about her father.
His chest tightened. Then he saw the other page. His own name. Nico’s. He read her descriptions, her observations. They were unnervingly accurate. And then he saw it. The final lines.
Well I never dreamed I’d fall for them but they are my prefect men… If I can’t have my dream of med school at least I have them…
The misspelling—prefect instead of perfect—made his breath hitch. It was so achingly her. Smart, observant, yet somehow still naive. Not about them, but about her own worth. The sentiment wasn’t flowery or poetic. It was a simple, devastating ledger. A dream traded. A consolation prize.
Nico moved to stand beside him, reading over his shoulder. Luca heard his sharp, quiet intake of breath. Nico’s hand, usually so steady, reached out and traced the handwritten words with a fingertip, as if he could touch the ache in them.
Luca looked from the journal to Jamie’s sleeping form. The hollow feeling in his own chest, the one he carried every day, twisted into something new, something sharper. She had given up her future, and she saw her present with them as a compromise. A ‘at least’.
He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his gaze met Nico’s in the semi-darkness. Nico’s green eyes reflected a shared, grim understanding. This wasn’t just a deal anymore. It wasn’t just protection, or possession, or even a twisted kind of desire.
They were her new plan. And she was falling for them. The weight of that responsibility, of that fragile, misplaced trust, settled over Luca’s shoulders, heavier than any order from his father. He carefully closed the journal, the soft click loud in the quiet room. He didn’t move away from the bedside.