Chapter 23: Join us
The words hung between them like a dare. Sergio exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing against her hips where he still held her. The cool air of the strategy room prickled against her sweat-damp skin, raising goosebumps along her thighs. He reached for the champagne glass still clutched in her hand, took a slow sip, his dark eyes never leaving hers.
"You don't say shit like that unless you mean it," he said, voice rough.
She held his gaze, unflinching. "I don't say shit I don't mean."
A muscle twitched in his jaw. He set the glass down hard, the sound sharp in the quiet room. Then his hands were on her again, dragging her against him, his mouth crashing down on hers. The kiss was bruising, possessive, his tongue sliding against hers with a hunger that made her knees weak. She bit his lower lip, hard enough to taste copper, and he growled, gripping her ass and lifting her onto the table.
The tactical maps and holoscreens meant nothing now. The polished surface was cool under her bare thighs as he shoved her legs apart, stepping between them. His cock was already hard again, jutting thick and flushed against his stomach. He gripped himself, stroked once, his thumb smearing the wetness still glistening at the tip.
"You're soaked," he muttered, dragging his fingers through her folds, teasing her entrance. "Still fucking dripping from me."
She arched into his touch, breath hitching. "Then do something about it."
He smirked, that arrogant, infuriating smirk that made her want to claw at him. He leaned down, nipped at her collarbone, then lower. His mouth closed over her nipple, sucking hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive peak until she gasped. His free hand slid up her inner thigh, fingers pressing just below where she wanted them.
"You gonna come again?" he murmured against her skin. "While he's still out there? While he *knows*?"
Her stomach tightened at the thought. Enzo was just beyond the door, probably listening to every sound, every hitched breath. The idea sent a fresh rush of heat between her legs.
Sergio felt it. His fingers slid lower, circling her clit in slow, maddening strokes. "Fuck, you love this," he breathed. "Love being watched. Love being *mine*."
She dug her nails into his shoulders, rocking against his hand. "Stop talking."
He laughed, low and dark, and finally pushed two fingers inside her, crooking them just right. She choked on a moan, her hips jerking.
"Quiet, *cariño*," he taunted, fucking her with his fingers, his thumb still working her clit. "Unless you *want* him to hear."
She bit her lip, the pleasure coiling tighter. His fingers were relentless, his rhythm just shy of cruel. She could feel her orgasm building, a slow, hot pressure, but he kept her teetering on the edge, denying her.
"Please—" she gasped, her thighs trembling.
"Please what?"
"*Fuck me.*"
He pulled his fingers free, slick with her, and gripped his cock. He lined himself up, the blunt head pressing against her entrance. "Like this?" he whispered, pushing in slowly, inch by torturous inch, stretching her deliciously. "Or like *this*?"
He slammed the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt with one brutal thrust.
Her back arched off the table, a sharp cry tearing from her throat. He didn't give her time to adjust, just pulled out and drove back in, setting a punishing pace. The table shuddered beneath them, the champagne glasses clinking dangerously. His hands pinned her hips down, holding her in place as he fucked her, deep and rough, each snap of his hips punching a gasp from her lungs.
She reached up, tangled her fingers in his hair, dragged his mouth back to hers. Their kisses were messy, teeth and tongue, breathless panting between them. He broke away, his forehead resting against hers, his breath hot on her lips.
"Tell me again," he demanded, his voice ragged. "Tell me it's more."
She dug her heels into his lower back, urging him deeper. "*Sí*," she hissed. "*Es más. Es todo.*"
His groan was raw, almost pained. He hooked an arm under her knee, hitching her leg higher, changing the angle. The next thrust hit *just there*, and she saw stars.
"Gonna come," she gasped, her nails scoring down his back. "Fuck, Sergio—"
He pistoned into her, his rhythm faltering. "Yeah? Let me feel it. *Now*."
The orgasm ripped through her like a live wire, her body clamping around him in frantic pulses. She muffled her cry against his shoulder, teeth sinking into his skin. He fucked her through it, his own release surging as her muscles milked him. With a broken curse, he buried himself deep, grinding against her as he came, his hips stuttering.
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing hard, sweat-slick skin sticking together. Slowly, he pulled out, hissing at the oversensitivity. He grabbed the discarded blouse again, wiped between her thighs, his touch unexpectedly gentle.
Outside, a door clicked shut. A quiet, deliberate sound.
Enzo had left.
Sergio exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Media pen at nine," he muttered, as if reminding himself.
Alma sat up slowly, wincing at the ache between her legs. She reached for her clothes, her fingers unsteady. "You think he'll actually fire me?"
Sergio glanced at her, something unreadable in his gaze. "No."
She raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"
He stepped closer, cupped her face in his hands. "Yeah. Because if he tries, I quit."
The words hung there, heavy with implication. She searched his face, finding no trace of his usual smirk, no hint of a joke. Just raw, unnerving sincerity.
She swallowed. "You're insane."
He kissed her forehead, brief and soft. "*Sí. Pero soy tuyo.*"
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
The champagne bottle sat unopened between them, forgotten.
The champagne bottle sat unopened between them, forgotten.
Sergio’s fingers traced the curve of Alma’s bare hip where her blouse had ridden up, his touch possessive in the dim light. She could still feel him between her legs, the ache a delicious reminder of what they’d just done, of what *he* had heard. The air smelled like sex and expensive cologne, the hum of the motorhome’s AC unit the only sound between them.
Then the doorknob turned.
Alma tensed, but Sergio didn’t move. He smirked, his grip tightening on her, his thumb pressing into the bruise he’d left earlier. The door opened—Enzo’s polished loafers appeared first, then his sharp, unreadable expression as he took in the scene.
Alma’s breath hitched, her face burning, but Sergio just leaned back, spreading his legs wider, making sure Enzo got a full view of her spread open beneath him. His cock was still wet, still hard.
“You’re late,” Sergio said casually, as if they were discussing race strategy instead of the fact that Alma was bare from the waist down, her thighs glistening.
Enzo exhaled through his nose, his jaw tight, but he didn’t leave. He stepped inside, shut the door behind him. Locked it.
Alma’s pulse spiked.
Sergio grinned, slow and wicked, and dragged her forward by the hips, lifting her just enough to slide back into her with one smooth, filthy thrust. She gasped, her nails biting into the table, but he didn’t stop, didn’t give her a second to adjust. His rhythm was brutal, punishing, each snap of his hips making her clench around him.
“Fuck,” she choked out, her head falling back.
Enzo didn’t look away. He took a seat in one of the leather chairs, crossed his legs, and watched. The ice in his glass clinked as he took a sip of whiskey, his expression unreadable.
Sergio’s hand slid up her stomach, grabbing a fistful of her blouse and yanking it down until her breasts spilled free. He palmed one, rolling her nipple between his fingers, his other hand gripping her hip hard enough to bruise.
“Tell him,” Sergio demanded, his voice rough.
Alma shook her head, her thighs trembling.
He slammed into her harder, making her cry out. “Tell him whose cunt this is.”
She whimpered, the pleasure coiling tight, the shame only making it worse. “Yours.”
Sergio smirked, glancing at Enzo. “Hear that?” He slowed his thrusts, dragging his cock almost all the way out before sinking back in, making sure Enzo saw how she took him, how fucking wet she was for it. “All mine.”
Enzo’s knuckles whitened around his glass.
Sergio’s free hand moved to his own cock, stroking himself in time with his thrusts, his thumb smearing precum over the head. He never broke eye contact with Enzo, his grin turning feral. “You gonna just sit there, or you gonna fucking help?”
Alma’s breath caught.
Enzo set his drink down. Slowly, deliberately, he stood.
Sergio laughed, low and dark, and fucked into her harder. “That’s what I thought.”
The air thickened with the scent of sex, whiskey, and something darker—something that coiled low in Alma’s gut as Enzo approached. His polished veneer cracked just enough for her to see the hunger beneath, the way his throat worked as he unfastened his belt with deliberate slowness.
Sergio didn’t slow his pace, fucking into her with the same ruthless precision he used to carve through corners on the track. His fingers dug into her hips, holding her open, making sure Enzo had a perfect view of where his cock split her apart.
"Never thought you'd actually do it," Sergio taunted, breath ragged.
Enzo’s jaw tightened. He gripped Alma’s chin, forcing her to look up at him. His thumb pressed against her bottom lip, smearing the gloss she’d reapplied before the podium ceremony. "Open."
Her pulse hammered. She hesitated—just a fraction—before parting her lips.
Enzo didn’t give her time to brace. He shoved his cock into her mouth with a grunt, thick and heavy on her tongue, the salt-bitter taste of precum hitting the back of her throat. She gagged, her nails scraping the table, but he didn’t pull back. Just gripped her hair and fucked in deeper.
Sergio groaned above her, his thrusts turning jagged. "Fuck, look at her. *Mierda*, she’s choking on you."
Alma’s eyes watered. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, just the relentless stretch of Enzo in her throat and Sergio pounding into her cunt, the dual invasion overwhelming. She whined, a broken sound, her body trembling between them.
Enzo pulled back just enough to let her gasp for air, his fingers tightening in her curls. "You asked for this," he muttered, dark and rough. "You wanted us both."
She hadn’t. Not like this. But the words died as he shoved back in, his hips snapping forward, forcing her to take him deeper. Sergio’s grip on her thighs tightened, his pace turning brutal, the slap of skin echoing in the room.
She was trapped. Used.
And God help her, she fucking loved it.
The panic melted into something hotter, darker. Her moan vibrated around Enzo’s cock, her tongue working the underside as she relaxed her throat, taking him deeper. Sergio cursed, his fingers digging into her clit, rubbing rough circles that sent sparks up her spine.
"*That’s it*," he growled. "Take it. Fucking take us both."
She did.
Enzo’s thrusts turned rhythmic, his cock hitting the back of her throat with every push, his groans mingling with Sergio’s. The stretch burned, but the pain twisted into pleasure, her body clenching around Sergio in helpless pulses.
She came hard, her thighs shaking, her cunt fluttering around Sergio’s cock as he fucked her through it. He didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just ground into her, prolonging the aftershocks until she was wrung out and gasping.
Enzo pulled out, his cock glistening with her spit. "Again."
Sergio laughed, breathless, his hands sliding up to grip her tits, pinching her nipples until she arched off the table. "You heard him."
She barely had time to nod before Enzo was back in her mouth, his thrusts harder now, less controlled. Sergio angled her hips higher, driving into her with a filthy grind that made her see stars. The second orgasm ripped through her, raw and electric, her scream muffled around Enzo’s cock.
They didn’t stop.
Enzo fucked her throat like he was punishing her for every time she’d rolled her eyes at his demands, every clipped *no* she’d given Sergio in the early days. Sergio matched him stroke for stroke, his cock dragging over her swollen walls until she was sobbing, oversensitive and wrung out.
The third time she came, she blacked out for a second, her vision whiting at the edges. The fourth, she scratched bloody lines down Sergio’s arms. The fifth, she bit down on Enzo’s thigh hard enough to leave teeth marks.
By the sixth, she was begging.
"Please—*please*—I can’t—"
Sergio dragged his thumb over her clit, his voice wrecked. "One more."
She shook her head, tears streaking her cheeks, but her body betrayed her, tightening around him as he fucked her into another brutal climax. Enzo groaned above her, his fingers tightening in her hair as he came down her throat, his hips stuttering. She swallowed reflexively, the bitter tang flooding her mouth.
Sergio followed with a choked curse, burying himself deep as he pulsed inside her, his grip on her hips hard enough to bruise.
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by their ragged breathing.
Enzo stepped back first, wiping his cock with a handkerchief from his pocket like it was just another business meeting. Sergio collapsed onto the couch, his chest heaving, his gaze locked on Alma where she lay sprawled across the table, her thighs sticky, her lips swollen.
She couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.
Enzo cleared his throat. "Press conference in twenty."
Sergio smirked, reaching for his discarded shirt. "Better clean her up first."
Alma closed her eyes.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever walk straight again.
She wasn’t sure she’d ever walk straight again.
The motorhome swayed slightly as someone moved in the lounge beyond the door, the murmur of voices a distant hum. Alma lay boneless, the cold table biting into her bare back, her thighs sticky and spread. The air smelled of sweat and sex and the sharp, expensive whiskey Enzo had been drinking.
Sergio’s fingers traced a lazy path up her inner thigh, smearing dampness. “Fuck, you’re still dripping,” he murmured, voice rough with satisfaction.
She shivered.
A shadow fell over them. Enzo stood at the edge of the table, his tie loosened, his gaze black and unreadable. He didn’t touch her. Just looked. Like she was a problem he hadn’t quite solved.
Sergio smirked. “Got something to say, old man?”
Enzo’s jaw tightened. Then, without warning, he grabbed Alma’s wrist and yanked her upright. She gasped as her bare ass hit the table’s edge, her legs instinctively closing—until Enzo pushed them back apart with his knee.
His grip was bruising. His voice, lower than she’d ever heard it: “You think this is a game?”
Alma’s pulse stuttered.
Sergio tensed, half-rising from the couch. “Easy—”
Enzo ignored him. His other hand slid between her legs, fingers pressing against her swollen flesh. She flinched, oversensitive, but he didn’t stop. Just pushed two fingers into her without warning, fucking them deep, his thumb grinding against her clit.
She cried out, her back arching.
“You don’t get to play with him,” Enzo said coldly, “without consequences.”
Sergio was on his feet now, his expression darkening. “Enzo.”
The older man didn’t even glance at him. Just twisted his fingers inside Alma, making her gasp, his gaze locked on her face. “You want to be his whore? Fine. But you’ll be *mine* first.”
The words landed like a slap.
Alma’s breath came fast, her body torn between pain and the sick, twisting pleasure of his fingers working her open. She should’ve shoved him away. Should’ve told him to go to hell.
Instead, she bit her lip. Waited.
Sergio moved like lightning, grabbing Enzo’s shoulder and spinning him around. “Back the fuck off.”
Enzo didn’t flinch. Just withdrew his fingers slowly, deliberately, and licked them clean, never breaking eye contact with Alma. “Tell him,” he said softly.
Her stomach dropped.
Sergio’s grip tightened. “Tell me what?”
The room went very still.
Enzo’s smile was razor-thin. “Ask her what she did in Budapest.”
Alma’s blood turned to ice.
Sergio’s gaze flicked between them. “What the hell is this?”
Enzo stepped back, straightening his cuffs. “The night you crashed in qualifying. She came to my hotel room.”
The air left Alma’s lungs.
Sergio went utterly still.
Enzo didn’t wait for a reaction. Just walked to the bar, poured another whiskey. “She was worried about you. Wanted me to pull you from the race.” He took a sip. “I told her no.”
Alma’s fingers dug into the table’s edge.
Sergio exhaled sharply. “And?”
Enzo turned, his expression unreadable. “She begged.”
The word hung there, ugly and raw.
Alma’s face burned. She *had* begged. On her knees, tears streaking her face, her pride in tatters. She’d been desperate—terrified Sergio would push too hard, crash again, break apart on some fucking corner.
Enzo had watched her unravel. Then he’d pulled her up by the hair, pressed her against the window overlooking the track, and fucked her raw while she sobbed.
She hadn’t told Sergio.
She’d never planned to.
Sergio’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Is that true?”
Alma swallowed. Nodded.
For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then Sergio laughed, low and humorless. “Christ.” He ran a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing. “So that’s why you’ve been so fucking tense around him.”
Enzo’s gaze never left her. “She came twice.”
Sergio’s nostrils flared. His knuckles whitened around his glass.
Alma couldn’t breathe.
Then—
Sergio slammed the glass down. Grabbed Enzo by the collar and shoved him against the wall. “You don’t touch her,” he snarled. “Not unless I say.”
Enzo didn’t fight back. Just smirked. “Too late.”
Sergio’s fist connected with his jaw before Alma could blink. The crack of bone against bone echoed in the small space. Enzo staggered, but didn’t go down. Just wiped his mouth, glanced at the blood on his hand, and laughed.
“Feel better?”
Sergio’s chest heaved. His gaze cut to Alma. “You want him?”
The question was a trap. A challenge.
She licked her lips.
Sergio’s eyes darkened. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Say it.”
Her pulse roared in her ears. “Yes.”
The word was barely a whisper.
Sergio’s grip tightened. Then, abruptly, he let go. Stepped back. “Then take him.”
Silence.
Enzo straightened, his gaze locked on Alma. Waiting.
She slid off the table, her legs shaky. Took one step. Then another.
Sergio watched, his jaw clenched, as she reached for Enzo’s belt.
The older man didn’t move. Just let her unbuckle it, let her push his slacks down his hips. His cock was already hard again, thick and flushed.
Alma didn’t hesitate. She dropped to her knees.
Sergio’s breath hitched.
Enzo tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her mouth to his cock. “Show him,” he murmured, “how good you are.”
She opened. Took him deep.
Sergio made a raw, wounded sound.
Enzo’s fingers tightened. “Again.”
She obeyed, hollowing her cheeks, her tongue working the underside of his cock as she sucked him deeper. The taste of him—salt and musk and the faint tang of blood from Sergio’s punch—flooded her senses.
Sergio watched, his own cock hard again, his hand fisting at his side.
Enzo groaned, his hips jerking forward. “Fuck, just like that—”
Alma whimpered around him, the vibrations making him curse. She could feel Sergio’s gaze like a brand, the heat of it searing her skin.
Then—
Sergio was there, shoving Enzo back, gripping Alma’s hair and yanking her off his cock. “Mine,” he growled, dragging her up.
Enzo smirked. “Prove it.”
Sergio didn’t hesitate. He bent Alma over the table, spread her legs, and fucked into her with one brutal thrust. She cried out, her fingers scrambling for purchase, but he didn’t stop. Just hammered into her, his grip bruising, his breath hot on her neck.
Enzo moved behind him, his hands sliding over Sergio’s back. “You want to share her?” he murmured. “Then share.”
Sergio stilled.
Alma held her breath.
Then—
Sergio pulled out. Turned. Grabbed Enzo by the back of the neck and kissed him, hard and filthy.
Alma’s stomach flipped.
Enzo groaned into the kiss, his hands fisting in Sergio’s hair. They broke apart, both breathing hard.
Sergio’s voice was rough. “You fuck her. I watch.”
Enzo’s eyes darkened. He pushed Sergio onto the couch, then turned to Alma. “Come here.”
She went.
He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her to Sergio. Lowered her onto his cock with a slow, deliberate roll of his hips.
Alma gasped as Sergio filled her, her head falling back against Enzo’s shoulder.
Enzo bit her neck. “Now me.”
Sergio’s hands tightened on her hips. “Do it.”
Enzo reached between them, guiding himself to her ass. The blunt pressure made her tense.
Sergio kissed her, deep and filthy, as Enzo pushed in.
The stretch burned. Alma whimpered, her nails digging into Sergio’s shoulders.
Enzo groaned, his forehead dropping to her back. “Fuck, you’re tight.”
Sergio grinned against her mouth. “Move.”
They did.
Enzo pulled out, then thrust back in, setting a brutal rhythm. Sergio matched him, their cocks dragging against each other inside her, the dual fullness overwhelming. Alma’s moans turned ragged, her body trembling between them.
Sergio’s hands slid up to her tits, pinching her nipples hard. “Tell me who you belong to.”
She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think.
Enzo bit her shoulder. “Say it.”
“You,” she gasped. “Both of you—”
Sergio slammed up into her. “*Louder.*”
She screamed.
They didn’t stop.
Enzo’s thrusts turned erratic, his grip bruising. Sergio’s breath was hot against her ear, his cock pulsing inside her.
Then—
Enzo came with a groan, his hips jerking as he emptied himself in her ass. Sergio followed, his release flooding her cunt in hot, wet pulses.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, breathless, sweat-slick.
The motorhome was silent except for their ragged breathing.
Enzo pulled out first, his fingers tracing the marks he’d left on Alma’s hips. “Press conference,” he muttered, glancing at his watch.
Sergio laughed, low and exhausted. “Fuck the press.”
Alma didn’t move. Couldn’t.
Enzo stood, adjusting his clothes with practiced ease. His gaze met hers, unreadable. “You’re fired.”
Sergio sat up sharply. “What?”
Enzo smirked. “Effective tomorrow.” He tossed a keycard onto the table. “My penthouse. Nine o’clock.”
Alma’s pulse jumped.
Sergio scowled. “The hell—”
“Don’t be late,” Enzo said, and walked out.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Silence.
Sergio exhaled. “Well. That happened.”
Alma stared at the keycard.
Sergio followed her gaze. His fingers brushed her thigh. “You going?”
She looked at him. Said nothing.
He grinned. “Yeah. Me too.”