With drawn-out, slow drags of my lips against hers, I kiss her. All the while I nudge her entrance with my crown, pretending I’m about to surge inside her.
“Please Roo,” she begs.
I finger her, her drenched puss tight and welcoming. “You want me in here?”
Her sounds of encouragement are music to my ears, and when she’s beyond impatient, when she’s on the cusp of coming, I shove my way inside her, bottoming out.
She throws her head back to the wall and sighs. “Fuck my brains out and show me who you really love.”
I pound her into that wall until she comes apart, loudly. And then I pull out and make her grip the handlebar, her arse out in a beautiful offering. Connected again, we chase towards our goal. We’re loud, but it doesn’t matter when the only people waiting on the other side of the door are probably my brothers. And perhaps Dad.
Dad.
God, I’ve never given him that recognition before. And it’s fucked up that I’m thinking about it now, but getting physical with Winter is cathartic, a release in so many ways.
Eyes fixed on mine via my reflection, Winter watches me. She’s mumbling all sorts of things, moaning and whimpering as I gather her up against my chest. Via the mirror, I watch her tits bounce and jostle as I drive inside her.
“What would you do if the video from this was seen by security?” I lead. “Would knowing they were watching us right now make you come harder?”
“Yes,” she breathes out. “But knowing you’ll watch it with Brecken and Luca later makes me hotter.”
When we come, it’s together. It’s a cataclysmic explosion of need and awareness and relief.
We catch our breath, slowly dressing.
Winter eyes the orbed camera in the top corner of the lift. Sienna’s card was deactivated a long time ago, and I always check on the feed when we’re done in here, just in case I ever have to run urgent interference.
Dressed, Winter slides her arms around me and I hit the Stop button again. The car lurches, the doors opening on near-silent hydraulics.
Out in the vestibule that divides our two suites, I come to a stop. Winter stops with me, running her hands through my hair. “What’s eating at your brain?”
“What do I call him? If Jasper’s my dad, what do I call Balthazar if not by his given name?”
Her eyes flash with shock, the green brightening as a new type of excitement takes hold of her. “What feels right? What’s comfortable?”
I shrug, memories rushing me. My confident swagger disappears, replaced by a feeling of being unmoored. “I spoke to Dad about this not that long ago. After that night Balthazar came to ours and we played cards once he’d left.”
“I remember,” she whispers, her hands smoothing over my pecs.
“We had a chat about me having two fathers.”
“And?”
“He said it was the greatest honor of his life to raise me. To be present at my accomplishments. To be there when I needed advice. To watch me grow into a man. He said—” I take a breath, feeling emotional. “He saidYour father loves you just as strongly as I do. Never doubt that. He would’ve given you the same opportunities we did. Fought for you at every chance. Encouraged and praised you at every turn. Just because I got the privilege of seeing you every day doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve to be called Dad, or Pops, or Pa, too.So what do I call him?” I ask.
“Roo,” she whispers, so much love conveyed in one word. So much pride. “Knock on that door and find out.”
For the second time this afternoon, I hesitate. “Come with me?”
“Of course.”
Taking the bull by the horns, I stride a few steps and knock on the door of Suite Balthazar. The lock gives way a few seconds later, the camera relaying who’s standing here.
Inside, my steps no longer feel quite so heavy but determined. Lighter. I speed up, yelling out, “Dad?”
Just at that moment, he passes through the threshold from the kitchen. He appears to stumble, a palm going out to the wall to steady himself.
“Son? What is it? Everything okay?”