Page 124 of Knot Their Safe Haven
She laughed, the sound bright and free. "At this rate, you're going to kill me with kindness."
"What a way to go," Dante murmured, making her laugh again.
The pavilion felt like our own world, separate from reality. Just us, the fairy lights, and the promise of hours yet to explore. No rushing, no hiding, no pretending this was anything other than what it was—the beginning of something real.
"Ready for more?" I asked, tracing lazy patterns on her hip.
She turned those dark eyes on me, and the trust there nearly undid me completely.
"With you two? Hell fucking yeah.”
The choreography between my brother and I was the product of a lifetime’s practice—unspoken cues, a single glance enough to realign our intentions. So as the energy between us and Velvet spiked, as her pulse raced so hard I could see it at the hollow of her throat, Dante and I exchanged that signature flash of a grin: here goes everything. He slid around to her front, his body all feline power as he settled between her knees, hands bracing the outsides of her thighs, lifting her chin with a thumb not unlike the way I had minutes before. This time, though, his lips claimed hers with a hunger less restrained, the sort of kiss that expects to be kissed back. She didn’t disappoint.
I traced a hand up her flank and into the thickest part of her hair, guiding her gently to tilt her head as I leaned in from behind, my lips brushing her shoulder first, then the swell of her neck. The scent of her—black orchids and the faintest metallic undercurrent of adrenaline—was nearly dizzying. I pressed a kiss just below her ear, and with my other hand, let my palm skirt up along her inner thigh. Her skin was hot, taut, a quiver of anticipation everywhere I touched. I murmured there, voicelow and meant for her alone, “Ever taken it from behind?” I wasn’t expecting a prim response, but the way the question went through her—straight to the tips of her ears, which went a spectacular shade of red—was even more satisfying than her answer.
Dante, lips still pressed to hers, caught the shift in her temperature and pulled back just long enough to tease, “Such a loaded question, brother. I approve.”
“I mean, yes, of course I’ve—” Velvet’s voice was oddly shy, as if confessing to something far more risqué than anything the three of us were already doing. “But not… like this.” Her hands, which had been clutching at the blanket, crept up to dig into Dante’s shoulders. “Not at this… scale.”
Dante let out a hot, rough sound of approval. “You’re going to be incredible. Just let us take care of you.”
I repositioned, one knee nestled to the outside of Velvet’s thigh, the other bracing me on the blanket so that my upper body slotted against her back perfectly—like two puzzle pieces that had been separated for far too long. She leaned into me, back arching, and I felt her shiver as my mouth traced her jawline, down to her shoulder. My right hand slid ahead: first to her belly (tight with anticipation), then lower, fingers splaying at the very center of her. She gasped as I found her, already wet and wanting. “God, Velvet—” I whispered, deliberately letting every ounce of reverence leak into my tone. “You’re so ready, aren’t you?”
She made a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You have no idea.”
Dante, who’d been watching every microexpression flicker across her face, gave his own slow, deliberate stroke along his length, then nudged her thighs wider with his knee. “We’ll start slow. You’re the only one who matters here, piccola. You saystop, we stop.” His words were gentle, but the look in his eyes was absolute promise.
She nodded, a little breathless. “I trust you,” she managed, and the way her voice shook made me want to both conquer the world for her and handle her like she was spun sugar.
Dante angled himself, bracing a hand at the small of her back. I kept my hold around her hips, stabilizing her, letting her feel every inch of support and belonging. When he finally pressed into her, she inhaled so sharply I thought she’d faint. Instead, her eyes went wide, mouth parting around the most beautiful gasp.
I let her adjust, one hand stroking her hair, the other caressing slow circles along her ribs—anything to anchor her while she acclimated. Dante set a slow, rolling rhythm, each movement deep but controlled, and I matched it with my hand, teasing and coaxing her into pleasure. After a minute, I leaned into the shell of her ear, letting my tongue flick the lobe before whispering, “You’re doing so well, Velvet. Does it feel good?”
She giggled, the sound high and nearly delirious, and bucked her hips back at me. “God, yes. It’s a lot, but—” She reached blindly behind her, and I caught her wrist, guiding her palm to where I wanted her most. “But I want it all.”
“Always such an overachiever,” Dante teased, earning a playful glare before he devoured her mouth again.
She was close, I could tell: her whole body vibrating with the tension of it, hands and feet flexing in time with our rhythm. I kept her balanced, our movements a seamless trio of intent and support, and when she finally crashed over the edge, it was with a force that surprised even me. She clenched around Dante, her whole body shaking, and the sound she made was so primal it reverberated through my bones.
“Fuck,” she cried, her whole body quaking, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a shout. The sound of her needwas so raw it cut right through me—this wasn’t performative, wasn’t polite, it was Velvet stripped down to nothing but want and trust, allowing us to see her without armor. We held her there, suspended in that moment, Dante and I moving in perfect tandem, our hands and hips and mouths working together to drive her higher. Every inch of her glistened in the golden wash from the fairy lights; she was wild and beautiful and utterly ours.
“Louder, Velvet, baby. Let yourself go,” I coaxed, my voice thick with pride and hunger. I kept my lips near her ear, giving her something to focus on, a tether to reality as we pushed her further out of herself. She writhed between us, her nails sinking into Dante’s biceps hard enough to leave marks, maybe even draw blood, not that either of us minded. If anything, it drove us harder—her pleasure mapped in the aftermath across our skin.
“You like this, yes?” Dante growled, his tone pure velvet over steel, the kind of voice that could bring a grown man to his knees. He punctuated the words with a deep thrust, and Velvet arched back so sharply that her head hit my shoulder, black hair spilling everywhere. Her legs wrapped around his hips, drawing him even closer, as if she could bear the thought of any space left between them.
“Y-Yes,” she gasped, practically delirious with it. Every syllable came out wet and desperate. Her head rolled and she sought my mouth with hers, kissing me greedy and sloppy, like she needed the taste of me to anchor herself. I gave it to her, no restraint, sucking her bottom lip between my teeth and breaking the kiss only to let her breathe.
Dante’s hand found her breast, his thumb rolling over the hard peak until she made that noise again—a high, keening thing that I half expected to shatter the glass apple lamps overhead. “You’re incredible,” he whispered, and the words had her shuddering anew.
I could feel it building, the way her body tensed and flexed, the little tremors rippling through her even before she acknowledged it. She was so damn responsive it bordered on addictive; every time we changed rhythm, she adapted and matched us, her hips meeting each thrust with increasing urgency. I reached down, slipping my hand between us to where her body stretched around Dante, and circled a thumb over her clit with the barest pressure. The reaction was instant: she sobbed out loud—louder than before, uninhibited and wild.
“Damon!” she screamed, and Jesus, if that didn’t nearly finish me off right there.
“I’ve got you, Velvet. You’re safe,” I reminded, holding her so tight I could feel the frantic thud of her heart vibrating through our chests. Dante’s rhythm became more purposeful, controlled, and together we worked her up, not just toward release but toward breaking every chain that had ever held her back.
She shattered for us, her body going taut as a bowstring, muscles clamping down so hard on Dante that he nearly lost composure. Her scream echoed off the tree trunks, a raw, beautiful testament to what she was allowing herself to feel. I kept my hand on her, drawing it out, massaging her through the aftershocks until she could do nothing but shake.
Her whole frame collapsed back against me, boneless and beaming, eyes bright with tears and triumph.
