Hal's glass caught the amber light as he raised it, the bourbon tilting toward the ceiling. "To the richest kid on the block," he boomed, and the room erupted around me—whistles, a slap on the table, the scrape of a chair being pushed back. I lifted my own glass, letting the grin spread because it was easy, because the bourbon was warm in my chest and the night was already mine.

Derek was on his feet, one hand wrapped around his whiskey, the other clapping Ethan on the back hard enough to make him lurch forward. "You see the video she sent him?" Derek's grin was a blade. "Still couldn't keep his wife off the kid."

Ethan's jaw went tight. I watched it happen—the muscle jumping under the stubble, the way his hand curled around his glass like he might crush it. He didn't look at me. He didn't look at Kara either, even though she was across the room in that low-cut blouse, her bob falling forward as she tilted her head. He stared at the table like it held the answer to a question he wasn't ready to ask.

Marcus took a slow drag of his cigar, smoke curling up into the low light. "At least we know how to share."

Tommy's knuckles went white around his beer bottle. He'd been quiet all night, perched on the edge of the armchair like he was ready to bolt, his thinning hair sticking up where he'd run his hand through it one too many times. Rachel was on the far end of the sofa, her ponytail catching the lamplight, her freckles standing out against the flush on her cheeks. She was looking at me. She'd been looking at me since the toast.

"I mean it," Hal said, settling back into his armchair, the leather groaning under his weight. He spread his hands wide, the glass still balanced between two fingers. "Six years this kid's been coming to Sunday dinner. Six years of watching him eat my wife's pot roast and flirt with every woman in this room. And now?" He laughed, that big rolling laugh that filled the space. "Now he's the best investment I ever made."

Gina snorted from somewhere behind me. "The best investment is the one that pays out, Hal."

"And he pays out," Hal said, winking at me. "Ask Ellie."

Ellie was curled in the corner of the sofa, her honey-blond hair loose over her shoulders, that summer dress still rumpled from earlier. She didn't blush. She just smiled, slow and knowing, and raised her wine glass in my direction. "He pays out plenty."

The laughter came again, a wave of it, and I let myself ride it. This was the part I loved—the noise, the heat, the way the room bent around me like I was the center of some gravity they'd all agreed to share. I was still the kid who'd shown up at eighteen with a duffel bag and a startup idea, still the youngest by a decade and a half, but tonight I was the reason the room was loud.

I caught Kara's eye across the room. She was standing near the sideboard, one hand resting on her wine glass, the stem between her fingers like she was weighing it. Her dark bob was sleek, her blouse a deep burgundy that caught the amber light, and she was watching me with an expression I knew—the same one she'd worn in the gallery, the same one she'd worn in the bathroom mirror when she'd sent that photo to Ethan.

She didn't smile. She just held my gaze, and her hand moved, a small deliberate turn of the glass, the wine swirling against the crystal. A challenge. A question. A promise.

Tommy cleared his throat. "Should we, uh—" He gestured vaguely toward the card table. "Another round?"

"Another round?" Derek laughed, dropping back into his chair. "Tommy, you've been trying to leave since the toast. Sit down. Enjoy the show."

"I wasn't—" Tommy started, but Marcus cut him off.

"You were. You always are." Marcus tapped ash into the tray, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You know what I've noticed, Tommy? Every time the kid's around, you get real quiet. Real still. Like you're afraid of what you might do if you moved."

Tommy's jaw tightened again. He looked at Rachel, who was still watching me, and something flickered across his face—something between shame and hunger. "I'm not afraid of anything."

"No?" Derek leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Then why'd you let him bend your wife over the sofa while you jerked off in the corner?"

The room went quiet. Not the good kind of quiet—the kind that presses against your ears, that makes you aware of every breath. Tommy's face went red, then pale, and his hand tightened around his beer bottle until the glass creaked.

Rachel's gaze finally left me. She turned to look at her husband, her expression unreadable, and for a long moment they just stared at each other across the room.

Then she looked back at me, and I saw it—the same silent question she'd asked Tommy that night. The one he'd never answered.

I knew my answer.

"Leave him alone," I said, easy, lazy, leaning back into the couch. "He's got a right to watch. We all do."

Hal laughed, a short bark. "Spoken like a man who's won every hand tonight."

"Not every hand," I said, grinning. "But I'm not done yet."

Kara set her glass down on the sideboard. The sound was soft, a click of crystal on wood, but it cut through the room like a bell. Everyone turned to look at her, and she let them, standing there with her hands at her sides, her blouse falling just so, her dark eyes finding mine.

"So, Xavier," Hal said, loud enough for everyone, his grin wide as a church door. "You gonna claim another favor tonight, or are you done collecting?"

The room held its breath. I could feel it—the weight of seven couples, the heat of the fire, the smoke curling around the lamps. I could feel Kara's gaze on me, steady and sure, and Rachel's, softer but no less hungry.

I let the silence stretch. Let it build. Let them all wonder what I'd say.

Then I looked at Kara and crooked my finger.

She came. No hesitation, no coy little walk. She crossed the room with that dancer's grace, her hips moving just enough to make the blouse sway, her eyes never leaving mine. She stopped in front of me, close enough that I could smell her perfume—something dark and floral, the same scent that had lingered in the gallery, in the bathroom, on my fingers for hours after.

"You want another favor?" I asked, low, just for her.

"I want you to stop asking and start taking," she said.

The room dissolved into noise—whoops, catcalls, the slap of Derek's hand on the table. But I barely heard it. I was already reaching for her, my hand finding the curve of her hip, pulling her down onto the couch with me.

She came willingly, her knees finding the leather on either side of my thighs, her hands braced on my shoulders. The blouse fell open as she leaned in, revealing the lace edge of her bra, the pale skin of her chest, the pulse beating at the base of her throat.

"Kara—" Ethan's voice cracked, barely audible over the noise.

She didn't look at him. She looked at me, her brown eyes dark and sure, and she said, "Don't stop."

I didn't.

My hands found the hem of her blouse, rucking it up, and she lifted her arms to let me pull it over her head. The bra went next, a flick of the clasp, and then she was bare to the waist, her breasts pale and full, her nipples already hard in the warm air.

The room was watching. I could feel it—the weight of their eyes, the shift of their bodies, the low murmur of voices. Somewhere behind me, Derek was saying something crude, and Marcus was laughing, and Hal was telling Ellie to get a better view. But I didn't care about them. I cared about Kara—the way she gasped when I cupped her breasts, the way she arched into my hands, the way she bit her lip when I thumbed her nipples.

"You're beautiful," I said, and it wasn't a line. It was just true.

She laughed, a breathless sound. "Flatterer."

"Truth-teller." I leaned in and took her nipple in my mouth, and she moaned, her fingers digging into my shoulders. I sucked hard, tonguing the peak, feeling her shudder against me, and her hips rolled against mine, grinding down on the growing hardness in my jeans.

I pulled back, my mouth wet, her skin flushed. "Stand up."

She did. I reached for the button of her skirt, popping it open, dragging the zipper down. The skirt fell to the floor in a puddle of dark fabric, leaving her in nothing but a scrap of lace that was already damp.

"Look at that," Derek said from somewhere behind me, his voice thick with amusement. "The kid's got her wet already."

Kara didn't blush. She stepped out of the skirt and hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties, sliding them down her thighs with a deliberate slowness that made my mouth water. She was bare underneath, her cunt slick and pink, the hair trimmed neat, and she was watching me with a hunger that matched my own.

"Come here," I said, my voice rough.

She came. She straddled me again, this time with nothing between us but the denim of my jeans, and she ground down on me, her wet heat soaking through the fabric. I could feel her—the slickness, the heat, the way she rolled her hips like she was already riding me.

"Take your pants off," she said. "I want to feel you inside me."

I didn't need to be told twice. I fumbled with my belt, my fly, shoving the jeans down my thighs, and she reached between us, her fingers wrapping around my cock, guiding me to her entrance. She was so wet I slid in with a single thrust, and she gasped, her head falling back, her cunt clenching around me like a fist.

"Fuck," she breathed. "Yes."

I gripped her hips and started to move, thrusting up into her, and she rode me, her hands braced on my chest, her breasts bouncing with every stroke. The leather couch groaned beneath us, and the room was a blur of noise—Derek's jeering, Marcus's low chuckle, Hal's booming laugh, and somewhere, the wet sound of a hand moving on a cock.

But I watched Kara. I watched the way her eyes fluttered closed, the way her lips parted, the way she bit down on a moan when I hit the spot that made her shiver. I watched her come apart on top of me, her cunt clenching, her thighs trembling, and I thrust deeper, harder, chasing my own release.

"Come inside me," she gasped. "Please. I want to feel it."

I did. I came with a groan, my cock pulsing inside her, emptying deep, and she moaned with me, her body milking me, taking everything I had. For a long moment we just sat there, joined, breathing hard, her forehead resting against mine.

The room was loud around us—cheers, laughter, the slap of hands on backs. But I heard her whisper, "That was worth the wait."

I was still inside her when I turned to look at Rachel.

She was already moving, already rising from her seat, her sundress swishing around her thighs. Her eyes met mine, and I saw it—the same hunger, the same question, the same answer she'd given me before.

My hand found her hip as she came over me, and the room roared.