Obsidian: The Sentinel Code Book One, page 48
Bodies tangled, sweat-slick and burning, the heat between us built until the world felt too small to contain it. Viktor and Dom moved in perfect, ruthless rhythm, cocks sliding in and out, their hands never leaving my body, grounding me in pleasure, pinning me in place.
Dom’s breath ghosted over my ear, voice a ragged, reverent growl. “Time to see your face. Turn over. Want to watch you fall apart for us.”
They eased out together, every inch dragging a wild sound from my throat, the sudden emptiness a sharp ache, a hunger that made my whole body strain for more. Viktor flipped me, strong hands sliding under my thighs, dragging me flat on my back, legs spread wide, cock and balls slick with spit and precome. Dom crouched behind my head, hands framing my jaw, Viktor lined up again, guiding the thick head of his cock to my battered, spit-slick hole.
Dom bent down, lips meeting mine, tongue fucking deep, sharing spit and sweat and every shattered sound I made. Viktor thrust forward, burying himself to the hilt, the stretch brutal, perfect, body arching as the fullness overwhelmed me. Dom pressed his forehead to mine, eyes wild, then shifted lower, lining up next to Viktor, cocks sliding together, splitting me open again.
Both of them started moving, Viktor’s hands gripping my thighs, Dom’s arm hooked under my knee, spreading me wider, pinning me to the bed. The sensation blurred pleasure and pain, Viktor’s cock pounding up into me, Dom grinding deep, cocks rubbing together inside me, every thrust sending sparks shooting up my spine. Sweat dripped down my chest, their voices a chorus of praise and filth, every word a brand.
Viktor’s thumb slid over my lips, forcing them open, spitting into my mouth, demanding I swallow it, his other hand stroking my cheek, eyes locked on mine. “Come for us, Sebastian. Let us feel you milk our cocks. Let go.”
Dom’s hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my breath catch, his hips slamming forward, the edge of release in every motion. Their cocks pistoned in and out, Viktor’s voice a low snarl, Dom’s teeth dragging along my jaw, the pressure mounting with every brutal, desperate thrust.
The rhythm faltered, Viktor’s body shuddering, Dom’s voice dissolving into a string of curses and praise. Heat exploded inside me, Viktor’s cock twitching as he emptied himself deep, Dom’s cock pulsing, filling me so full I thought I’d burst, their cum spilling out around their shafts, leaking down my thighs, soaking the sheets. Their groans blended together, a sound so filthy and triumphant it made my toes curl, my whole body arching off the bed.
Neither of them let me fall. Viktor pulled out slow, mess leaking from my ruined hole, Dom slipping free and sliding down, mouth finding the slick, licking up the combined spend, worshipping the place where their bodies had owned me.
Viktor caught my cock in his fist, the head angry red, leaking and untouched for so long I nearly sobbed at the relief. Dom’s mouth replaced his hand, tongue swirling over the tip, sucking me deep, Viktor kneeling beside him, both men crowding around, mouths and hands everywhere.
Dom swallowed me down to the root, nose pressed to my curls, Viktor’s tongue licking the shaft, the base, his hand squeezing my balls, rolling them, milking every drop of pleasure from my overstimulated body. My hands tangled in their hair, hips bucking helplessly, desperate for release, desperate to mark them the way they’d marked me.
Viktor’s mouth replaced Dom’s, lips stretched wide, tongue fucking the slit, Dom’s mouth moved lower, licking my balls, sucking one after the other into his mouth, both men groaning, their faces smeared with spit and sweat and the scent of sex.
My orgasm built like a storm, every nerve burning, every muscle locked. Viktor’s lips sealed around the head, Dom’s hand stroking my shaft, his tongue still working my balls, the filthy praise in their voices a constant, inescapable command.
“Give it to us, Sebastian,” Dom growled, mouth pressed to my inner thigh. “Come for us. Mark us. Let us see you lose it.”
Viktor’s eyes found mine, wild and wanting, mouth open, tongue waiting. That was all it took—my whole body tensed, back arched, a cry ripped from my chest as I came, cock pulsing, thick ropes of cum painting their faces, their mouths, their tongues. Viktor swallowed every drop he could catch, Dom’s mouth following, licking up the mess, fighting for every drop, worshipping me through the aftershocks, hands stroking my hips, my chest, my thighs.
Sweat pooled between us, my chest heaving, body shaking, every inch claimed and worshipped and utterly spent. Dom pressed kisses up my thigh, over my hip, mouth meeting Viktor’s in a filthy, hungry kiss, sharing the taste of me, tongues tangling, cum and spit and sweat smeared between them.
They sprawled over me, bodies heavy, mouths soft now, hands tracing patterns on my skin, the storm of need finally spent, nothing left but the warmth of aftermath and the slow, shuddering realization that I would never be whole for anyone but them.
Bodies tangled in sweat and the raw heat of spent desire, the three of us lay in the hush that followed, chests rising and falling, skin pressed to skin, the mess of what we’d done still sticky and gleaming in the candlelight. For a long while, no one spoke—just breathing, hearts slowing, the storm of hunger easing into something weightless, almost sacred.
Dom rolled to his side, propped up on an elbow, a lazy, satisfied smirk curving his lips. “Well,” he murmured, voice low and loose, “that’s one way to kill the tension before a mission.”
Viktor’s laughter rumbled soft against my chest, the vibration soothing. My hand found his, fingers threading through, a silent claim that Dom noticed and understood. His gaze lingered on our joined hands for a heartbeat—no jealousy, just the warm humor of a man who’d known what he wanted from the start and had no need to linger.
Dom stretched, long and lazy, then planted a kiss to my cheek—playful, almost brotherly—and pressed another to Viktor’s shoulder, lingering just long enough to leave a mark. “You two are fucking dangerous together,” he said, amusement tangled with a thread of respect. “Try not to let the world burn down before breakfast.”
Viktor grunted, half smile, eyes already turning inward, closing the distance between us as Dom rose and padded to the bathroom, whistling tunelessly as he disappeared.
The door clicked softly behind him. Silence fell, private and full, the energy in the room shifting, folding inward until there was only us. Viktor’s hand cupped my jaw, gentle now, tracing the mess on my face with a thumb, eyes gone soft, almost vulnerable. His lips pressed to my forehead, the kind of kiss that meant home.
I let myself melt into him, content in a way I never thought I’d be again. The adrenaline had faded, replaced by the ache in my muscles and the warmth of Viktor’s body pressed close, heart still pounding in time with mine.
Fingers stroked my temple, slow and soothing, banishing the last of the tremors from my limbs. “You alright?” Viktor murmured, accent thick with exhaustion and something softer—a fear that always lived just beneath his skin, a protectiveness that never faded, even now.
I nodded, unable to find words for what I felt. Sated, safe, entirely seen. “Better than alright,” I managed, voice rough. “You?”
He pressed his forehead to mine, breathing me in. “I am now.”
Silence stretched between us, comfortable as a blanket. Down the hall, the water ran as Dom cleaned himself up, humming off-key, a reminder that the world would come crashing back soon enough. But for now, it was just the two of us, wrapped around each other, everything else held at bay by candlelight and the remnants of pleasure.
Viktor wiped my cheek, collecting the last drops of my release with a wicked smile, then sucked his thumb clean, eyes never leaving mine. “You are trouble, Sebastian,” he whispered, teasing and tender all at once. “But you’re mine.”
A laugh escaped me, small and honest, echoing in the hush. “Yours. Always.”
He gathered me closer, drawing the sheets up, pressing a final kiss to my hair as I let myself drift—body sore, heart full, mind quiet for the first time in days.
Dom emerged a few minutes later, dressed, hair damp, a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth. He saluted us, mock-serious. “Get some sleep, lovebirds. Big day tomorrow.”
“Night, Dom,” I said, genuine affection in my voice.
“Night,” Viktor echoed, voice rumbling low.
Dom slipped out, shutting the door behind him. We were alone, the world narrowing down to the sound of our breaths, the warmth of skin on skin, the promise that whatever tomorrow brought, we would face it together.
Viktor’s hand found mine again under the covers, squeezing gently. “Sleep, Sebastian,” he whispered. “I’ll be here.”
And for the first time in a long time, I believed him.
27
SIEGE OF HOLLOWVALE
SEBASTIAN
Viktor drove the armored SUV like he was born to it. Hands steady on the wheel. Eyes tracking the road with predatory focus. Every few seconds, lightning painted his profile in stark relief. All sharp angles and controlled violence.
Beautiful. Dangerous. Mine.
Dom sat beside me in the back, checking his rifle for the third time. “Still can't believe Adrian cracked it that fast.”
“He had incentive,” Viktor said. “And the files gave him everything he needed.”
The files. The evidence we'd stolen from Marcel's office. Financial records that had seemed like random transactions until Adrian's people started connecting them.
“Property purchases under shell companies,” I said, remembering the briefing from this morning. “All traced back to accounts Marcel controlled. Adrian's forensic team found the pattern in four hours.”
“Offshore holdings in three countries,” Dom added. “But only one with a manor house fortified like a military installation.”
Hollowvale Manor. Purchased six years ago under a company called Devereux Holdings International. Hidden in plain sight. Close enough to London to be convenient. Far enough to be private.
The perfect bolt-hole for a man who'd been planning his escape for years.
“The utility records gave it away,” Viktor said. “Manor supposedly empty. But power consumption suggested full staff. Security system drawing constant power. Adrian's people cross-referenced with satellite imagery. Saw the modifications. The fortifications.”
“And the fact that a 'medical supply convoy' delivered enough food and ammunition for a siege last week,” I finished. “Marcel knew we were coming. Just didn't know when.”
Dom's mouth curved. “Now he does.”
“Heat signatures everywhere,” Noah's voice crackled through the comm. He was monitoring from the mobile command center a mile back. Safe. Out of range. Exactly where Adrian had demanded he stay. “Looks like he bought himself an army.”
“How many?” Viktor asked. Voice flat. Professional.
“Fifteen. Maybe twenty. All armed. Moving in patrols.”
“Fuck,” Dom muttered.
“This ends tonight,” I said. Loading my bow. Feeling the familiar weight settle into my hands. The grip warm from my palm. My mother's necklace wound around it like a prayer.
Viktor glanced at me in the rearview mirror. Eyes finding mine. “You sure about that?”
“Not even slightly.” I grinned despite everything. “But when has that stopped me?”
His mouth twitched. Almost a smile. “Never.”
The moment stretched. Just us. The rain. The knowledge that we were about to walk into hell together.
“You two are disgustingly sweet,” Dom said. “Makes me want to vomit.”
“Shut up,” Viktor replied. No heat. Just affection.
“Make me.”
“Later. When I am not driving.”
I laughed. Couldn't help it. The sound came out wrong. Too high. Too sharp. Adrenaline already flooding my system.
We killed the lights a quarter mile out. Viktor navigated by memory and lightning flashes. The road turned from pavement to gravel to mud. Trees pressed in on both sides. Dense. Dark. Hiding us or trapping us, hard to tell which.
Hollowvale's gates appeared through the rain. Wrought iron. Twelve feet tall. Cameras mounted at every angle.
Viktor stopped the SUV. Dmitri and Troy pulled up beside us.
“Luka?” Viktor said into the comm.
“East perimeter secured. Two guards down. Clean.” Luka's voice carried the slight accent that thickened when he was working. “You're clear to breach.”
Dom pulled out a small device. EMP designed to fry the cameras without alerting the main system. Thirty seconds of darkness. That's all we'd get.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nocked an arrow. “Always.”
Dom triggered the device.
The cameras died. Lightning flashed. Thunder covered the sound of our doors opening.
We moved as one.
Dom hit the gate's electronic lock with a bypass. It clicked open. We poured through. Silent. Fluid. A well-oiled machine designed for violence.
The mansion rose ahead. Three stories of stolen opulence. Floodlights cutting through the storm. Windows glowing gold. Beautiful in the way poison sometimes was.
Marcel had built his kingdom on our blood.
Tonight we'd drown him in his own.
“Split here,” Dom said. Hand signals in the dark. “Luka and Troy, east wing. Dmitri, secure the exits. Viktor and Sebastian, main hall.”
Everyone nodded. No questions. We'd been over the plan a dozen times.
We scattered like ghosts.
Viktor and I approached the main entrance. Marble steps. Massive doors carved with the Devereux crest. All that nobility and grace built on murder.
Viktor tested the door. Locked. Of course.
I pulled a pick set from my belt. Worked the mechanism while Viktor covered me. Thirty seconds. The lock clicked.
We entered hell's foyer.
The interior was obscene. Chandeliers dripping crystal. Floors polished to mirrors. Blood-red carpet running down a hallway that looked like it belonged in a palace.
My palace.
He'd stolen this too. Taken everything that should've been ours and made it his.
“Two ahead,” Viktor whispered. “Ballroom entrance.”
I saw them. Guards in tactical gear. Professional. Alert.
Viktor moved left. I went right. We flanked them like we'd been doing this together for years instead of months.
The first guard never knew what hit him. Viktor's blade found his throat before he could raise his weapon. The man went down gurgling.
The second turned toward the sound. My arrow took him through the eye. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings.
We dragged the bodies behind a marble column. Kept moving.
The ballroom opened like a cathedral. Thirty-foot ceilings. More chandeliers. Windows tall enough to let in the lightning.
And mercenaries. Lots of them.
They saw us the same moment we saw them.
Everything exploded.
Gunfire erupted from three directions simultaneously. Muzzle flashes strobed like dying stars. The ballroom transformed into a killing floor in the space between heartbeats. Bullets tore through air thick with chandelier crystal and ancient dust, chewing marble into powder, shredding priceless tapestries into confetti.
Viktor dove left behind an overturned banquet table. I went right, rolling behind a marble pillar as wide as my torso. Glass rained down in deadly cascades, each shard catching firelight and turning the air into a storm of daggers.
“Five on the balcony!” Dom's voice crackled through the comm, nearly drowned by gunfire.
“Four,” I corrected, my arrow already in flight.
The mercenary on the far left didn't even have time to register surprise. The obsidian tip punched through his throat, severing his carotid. Blood sprayed in an arterial arc as he tumbled over the ornate railing, still screaming through a ruined windpipe.
These weren't amateurs. These were professionals. Ex-military. Maybe Blackwater. Maybe worse. They moved with tactical precision, covering each other's angles, suppressing our position with disciplined fire.
Viktor was already moving. Two shots from his position. Two bodies dropped from the balcony. Professional. Clean. Beautiful in its brutal efficiency. But the remaining mercenaries adapted immediately, pulling back into cover, repositioning.
Smart. Dangerous.
I vaulted over a toppled table, came up behind a stone column. Drew. Aimed. Released.
My arrow caught a mercenary through the shoulder as he tried to flank Dom's position. Not a killing shot. He went down hard but was already crawling for cover, one arm useless, the other reaching for his sidearm.
Tough bastard.
“Twelve more incoming!” Dmitri's voice. “Basement level. They're flooding in!”
Fuck. Marcel had built this place like a fortress. Multiple entry points. Reinforcements staged throughout.
Movement to my left. A mercenary charging from behind a toppled statue, combat knife reversed in his grip. Big. Six-four at least. Built like he bench-pressed motorcycles for fun. Tattoos crawling up his neck. Serbian or Croatian, judging by the ink patterns.
His first swing came fast. Professional technique. I ducked, felt the blade whistle past my ear close enough to shave hair. He transitioned immediately into a backhand slash. No hesitation. No wasted movement.
I caught his wrist on the return. Twisted hard. But he was stronger than he looked. Absorbed the force, used my momentum against me. Drove his knee toward my ribs.
I barely got my elbow down in time. The impact still sent lightning through my arm. Numbed everything from shoulder to fingertips.
He grinned. Yellowed teeth. Broken nose that had healed crooked. The kind of face that had seen a thousand fights and won most of them.
“Little prince,” he said in accented English. “Marcel pays extra for your head.”
“He'll have to settle for my ass,” I shot back. Drove my boot into his knee.
