CHARLOTTE
Marcus keeps his hands over Cole’s eyes as Megan carefully guides him up the front steps of our home. Each step is careful but without fear, Cole’s trust in them both to keep him safe obvious in every movement of his body. It makes me want to climb him like a tree and mark up his neck so everyone knows he’s mine.
I swallow down the sudden, nearly violent, desire and press my thighs together. Apparently a wild foursome is exactly the key to unlock every potential inhibition I have around sex and gratuitous public displays of affection. Not that Marcus and I aren’t touchy. And Cole is openly affection, too. This is just… a whole new level.
Marcus raises an eyebrow as I just stand there, blocking the door.
“Whoops, sorry,” I mutter. Then, louder, “No peeking!”
Cole laughs. “I don’t know why you think Marcus would ever let me cheat at this, Lottie.”
My chest flushes. The way his voice just wrapped around that nickname? Divine, I swear. God, I need him under me again, need him inside me until I manage to dig into his bones so I know I’m always with him. Cole groans, and Megan laughs.
“You all are impossible,” she jokes in a warm, happy voice. “We literally just got done having a foursometwiceon a stranger’s yacht.”
Her hand tightens around Cole’s, her knuckles whitening, and I know it’s only a joke. Especially when she focuses on me, and I see the heat in her gaze. I’m not the only one feeling even more aroused now than when we started fucking Cole at the same time out on the ocean.
Marcus groans. “You have to at least let him get inside before you pounce again. I don’t really want the neighbors to see us fuck him in broad daylight.”
Right. Inside first. Plus, there’s the surprise from his dads. He should see that before I take him to his nest and insist we recreate the foursome a third time. I unlock the front door and hold it open so Marcus can guide Cole through it and to the living room. I press into his side as Marcus drops his hands away, letting Cole see the gift.
It’s nestled in the far corner, the sofas rearranged just enough to give space around it. It’s an upright piano, the only kind we could manage to fit in our home. It blends in, really, the old walnut stain a perfect blend of the cool grey and warm red of the bricks. The gold script of the brand—Blüthner—shines. They left the cover up, so the ivory keys reflect the warm light of the lamp in the corner.
Cole stops breathing for a moment, his shock a living thing in the room with us. I grab his elbow and press my cheek into his arm.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
Cole doesn’t immediately answer, and worry gnaws at my stomach in a heartbeat.
“Cole?” Marcus whispers. “What’s wrong?”
“You didn’t need to get me something like this. It’s…” He swallows. “I don’t need anything this extravagant.”
Megan hums. “Your dads did. They said they got your sisters a present when they finalized their matches, and they wanted to do the same for you.”
“My dads got me it?” His voice is breathy now, like he can’t believe this is happening.
“They did.” Then, quieter, I ask, “Will you play for us? Your dads said you’re really, really good.”
He kisses the top of my head in answer, and I can’t help but grin. He crosses the room and pulls out the new piano bench, easing onto it. He pauses, looking over the entire piano again, awe still evident in the set of his shoulders. And then he plays. It’s a song I know well, that any ballet dancer would know even without the full orchestra.
“Swan Lake’s Intermezzo,” I murmur. I cross the room, settling on the sofa nearest him, enraptured by the way his long fingers curve over the keys, pulling sound from them. The piano is exquisite, the harmonics near-perfect. “This song is so beautiful. Haunting, but beautiful.”
He looks up from the keys and smiles. “It’s one of my favorites.”
“I’ll go make dinner,” Megan murmurs.
Arousal burns in my body. I’m ready to jump him again, to hear the desperate noise he makes when my lock tightens down on him. But Marcus squeezes my hand as he passes me to stand behind Cole, and I know he wants a minute alone. So instead, I follow Megan into the kitchen.
“I’ll help,” I tell her when she looks over her shoulder.
The next afternoon, Cole and I stand on the curb just in front of the townhouse, waiting for the car he’s ordered to take us to Broadway up north. Marcus and Megan are both out, catching up on chores and shopping that’s been brushed to the back burner the last week that Cole’s been out here with us.
“You’re stunning,” Cole murmurs in my ear before kissing just below it.
A pulse of heat settles low in my belly, and my scent explodes around us. His doesn’t in response, though, carefully hidden under his scent blockers that are almost as fancy as the navy slacks and off-white silk shirt he wears with the top three buttons left undone. My gaze catches on the hollow of his throat, and then the very edge of Marcus’s scar, just visible. Between his hair that’s grown out a bit—the waves more prominent now—the smooth skin of his chest, the luxurious luster and feel of his shirt, and the gold watch that adorns his left wrist that perfectly coordinates with his new rings, he’s the literal definition of wealthy heartthrob.
And he’smine.
