It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, cozy and warm and safe. Sometimes when I can’t sleep, I play YouTube videos of those fantasy cabins with fireplaces roaring while rain pounds outside on the window. This could be one of those places. The kind of home I’ve been dreaming about my entire life.
I set my wallet and Lily’s spare house key on a side table and sink into the enormous couch facing the fire. My feet don’t touch the floor, so I curl my legs beneath me.
The heat from the fire washes over me, and I close my eyes for just a second, letting the tension drain from my shoulders.
“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Noel says. “Ice cream first. Then sleep.”
I open my eyes to find him returning from the kitchen, and my breath catches. He’s shed his button-up shirt, now wearing just jeans and a tight black tee that shows off every line of muscle, every defined plane. His boots are gone, feet bare on the hardwood, and there’s something intimate about seeing him comfortable, relaxed, at home.
And he’s holding a black container of ice cream with two spoons sticking out like flags.
The firelight dances across his face, all shadows and angles, and for a few seconds, I let myself imagine this being real. Coming home to three of them every night. Building a life here.Saying yes to being their Omega and trusting that they wouldn’t break my heart.
My pulse thunders so hard I can feel it everywhere—throat, wrists, between my legs.
He sits next to me, close enough that our legs touch, and leans in with a grin that’s pure sin. “Choose your weapon.”
I select a spoon.
The ice cream is beautiful—swirls of cream, flecks of what might be real vanilla bean, threads of caramel running through everything.
I take a bite. Oh my God. Rich. Creamy. The bourbon adds depth without overwhelming, and the caramel is perfectly balanced between sweet and salty, with little pockets of crunchy hazelnut adding texture. “This is incredible,” I moan and immediately take another scoop.
“Right?” He’s grinning, watching me with obvious satisfaction. “We’re going to eat the whole thing tonight.”
“I’m not even sorry.”
“Good. Because I have two more in the freezer.”
I laugh. “Two more? Why do you need three containers?”
“When you find something good, you stock up. Avoid future regret.” He takes another mouthful, and a little bit of caramel sticks to his lower lip.
Without thinking, I lean forward and swipe it with my thumb.
He catches my wrist before I can pull back, brings my thumb to his mouth, and sucks the caramel off slowly.
Heat floods through me, my heart racing.
“That’s cheating,” I whisper.
“All’s fair in ice cream and war.”
We’re both reaching for the container at the same time, spoons colliding, and I try to get the better angle, but he blocks me. We’re play-fighting like children, laughing and jostling, andsomehow I end up half in his lap, our faces close enough that I can feel his breath.
He runs his nose along mine, a gentle motion that’s sweet and ridiculous, and I’m smiling madly despite the heat building between us. I try to return the gesture, but he’s faster, and suddenly he’s leaning in, capturing my mouth with his.
I taste ice cream and bourbon and the salt-sweet of caramel, and I moan against his lips without meaning to.
“You taste amazing with ice cream,” he murmurs when we break apart.
“You’re not playing fair.”
“Never said I would.”
I reach for more ice cream, determined to regain some control, but he’s already scooping up a dollop and putting it directly on his lips, grinning at me with a challenge in his eyes.
Then he’s kissing me again, and I’m laughing against his mouth, trying to push him back, but he’s got me pinned now. Half on top of me on the couch, one hand braced against the cushions, the other cupping my face.
