Now we stand in Tyler's doorway together, watching him sleep sprawled like a starfish, one arm flung wide.
Logan closes the door carefully. Takes my hand. Leads me to the stairs.
My heart pounds as we climb to the loft. The space is dim, just city lights through windows. Below, Christmas explosion—paper and toys and evidence of the perfect day.
"We did good," I say, looking down at our mess.
"We did." He turns me to face him, hands framing my face. "You did."
The kiss starts soft—gratitude and exhaustion. Then his hands slide into my hair and I am filled with unbearable longing. After this whole day of wanting, of stolen touches and loaded looks, we're finally alone.
"Bed," I manage.
We move away from the railing, throwing off our clothes with urgency we've been suppressing all day.
His mouth travels down from my lips, my neck, and finds my nipple. When he uses teeth, gentle but insistent, I gasp too loud.
"Shh," he whispers against my skin, grinning. Does it again deliberately, making me arch, bite my lip. "Quiet, remember?"
"You're evil?—"
He cuts me off with his mouth, and I forget about volume control. My hand fists in his hair, trying to stay quiet, failing. The challenge makes everything sharper, more desperate.
When I flip him over, return the attention to his nipples, he's the one struggling. He’s making sounds I’ve never heard him make. His groan is deep, bitten off. Breathy.
"Your turn to be quiet," I tease him with my mouth on one nipple and my hand teasing the other. He’s gripping the sheets and arching his hips.
The forced silence intensifies everything. Each touch electric, each breath measured. We've been building to this all day—through gifts and trains and stolen kisses.
When we finally come together, it's desperate and tender at once. His hand covers my mouth at one point, because I’m unaware of the sounds I’m making. He giggles quietly, “Shhh.”
The danger of Tyler waking, the need to have this after a day of playing family for real.
Logan braces himself above me, and I'm caught by the intensity in his eyes—that intense hazel that goes almost black in the dim light. The city lights through the loft windows cast shadows across the defined muscles of his shoulders and chest, years of hockey carved into every line.
"Look at me," he whispers, and I do, holding his gaze as we move together, rocking with him fully inside me, the connection between us almost too much to bear. His jaw clenches with restraint, that beautifully carved face I've memorized now vulnerable and open in a way he never lets anyone else see.
"Reese," he breathes against my mouth, and I can feel everything he's not saying yet in the way he says my name and we both start shaking with ab-crushing orgasms.
After, we lie tangled, my head on his chest, both catching our breath. The Christmas tree still glows below. The apartment holds all three of us.
"Every Christmas?" I whisper.
"Every Christmas," he confirms. "Every day between them too."
I drift toward sleep, the necklace cool against my skin, Tyler safe below, Logan's heartbeat steady under my ear.
This is what I want. Even with Jessica's warnings echoing. Even with the world waiting outside.
This—the three of us, chosen and choosing—this is home.
Chapter 18
Logan
The ballroom at the Drake Hotel glitters with silver and gold, New Year's Eve spelled out in giant balloons against the far wall. I adjust my tie as we step through the double doors, Reese's hand warm in mine, Tyler bouncing between us like he's got springs in his tiny dress shoes. The team's annual family party—and for the first time, I have a family to bring.
"Wow, it's so sparkly!" Tyler's eyes widen at the decorations, the lights reflecting in his irises. He tugs on my hand. "Can I have a balloon?"
