Dean’s arm drapes lazily around her waist, his hand overlapping mine.
His breathing is slow and even.
One of his legs is tangled with hers, anchoring her between us like even in sleep he’s not ready to let her drift too far.
Seeing her like this—safe, soft, and utterly unguarded—is a jarring contrast to the way she was last night.
Not even twelve hours ago, she had been a storm, unrelenting in her fire and need for us once we were all safely locked inside.
She’d pressed herself between us with a kind of desperation that was more than just lust needing an outlet, it was release.
Of what, I still wasn’t sure.
But every tremor in her body, every sound she made, felt like a plea and a confession all at once.
We’d taken turns being the gravity that held her tethered and when she finally shattered, she’d pulled us all down with her.
Now in the stillness of the morning after, all those raw feelings have bled into something softer.
Something that feels closer to peace than I’ve ever experienced.
I watch her chest rise and fall with each inhale, the faint movement of her lips when she exhales makes it hard not to lean over and press mine against hers.
There’s a faint mark near her collarbone—mine—and another one that’s lower that’s barely visible where her shoulder meets her arm, Callum’s.
My stomach tightens at the sight of them.
The territorial part of me, the one I keep buried, likes seeing proof of what we did, of where we’ve been. But right on its heels comes something else: guilt.
Because it isn’t lost on me how complicated this all is and keeps getting the longer we stick around.
The more time we spend trying to untangle the mess of the past, the deeper we’re falling into a new one.
Soon I’m not sure any of us will be able to crawl out of it without some kind of retribution needing to be made.
Downstairs her father’s probably already awake making coffee and reading the paper, blissfully unaware that three men are upstairs tangled up with his daughter.
I sigh into my hand.
We weren’t supposed to spend the night.
We’d gotten carried away pulling her in this room and now we were all going to suffer the consequences.
I shift again and Noelle stirs.
Her brow furrows faintly, lips parting with a soft sigh. The sound hits something deep inside me.
Dean’s arm tightens instinctively, his hand flattening over her stomach, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles against her skin. He’s not fully awake, but he’s aware enough to keep her close.
I should get up, I know I should.
But I don’t. I can’t.
Instead, I let myself stay there for a moment longer, leaning down to bury my face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo and the traces of sweat and sex still on her skin.
There’s movement over by the door, then it creaks open. For a moment, I freeze instinctually.
When there’s no horrified gasp, I slowly lift my head up.
