My thumb brushes over her knuckles, grounding her, groundingme. I can feel the tension building again, the way her body is coiling toward another release.
His groan is deep as he spills inside her, his hands gripping her like a lifeline.
Her response is immediate, her body arching as she comes undone again.
When Grant finally pulls out of her the sight of her so thoroughly claimed by us sends a jolt through me, a mix of satisfaction and hunger that I can’t shake.
We collapse together on top of the bed in a tangle of limbs, the air heavy with the aftermath.
Noelle’s nestled between us, her body warm and pliant. I press a kiss to her temple, my hand resting on her hip.
Grant’s beside her, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her arm, and Dean’s at her back, his lips brushing along her shoulder.
The room is quiet now, except for our breathing, and I know that this is more than just a moment.
It’s something we’ll carry with us, something that’s changed us all forever.
The weekend’s glow lingers like a fading ember, the house quieter now as Monday morning creeps in with its gray, inevitable weight.
The air feels different today—heavier as the world settles back into its usual rhythm after the fevered haze of Richard’s birthday weekend.
Grant’s outside with Richard, tossing our bags into the trunk of his car, and Dean’s with me in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
His eyes flicker between Noelle and me as she packs away the last remnants of our breakfast, giving us all to-go containers for the road.
I can tell he’s not quite ready to leave yet, and frankly neither am I.
There’s a subtle heaviness to Noelle’s movements, a quiet melancholy that tugs at something deep in my chest.
Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
The soft curve of her lips is tempered by a faint frown that she’s trying to hide as she snaps the last container shut and sets it down in the bag.
The weekend was a whirlwind of Richard’s birthday dinner, the laughter and the wine shared between us all, and the stolen moments in her room where Grant, Dean, and I got to know her on a level we never thought possible.
Now though, with the festivities behind us, this place feels far too quiet and sad.
Moving away from the doorway, I cross the kitchen to stand beside her.
She’s packed our to-go bag to the brim with pancakes that still fog the plastic and syrup in little dipping containers tucked between two containers of fresh berries.
It’s more than enough to hold us over on the trip back home, but for some reason it makes a pit form in my stomach.
I don’t want to say goodbye.
“Smells good,” I say and nudge her, trying to coax a smile from her.
She glances up, her eyes meeting mine, and I see that flicker of warmth that makes my pulse kick up.
Today it’s dimmed though by the sadness lurking in her expression.
She sighs. “Thanks.”
I want to reach for her, to pull her close and chase away that look, but her dad could walk in at any second and the last thing I want to do is catch us all in a scandal.
So I settle for brushing my fingers up her arm, a fleeting touch that makes her lips twitch into a small smile.
“Think she’s trying to fatten us up before we go, Cal,” Dean says, nodding to the bag. “If I don’t end up gaining ten pounds by next week, it’ll be a miracle.”
