"But you were asleep! You were napping peacefully! I specifically checked on you before we started! You were completely passed out!"
I huff slightly, finally looking at her with a pout that I'm not proud of.
"How was I supposed to sleep peacefully and soundly when I could hear you three having extremely loud sexual festivities in the shower? The cabin walls are not that thick, Reverie. Sound carries. Everything carries. Every moan and groan and splash of water."
Her face turns bright red in approximately ten seconds flat.
Crimson spreading rapidly across her cheeks and down her neck, probably reaching her chest under that sweater. Then she points my own manuscript directly at me like it's an assault weapon or a loaded accusation.
"YOU WERE AWAKE?! The entire time?! You heard everything?!"
I look away shyly, pouting more obviously now.
"Maybe. Possibly. Probably definitely yes."
I remember that morning far too vividly for my own comfort or sanity.
Waking up to sounds. Unmistakable sounds carrying clearly through the cabin. Reverie's moans—breathy and desperate and absolutely beautiful. Nash's deep masculine groans of pleasure. Theo's commanding voice giving detailed instructions. Water running. Bodies moving against tile. The rhythmic unmistakable sounds of passion and pleasure.
I'd lain there in my bed listening, torturing myself, cock painfully achingly hard, wanting desperately to join but not wanting to intrude on their intimate moment without explicit invitation.
Eventually I couldn't take it anymore. Had to retreat to the downstairs guest bathroom to take an extraordinarily longfreezing cold shower just to calm down enough to be presentable and functional. Even then I'd barely managed to get myself under control. Took twenty minutes of cold water before I could think clearly again.
And then I'd emerged to find all three of them glowing and satisfied and smelling like sex and pack and everything I wanted but felt too polite to claim.
They'd assumed I'd slept through it all.
I let them believe that comfortable fiction.
She huffs indignantly, crossing her arms across her chest while still clutching the manuscript in one hand.
"You could have just joined us! The door wasn't locked! But no! You pretended to be asleep like some kind of ridiculous gentleman who respects privacy and boundaries!"
I blush further, which seems to be my permanent default state around her lately.
"I can't just interrupt intimate moments. That would be incredibly rude and presumptuous. What if you didn't want me there?"
"Nash interrupted by joining in!" she points out with absolutely perfect irrefutable logic. "He didn't ask permission or knock politely! He just heard us, decided he wanted in, walked directly into that bathroom while we were already going at it, and made himself part of it! No hesitation! No second-guessing! You need to have the confident assertive balls of your fictional Alpha characters and do the same thing instead of being polite and restrained all the time!"
She's completely absolutely right.
Nash did exactly that. Heard them, decided immediately he wanted in, walked into that bathroom and joined without a single moment of hesitation or self-doubt or worrying about being presumptuous. Meanwhile I lay in my bed like an idiot listening and suffering and eventually retreating to a coldshower like a pathetic teenager with no confidence. She has a completely valid point. I need to be less polite and more assertive about what I want.
But years of Southern gentleman upbringing are hard to override.
My mama raised me to be respectful and considerate. To not intrude. To wait for invitations. But maybe with pack dynamics, with Reverie, I need to be more forward.
More confident in claiming what I want. What we all want.
She gets up from the couch with decisive purposeful energy, placing the manuscript on the coffee table with exaggerated theatrical care—setting it down like it's a precious historical document—despite having just been pointing it at me like a weapon of mass destruction moments ago.
The pages settle in a slightly messy stack, out of order from her enthusiastic animated reading.
Then she's shuffling toward the cabin's well-appointed gourmet kitchen, her knitted thigh-high socks making soft whisper sounds on the polished hardwood floor. The afternoon winter light coming through the large windows catches her hair perfectly, making it glow like she's in a movie scene.
The snow continues falling outside, creating this perfect cozy atmosphere.
She belongs in this scene. In this moment. In this life we're building together.
