My eyes drift back over to the door, and I see Lincoln and Korbin entering the room.
Morning, Baby,Lincoln signs.
He walks straight to me, wrapping his arms around me, lifting me up and nestling his face in my neck, nibbling at my ears.
“Mine,” he mouths when he pulls back, and I nod in agreement.
Korbin leans against the counter, arms crossed, eyes heavy but focused only on me. His eyes drift over to where I’m cooking breakfast, and a small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth.
“You look good in our kitchen,” he says, making sure I can read his lips. “Walking around in our clothes. The only problem is the shirt isn’t mine.”
I can feel my cheeks warming, and I look away for a second. I move back over to the stove, surprised nothing has burned in my absence, and as a unit we finish cooking breakfast. The guys move around me, each of them taking advantage of every opportunity to place their hands on me. And I don’t hate it.
Once we’re done, I plate the food, and the guys carry them to the table. We each take a seat. This time Korbin sits beside me, our arms brushing against each other.
Lincoln takes a bite of the biscuit, then breaks off a piece, dipping it into the gravy I made. By the expression on his face, he’s enjoying it.
Milton inhales the eggs like he hasn’t eaten in days.
Korbin takes his time, his eyes flickering over to me every few seconds like he needs to confirm that I’m still there beside him.
Halfway through breakfast, Lincoln sets his fork down and reaches out to me, placing his hand over mine.
I look up instantly.
He smiles, then signs while speaking slow enough for me to read his lips.
“Stay.”
My breath catches.
“Don’t go home.”
Milton and Korbin are looking at me hopefully.
“I don’t want to be without you,” he continues.
Milton nods without hesitation. “Same,” he says.
Korbin doesn’t look away from me, his lips moving slowly as he speaks. “You belong here.”
My throat tightens, but not from fear. From certainty and the terrifying, wonderful realization that I want the same thing.
I set my fork down with trembling fingers, shifting in my seat, and reach out. I take my time, placing my hands on each of theirs, and squeezing gently before moving to the next.
“Okay,” I tell them with my voice. “I’ll stay.”
And just like that, the house isn’ttheirhouse anymore.
It’s mine too.
It’s our home.
56
Bayleigh
It’s beena week since my heat, and I’ve officially moved in. When I told my mom I wasn’t coming home, she was excited for me, but asked if we'd formally bonded. I thought she’d be upset when I said no, and that she’d demand I come home. And I thought for sure if not her, then my dad or Benton would.
