Five minutes later, we’re standing in a circle, holding chopsticks cut to different lengths.
“This is ridiculous,” Rett mutters, but he holds out his fist with the rest of us.
“On three,” Diego says. “One, two, three!”
We open our hands. Mine has the shortest chopstick.
“Ha!” Tristan crows. “Looks like you’re on guard duty after all, big guy.”
I shrug again. It’s what I wanted anyway.
“I’ll take second shift,” Rett says, already checking his watch. “Wake me at 3.”
“I’ll get you a pillow,” Diego offers, heading toward the linen closet.
As they move, I head to the main living area. The couch faces the elevator and main entrance, giving me a clear line of sight to both. I settle in, adjusting a cushion behind my back.
The penthouse gradually quiets as my brothers head to their rooms. Diego brings me a pillow and a blanket, giving my shoulder a squeeze before he disappears down the hall. Rett does one final check of all the locks and security panels, then nods to me before he too retires.
Silence falls. I let it wash over me. I’ve always preferred quiet to noise. People who don’t know me think it’s because I’m antisocial. Maybe I am. But there’s peace in silence that I’ve never found anywhere else.
Except...
That night.
In that moment when Zoe was underneath me, her body arching to meet mine, there was peace then, too. A different kind. Electric. Alive. But still, somehow, quiet.
She was sprawled on the massive bed, her dark hair fanned out across the sheets, her skin flushed and gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. She looked dazed, her lips parted, her eyes half-closed. So…fucking…beautiful.
I hesitated at the edge of the bed. The scent of my brothers was heavy on her skin, on the sheets. She was saturated with them.
Her eyes found mine in the dim light. Dark with the same relentless need that was burning through me. She held my gaze as she reached for me, her fingers curling into mine.
That was all the permission I needed.
Her breath hitched the moment I touched her. One hand on her ankle, sliding up her calf, her thigh, gripping her hip hard enough to bruise. She didn’t flinch. She arched, her pupils blown wide, her body trembling with need.
“Fuck,” I growled. Her scent hit me like a drug, and I couldn’t hold back anymore.
I dragged her toward me, her body sliding across the sheets. She gasped, her hands flying to my shoulders, her nails scraping down my skin.
She made a small, surprised sound as my mouth crashed against hers, and then she melted into me.
I pushed her back against the mattress, pinning her there as I tore her legs apart, her thighs trembling under my hands. She was soaked, her juices coating my fingers as I slid them over her, teasing, testing.
She cried out, her head thrown back, her hips bucking against me. “Dane,” she gasped. “Please. Please.”
Her begging snapped what little control I had left.
I shoved my pants down, lined myself up, and thrust into her in one hard, unrelenting stroke. She screamed, her nails biting into my shoulders as I buried myself inside her.
She was tight and hot and mine, her body clenching around me like she never wanted to let go.
I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. I drove into her again and again, my rhythm rough and relentless, the sound of our bodies colliding filling the room. She met me thrust for thrust, her cries turning into broken, breathless moans that only spurred me on.
Her hands were everywhere, on my back, my arms, my chest, her touch frantic, like she wanted to feel every inch of me. Her lips found my neck, my jaw, her teeth scraping over my skin. I didn’t care if she left marks.
“Fuck,” I rasped. My control was hanging by a thread. She was too much, too perfect, and I was too far gone to care.
