Rafe moves before I can decide how to react. His hands hook behind my elbows, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin there as he tugs. The table's polished surface slides cool beneath my thighs as he pulls me from Gage's grasp. My body glides rather than stumbles, and just as my head would hit wood, his palm cradles my skull, fingers splayed wide against my hair. The world spins—ceiling blurring, towel loosening—until I'm flaton my back, staring up at Rafe's face, his body now positioned between my knees.
My heart hammers inside my chest hard enough that I’m positive he can hear it. Excitement bubbles inside of me, and I drag my tongue across my lips, tasting my own anticipation. The space between us crackles with electricity, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Hi, baby.” His gaze devours every inch of my face with such raw hunger that heat pools low in my belly, a silent promise of pleasure edged with something deliciously threatening.
A distant voice whispers I should pull away, return to Gage.Choose.
But it drowns beneath a thundering certainty that I don’t have to. My body understands what my mind is just beginning to grasp: I don’t have to choose.
The thought spreads through me like wildfire.
“Hi, Rafe,” I whisper back, feeling myself grow slick at just the idea of having both of them together.
Rafe steps between my knees, his hips pressing against the table edge. His palm slides up my throat, fingers splaying across my skin like he's measuring my pulse. The warmth of his touch sends a current down my spine, and my eyelids grow heavy, fluttering at half-mast. My thighs tense, fighting the instinct to clamp around him. A heartbeat passes where I can't breathe. His eyes flick to Gage—deliberate, taunting—as the corner of his mouth curls upward, revealing the edge of his teeth. Then his focus returns to me, pupils dilating until there's barely any color left, and he leans down, claiming my mouth with his.
His mouth is a fever against mine, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my self-control. Every nerve ending ignites as his tongue slides against mine—confident, demanding, knowing. The room spins away until there's nothing but the pressure ofhis lips, the heat of his body between my thighs, and the small, desperate sound I can't stop from escaping my throat.
His fingers tighten, not enough to hurt but enough to guide, drawing me down until my hips meet his at the edge of the table.
My legs move on their own, wrapping around his waist, heels digging lightly into his back as I pull him closer. Rafe lets it happen. The permission in that—silent and deliberate—sends a thrill skittering down my spine. His left hand slides down, palming the outside of my thigh, encouraging the squeeze, the contact. My stomach flips when I feel the unmistakable hardness of him through our clothes, the awareness blooming low and urgent, heat pooling low.
Rafe Calloway kisses me like the world is ending, and I’m his last meal.
We break apart only because we need air. His breath comes hot and ragged against my lips, matching the wild rhythm in my chest. His thumb traces the thrumming pulse beneath my jaw, lingering there as if counting each beat. Behind half-lidded eyes, something shifts in his expression—a calculation, a decision forming. The corner of his mouth twitches upward, not quite a smile. My gaze drops to the scar there, silvery in the dim light.
Then I remember Gage was across the table, watching us. The reminder should sting with guilt, but instead, my fingers tighten in Rafe's shirt, pulling rather than pushing away. I don’t even remember grabbing his shirt.
The line I've crossed feels solid beneath my feet, unmovable now that I'm on this side of it.
Behind me, Gage hasn't moved. His knuckles have gone white where they press into the table, veins standing out along his forearms. A muscle jumps in his jaw as his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow bursts. When our eyes meet, his pupils dilate so rapidly that the green of his iris nearly disappears, and the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.
Then familiar hands—rougher, broader—seize me from behind. The world tilts as I'm lifted, spun, my back hitting the wall. The impact knocks the air from my lungs, the shock of it pulling a breathless laugh from me as Gage's eyes lock with mine for half a heartbeat before his mouth claims mine, hot and demanding. My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back. I twist my fingers into his hair, pulling until the strands go taut between my knuckles. His answering groan vibrates against my lips, the sound sending electricity down my spine. His right hand grips my thigh, fingers digging into flesh, while his left slides up my ribcage, his thumb tracing the curve underneath my breast, leaving fire in its wake.
When we part, my lungs burn for air. The room tilts and sways, my fingers gripping Gage’s shoulders to stay upright. He slowly lowers me to the ground, and my gaze darts between them. Gage's possessive stance, Rafe's predatory stillness. Their eyes locked in silent combat with me as the battlefield. My thighs press together, betraying the heat still pooling there.
Gage lifts one eyebrow in challenge. His jaw tightens as he tilts his head toward me. “You mean like that?”
The words hang in the air like smoke after a match strike.
Gage's throat bobs as he swallows. Rafe's fingers twitch at his sides. My pulse thrums against my wrist where I've pressed my palm flat against the wall for balance.
Rafe's lips peel back from his teeth, one corner of his mouth hitching higher than the other, the scar there catching the light. “I've got a few notes,” he says, his voice a low scrape that makes something twist in my belly.
Three heartbeats pass. Four. Five. The kitchen clock ticks somewhere behind us, marking seconds that stretch like taffy. My nipples tighten beneath my bikini, and when I inhale, the air feels too thick to fill my lungs properly.
“I’m going to go get some air,” I murmur, stepping between the two of them and slipping from the room.
31
BELLAMY
The hallway is coolerthan the dining room, or maybe it just feels that way without Gage and Rafe taking up so much space. The music hits me again, the bass thumping through the floorboards, and for a second it’s almost funny, how the party keeps moving like something Earth-shattering didn’t happen in Coco Calloway’s formal dining room.
Like I didn’t just kiss two of her sons and wanted more.
My mouth tingles. My lips feel swollen in that tender, used way that should make me self-conscious, but instead it makes heat curl low in my stomach, satisfied and restless at the same time.
What the hell just happened?
