“You,” I blurt, then immediately wish I could take it back.
His eyes widen as he studies me with a gaze gone hazy with fever. “I see.”
I rush to correct the obvious assumption. “That’s not what I meant?—“
“Yes, it is.” A musing expression briefly crosses his face. The hand resting on my belly flexes slightly, his touch too hot even through the separating us. “I think this is something we can work with.”
I freeze as his hand slips under the hem of my shirt, fingers teasing at the curve of my waist. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re here. With us. Sure, you’re trying to make the choice of whether we run or we fight. But you’ve already decided that whatever we do next, we’ll be doing it together. We’re bonded, we’re a pack, regardless of how it started.” His voice is lower, growing husky as a mischievous smile plays at his lips. “It’s getting to the time where we have to figure out how that’s going to work.”
My breath catches. “I don’t understand what you mean.”
His fingers trace idle patterns against my skin, each touch sending little sparks of awareness through my body. “I think you do,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “You’re afraid of Logan, but you want him. You trust me, but you’re not sure what you feel for me. And we’re all bound together now, whether we like it or not.”
I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “And your solution is...what, exactly?”
“Balance,” Cillian says simply. “We’ve always worked best that way. The three of us.”
“The three of us,” I repeat, the words feeling strange on my tongue.
Cillian’s hand slides higher beneath my shirt, his touch leaving a trail of fire across my skin. “I was Logan’s closest confidant for years. His second. His balance.” His eyes hold mine, fever-bright but utterly sincere. “When he goes too far, I pull him back. When he’s too aggressive, I temper him. It’s how we work.”
“And what does that have to do with me?” I ask, though I think I already know the answer. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it, a rapid drumbeat of anticipation and fear and something else I don’t want to name.
“It means I could be your buffer too,” he says, confirming my suspicion. “When Logan’s too much…too aggressive, too demanding, too Alpha, I could be there. Between you. Making it safe.”
The image his words conjure is so vivid, so unexpectedly arousing, that I can’t suppress the small gasp that escapes me. Logan and Cillian and me, tangled together, finding some impossible balance that satisfies all our needs.
“That’s...” I struggle to find words, my thoughts scattered by the heat of his touch, the intensity of his gaze. “That’s not a solution. That’s just?—“
“Just what?” Cillian prompts when I falter. “Just sex? Just biology? Just the natural conclusion to what’s already happening between us?”
I can’t answer. Can’t find the words to express the tangle of emotions his suggestion has unleashed. Fear and desire and confusion all war within me, leaving me speechless.
Cillian’s hand moves higher, his thumb brushing the underside of my breast. Not quite touching, not yet, but close enough that my body arches slightly, instinctively seeking more contact.
“We’ve always been good together, the three of us,” he continues, his voice a hypnotic murmur. “Even when you hated us both, there was something there. Something that worked.”
“I still hate him,” I insist, though the words lack conviction even to my own ears.
Cillian’s smile is knowing, a flash of teeth in the dim light. “No, you don’t. You’re angry with him. You’re afraid of him. But you don’t hate him.” His hand finally cups my breast, his thumb circling my nipple through the thin fabric of my bra. “And you definitely don’t hate this.”
I should push him away. Should remind him that he’s feverish, not thinking clearly, that we shouldn’t be doing this. But the protest dies on my lips as his touch sends pleasure spiraling through me, hot and insistent.
“Tell me to stop,” Cillian whispers, his lips brushing my ear. “Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop right now.”
I open my mouth, the refusal ready on my tongue. But what comes out instead is a soft moan as his fingers pinch my nipple gently, sending a jolt of sensation straight to my core.
“That’s what I thought,” he says, satisfaction evident in his tone.
His hand slides down my body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his fingers dip beneath the waistband of my borrowed sweatpants, I don’t stop him. When they slip lower, finding the wetness already gathering between my thighs, I don’t pull away.
“You’re so ready,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “So wet for me already.”
His fingers circle my entrance, teasing but not entering, gathering moisture before sliding up to my clit. The first touch makes me gasp, my hips jerking involuntarily against his hand.
“I can smell how much you want this,” Cillian continues, his breath hot against my neck. “How much you want us.”
