I press my palm against the cool glass of the window, grounding myself in the physical sensation. The decision still looms, heavy and unavoidable. But somehow, after talking with Cillian, it feels less like a burden and more like an opportunity.
An opportunity to finally choose my own path, whatever that might be.
CHAPTER 16
Maya
I feel the bed creak and know without opening my eyes that it’s Logan. The weight distribution shifts, the mattress dipping on Cillian’s other side. The bed was barely large enough for two of us, and now with Logan joining, I feel the press of bodies from both sides. Logan has to bring his arm up around my side to keep from falling off the edge.
My heart hammers against my ribs. Should I reveal that I’m awake? Pretend to sleep through this intrusion? Cillian’s breath remains steady beside me, his chest rising and falling in the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep. The fever that had gripped him earlier has broken, leaving his skin cool against mine where our arms touch beneath the thin sheet.
“It’s okay to pretend,” Logan whispers, his voice barely audible even in the stillness of the room. “I know you’ve done that before.”
Memories flood back before I can stop them. Those first nights after Logan forced the bond, when he would come to my bed in his quarters. I would lie still, eyes closed, breathing carefully regulated, pretending to be asleep while he tookwhat he wanted. It had seemed easier that way—to pretend unconsciousness rather than acknowledge what was happening. Rather than admit that parts of me responded to him despite my mind’s rejection.
Rather than face the humiliation of giving in willingly.
I keep my breathing steady, fighting the urge to stiffen or pull away. Logan’s arm rests lightly over my waist, not restraining, just... there. Present. Unavoidable.
Like the bond itself.
“I know you’re awake,” he continues, his breath warm against the back of my neck. “But it’s okay, I don’t mind if you want to pretend.”
I consider maintaining the pretense anyway, out of pure stubbornness if nothing else. But what would be the point? He already knows.
“What do you want?” I ask, keeping my voice low to avoid waking Cillian.
Logan is silent for a moment, long enough that I wonder if he’ll answer at all. When he does, his voice carries a note of uncertainty I’ve rarely heard from him.
“For now? Nothing but somewhere to go to sleep.”
I scoff at that, quietly.
His arm tenses slightly against my waist, not threatening but definitely present. “This.I want this. You and Cillian. The two of you together.”
Anger flares hot in my chest, burning away the lingering unease. “You don’t deserve it.”
“I know.”
But he doesn’t pull away, I don’t demand that he leave.
Iwake to the sound of soft moaning. For a moment, I’m disoriented, unsure where I am or what’s happening. Then my eyes adjust to the dim light filtering through the curtains, and I realize I’m still in Cillian’s bed. But something has changed.
The mattress shifts rhythmically beneath me. I turn my head slightly and freeze at the sight that greets me.
Logan and Cillian are fucking.
Cillian lies on his side, eyes closed, head tilted back in pleasure. His pale throat works as he swallows another moan. Logan hovers behind him, his powerful body moving in a steady rhythm as he thrusts into Cillian. The muscles in his back flex with each movement, a display of controlled strength that makes my mouth go dry.
I should look away. Should close my eyes and pretend to be asleep, or better yet, slip out of the bed entirely and leave them to their privacy. But I can’t move, can’t tear my gaze from the scene unfolding beside me.
Logan’s golden eyes meet mine over Cillian’s shoulder. He doesn’t stop his movements, doesn’t show any surprise at finding me watching. Instead, his lips curve into a slow, predatory smirk that sends heat pooling low in my belly.
He knows exactly what he’s doing. Knows I’m watching, and wants me to watch.
The realization should anger me—this is just another form of control, another way for Logan to assert his dominance. But instead, I feel a sharp throb of arousal so intense it leaves me breathless.
Cillian’s eyes remain closed, his face a mask of pleasure as Logan continues to thrust into him with deliberate, measured strokes. But something changes in his expression—a slight tensing of his features, a catch in his breath that doesn’t match the rhythm Logan has established.
