“What happens now?” Rhys raises a shadowed brow, not only referring to this exact moment where we’re all perched on his bed. Clay’s fingers glide up my spine, kneading my nape in an act to soothe us both.
“We’ll lay low,” Clayton states, already thinking three moves ahead. “No one except Addy knows we’re here. That gives us time to figure out what you want to do.” Rhys realises after a beat that Clay’s words were directed at him. We watch Rhys’ brows twitch, the idea that we’re both waiting for his instruction foreign to him. He’s not a natural-born leader, and he’s not used to having people work alongside him by choice. He’s only ever had to look out for number one.
“What I want to do,” he mutters, scuffing his foot over the carpet, chewing the inside of his cheek. “For so long, every moveI’ve made has been in reaction to my father or in defiance of him. I didn’t even consider living for myself until you came along.” Rhys sighs, watching my silhouette with careful consideration, making it impossible to keep lying to himself. “I want answers. I want to know what strings are still tied to this place, why it feels like something unfinished is waiting for me.”
Reaching forward, I take his hand. His inked fingers link with mine, a silent desperation in their squeeze. The next time he speaks, it’s with a vulnerability he doesn’t usually allow to seep through the cracks of his resolve. “I want to prove that I can exist here without feeling the need to burn it all down. That I mean something without him.”
“We’re going to do all of that and more,” I promise. Tugging on his hand, I pull Rhys across the gap that separates us, nudging Clay with my shoulder to shift up the bed with us. Our shoes and clothes are shed as we go, the material tossed into the air like ribbons. Ducking beneath the covers, three naked bodies tangle together, hands roaming and lips brushing. Body warmth and heated breaths mingle, soft moans escaping me at the urgency of large, roaming hands.
Between kisses, my face stretches with a smile, my chest releasing the guilt trapped within. Against all odds, I’m in Rhys’ bed, sharing it with him and Clayton. Two men who love me. Wrapped in the safety of their arms and the certainty of belonging, I let out a relieved sigh. There is no better feeling than this.
Chapter Thirty
I wake with Harper curled against my chest, Clayton’s weight warm at her back, the room faintly scented with detergent and Harper’s shampoo. For a few disoriented seconds, I forget where we are and who I am supposed to be.
The night before comes back to me in fragments rather than full scenes, soft hands and quiet laughter. I didn’t know it could be like that. There was nothing forced or planned, it just…happened. Two men whose sole intention is the pleasure of the woman between them. I suppose everything is easier under the veil of darkness, including ignoring one another whilst still respecting boundaries.
When Clayton felt my fingers inside of her, he took care of her clit instead. When his cock nudged closer, I shifted my attention to stroking her ass, toying just enough to ensure some of her moans were for me. And when Clayton had finished, I used his cum to slide myself into Harper’s sweet cunt, fucking her until the early hours. I’m certain there was a point in which Clayton got hard again, Harper jerking him off in time with my thrusts, but I wasn’t focusing on that. Only her, always her.
Now, I lie here, not wanting to be the first to face whatever morning will bring. The first to face whatever the academy will bring. I used to be Rhys Waversea, king of this campus. Now I’m just Rhys, and thanks to the girl pressed against me, I’m not scared to find out who ‘just Rhys’ is. He may be a loser with nothing to offer, but the only standard I have to live up to is hers.
Eventually, Harper stirs, a stifled groan accompanying her stretch much like a cat. She blinks up, her green eyes glassy, and a smile grows across her face.
“Hey,” she whispers. Remembering that her receivers have been discarded on the floor somewhere, I simply smile back and press a kiss to her temple. “I feel,” she groans and shifts her body, “disgusting.”
I laugh, the rumble vibrating from my chest into hers. Clay’s arms band around her, his eyes barely opening before he stands and carries her to the bathroom, covers and all. Oh fuck me, I guess. I’ll just lie here, naked, suddenly cold and despite last night, painfully hard. That won’t do at all.
Shooting to my feet, I make it across the room, preparing to storm into the bathroom and join the pair beneath the shower spray that thunders to life, when I’m stopped in my tracks. Somewhere beneath my feet, a door slams closed. The sound cuts clean through the fog in my head, sharp enough to sober me instantly.
I freeze, one foot angled toward the bathroom, every nerve ending flaring as if I’ve just been doused in ice water. No one knows we’re here. No one is supposed to know. My first thought is my father, his presence a phantom I can’t quite shake. My second assumption is that campus security has caught wind of our arrival, as useless as they are. No, if it were them, I’d have already heard the keys jangling, radios crackling, and boots thumping. They’ve got all the grace of an ogre in a pottery barn.
Another sound, this one further in the house. I stand for half a beat, listening hard, my heart trying to batter its way out through my ribs. The footsteps are confident, pacing the hallway as if waiting for me to surface. I don’t bother with my clothes, adrenaline driving me forward. Whoever it is, they can face me as I am.
Striding down the stairs, I take each step with a measured, calm pace. The scent of lemon polish wafts stronger, the hint of a van through the frosted glass of the door. Even though these facts are being presented, my mind is slow to catch up. I creep lower with my back pressed to the wall, hearing a drawer opening, something metallic clinking and a muttered curse following. Definitely a man.
He starts to walk this way, the hitch in my pulse a mere tremor against the roaring in my ears. I might as well make an entrance. Rounding the railing, I step in his way, my dick like a solid, protruding weapon between us.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Eddy groans, holding a singular hand up to act as a barrier between us. “Absolutely not. I told you last time, I’m not going to suck your dick.” He grabs a dishcloth from his waistband and tosses it at my dick. Catching it, I hold the cloth over my erection, which, for the love of god, will not go down.
“What are you doing here, Mclean?” I snap, pitching my voice low, my eyes flicking past him toward the darkened hallway. Eddy arches a brow, entirely unimpressed.
“You hired me. Gave me a key.” He raises a brow, his gaze both suspicious and condescending. “Are you high?” Gritting my teeth, I widen my stance, refusing to back down in my own domain.
“I will be soon.”
“Well, put some clothes on first,” Eddy mutters, sidestepping me to enter the living area. He whips the curtains wide open,unleashing light upon the room. I’m careful to remain in the hallway, out of sight, even though my eyes track wherever he goes.
“So you’re just here, cleaning?”
“Monday to Friday, wiping away the dust that settled from yesterday. Easiest job ever.” Eddy wipes a spray bottle from his belt, makes a show of spinning it around his index finger and sprays the coffee table. “I should thank you, actually. Your father approached me after the cops left, commended me for my cleaning and offered me permanent employment around the academy. After this, I’ll be heading to the offices, and after hours, the lecture halls and the library.” My spine stiffens.
“The library, huh? Hmmm.” Tilting my head, I meet Eddy’s stare as he twists his head over his shoulder.
“Whatever that noise was, I don’t want to know. Go on with your day, smoke your joint—” A giggle and a rush of feet sounds from above, drawing Eddy’s eyes to the ceiling, “enjoy your company. I have a job to do.”
I stand there longer than necessary, the dishcloth still clutched in my fist as my mind starts to churn. Midway through a planning session with myself, Harper skips downstairs, her stomach grumbling. However, upon spotting me standing utterly naked in the entrance hall, she stills, and her eyes go wide.
“Rhys…what are you doing?” she asks, glancing at Mclean, who’s wiping down the fireplace. Clayton follows her, stalling at the top of the stairs and retreating into my room. A moment later, a pair of sweatpants sails over the railing and smacks me in the face.
