Their hands reach for me—gentle, certain, reverent. Not hurried, not greedy. Just present. Like they’re afraid I’ll dissolve if they don’t touch me now.
Ronan’s fingertips draw slow circles along the bare skin of my arm, sending a shiver up my spine. Rowen’s palm settles at the small of my back, steady and grounding, warm enough to anchor me. Emerson—sweet, intense Emerson—cups the side of my face with a tenderness that makes my breath hitch.
There’s no hesitation in the way they touch me. Only devotion. Adoration. A kind of consuming affection that feels like worship.
It matches everything that’s been burning in my chest for years.
Their hands move like they’ve known me through lifetimes and are finally finding me again in this one. And I let them. Iwelcome it. Because their touch says everything I was too afraid to speak—until now.
Then their lips find me.
Soft and searching. Then firm and sure. Rowen grazes his lips over my temple, whispering something too faint to catch. Ronan presses a kiss to my shoulder, exhaling against my skin like he’s steadying himself. Emerson doesn’t kiss me—not yet. He simply watches; eyes locked on me as though he’s trying to memorize every second before it slips away.
The air hums with tension. And then their words begin to match their touch.
“You’ve always mattered,” Rowen murmurs, his voice low against my ear. “Always. Long before I understood what any of this meant.”
Ronan’s voice follows, quiet and tender, wrapping around me like a confession he’s never dared to speak aloud. “You were my first everything, Berk. My first crush, my first love, the first person I ever knew I’d give up anything for. That hasn’t changed. It won’t.”
Emerson steps closer, eyes anchoring mine, voice rough with emotion he almost never lets slip. “You’re the only place I’ve ever felt safe. The only person I trust with the parts of me that don’t look pretty in the light. You make the noise stop.”
My throat tightens, and I blink hard, fighting back tears that would absolutely wreck my mascara. I want to say somethingclever, something sarcastic to break the intensity—but I can’t. Not when they’re unraveling me with such terrifying gentleness.
“We’ll figure the rest out,” Rowen says softly, like he can hear every frantic thought spinning in my head. “School, people, whatever comes next—we handle it together.”
“Until then,” Ronan adds, slipping his fingers through mine, “it’s just us. Our circle. No pressure. No outside noise.”
“No one gets to judge this,” Emerson finishes, eyes dark with promise. “No one gets to hurt you for it. We keep it quiet, keep it ours, until the day we’re ready to set the whole damn place on fire for you.”
It happens fast.
One moment I’m trying to breathe through all the things they’ve said, and the next—Emerson’s mouth crashes against mine like he’s been holding back for years and finally snapped.
His kiss is heat and hunger tangled together, desperation shaped into control. His hand slides into my hair, guiding my face just right as his tongue brushes the seam of my lips, seeking permission—not demanding, simply waiting.
I don’t hesitate.
I open for him, and the instant our tongues meet, it feels like something inside me detonates. There’s nothing tentative about it. Nothing shy. We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times in dreams we never admitted we had—wild, sure, and absolutely consuming.
But he breaks the kiss too soon. Much too soon.
A small whimper escapes before I can stop it, and I follow his retreat without thinking, already craving more. He chuckles against my throat, the sound low and sinful, and then his mouth finds my neck. The vibration of his laughter ripples through my skin, and I swear my knees nearly give out as I melt into the moment.
“Easy,” he murmurs against my pulse, clearly pleased with himself and fully aware of the effect he has on me.
Before I can fire back something sharp, Ronan gently tips my chin toward him. His eyes burn with affection and desire, and that familiar boyish grin I’ve adored half my life shifts into something new—intentional, heated, unmistakably grown.
Then he kisses me.
It starts soft, like he’s savoring the moment. But the longer our mouths stay together, the more that sweetness transforms into something deeper, hungrier. His hands frame my jaw as if I might break if he lets go, and I return the kiss with every ounce of longing I’ve kept tucked away for years.
When we separate, I’m breathless and buzzing.
But I don’t get a second to steady myself before Rowen steps in. He says nothing—he doesn’t need to.
He simply leans in, slow and certain, and the instant our lips meet, the world goes still.
Rowen’s kiss holds its own gravity. Intense yet controlled, deep yet patient. As if he’s pouring everything he feels into that single connection, determined to make sure I understand exactly what I mean to him. He kisses like someone who intends to keep me. Someone who already believes I’m his.
