A soft whimper escapes me, caught between his lips, and the sound only seems to spur him on. His growl reverberates through my body, sinking deep into my core as his hands grip me tighter, pulling me closer until there’s no space left between us. Heat builds, low and insistent, coiling in my stomach and radiating outward. I need more.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m aware that Chad’s still watching, that he’s there, witnessing everything. The thought doesn’t make me self-conscious—it excites me. I press even closer to Dean, letting him feel the way my body reacts to his, letting Chad see it, too.
This is what we will be.
Dean moves us, his hands guiding me backward until the edge of his desk digs into the backs of my thighs. He doesn’t break the kiss as he clears the surface behind me with a roughsweep of his hand, sending papers scattering to the floor. With one fluid motion, he lifts me onto the desk, stepping between my legs, claiming the space as his.
His fingers slide into my hair, tugging just hard enough to send a shiver down my spine, pulling me closer to him. I moan into his mouth, and he swallows the sound, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that leaves me dizzy, breathless. Every part of me is on fire, and I can’t think about anything else but the feel of him—his strength, his dominance, his need that mirrors my own.
I grip his shirt, anchoring myself to him, and the faint echo of Chad’s presence in the room only fuels the tension between us. This moment belongs to all of us, and I’m starting to crave it in a way I never imagined.
Dean’s mouth trails down my neck, leaving a burning path with every kiss, every scrape of his teeth. My breaths come faster, shallow and uneven, as his fingers slide along my thighs, pulling me closer to the edge of the desk. The heat between us is unbearable, and the intensity of his focus makes me feel like I’m drowning in it.
But then there’s movement behind us. Chad. I can feel him approaching before I even hear him. He steps up to the desk, leaning in, his voice low, laced with that familiar teasing edge.
“Dean,” Chad says, his tone just on the edge of mockery. “Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself?”
Dean pulls back, his eyes dark and clouded, breath coming in sharp bursts as he stares down at me. Then his gaze flicks to Chad, something primal and dangerous shifting in his expression. I can feel the pulse of the need radiating off him, threatening to swallow us whole.
Without warning, Dean moves—quicker than I expected—and before I can process it, his hand shoots out, gripping Chad’s wrist, pulling him closer. It’s all instinct, driven by that deep-rooted hunger. He turns his head, his lips hovering millimeters from Chad’s, like he’s trying to prove something. To claim both of us.
“Is this what you want, Chad?” Dean’s voice is a growl, low and rough, his mouth hovering dangerously close to Chad’s. “You followed me in here for this?”
Chad doesn’t pull away, though the usual sharpness in his eyes softens, his lips parting just slightly. But instead of giving Dean what he wants, Chad tilts his head, teasingly close, their breaths mingling. His voice drops to a whisper, laced with amusement.
“You wish,” Chad breathes, just barely brushing his lips against Dean’s, so light it’s almost nothing, a taunt disguised as a touch. The tension between them crackles, the air so charged I can practically feel it buzzing against my skin. My nipples harden and ache with it.
Dean’s jaw tightens, his grip on Chad’s wrist tightening for a second like he might pull him in, but then Chad steps back, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Not so fast,” he says, his voice cutting through the heat, playful and almost cruel in its timing. He throws me a glance, then gently pulls me off the desk, guiding me to my feet.
“Come on, Lakelyn,” Chad murmurs, wrapping an arm around my waist as he leads me toward the door. I’m still flushed, still tingling from Dean’s touch, but Chad’s calm presence pulls me out of the haze. We reach the door, and Chad pauses just long enough to glance back at Dean, who’s still standing by the desk, fists clenched, chest heaving. He looks like he’s about to explode.
Chad’s grin widens as he pulls the door open. “We’ll finish this another time,maybe,” he says, almost casually. The teasing in his voice is deliberate, calculated, and the effect it has on Dean is unmistakable. I can see the frustration, the raw hungerburning behind Dean’s eyes, and the way his body tenses like he’s barely holding himself back.
Before Dean can respond, Chad steps out of the office, tugging me along with him, leaving the door swinging shut behind us. The tension doesn’t leave with us, though. It lingers, thick and heavy, the promise of something unfinished hanging in the air.
I glance up at Chad, heart still racing, unsure whether I should laugh or scream at the audacity of what just happened. But he just looks down at me with that same playful gleam in his eye, clearly enjoying the chaos he’s left behind.
Dean won’t let this go. I know it. But for now, we’ve left him wanting.
“That was—” I start, my breath still unsteady, words failing me.
“Hot as fuck,” Chad supplies with a grin. “Because damn, that was hot as hell. Pushing him to the edge like that... I could get used to it.”
I laugh, shaking my head at him. “If we keep this up, I’m not sure how much longer I’m gonna be able to hold out.”
“Well then, maybe we should go back to your place and ease some of this tension.”
The drive back is a blur of stolen glances, hands brushing together, and the lingering desire of what just happened with Dean. By the time we get back to my apartment, the door barely closes before Chad’s pulling me into his arms, his lips crashing against mine.
My back hits the wall, and his hands are already sliding beneath my shirt, gliding over my skin. His touch ignites something inside of me, and the world fades around us. It’s just him. And me. My fingers tangle into his hair as I tilt my head, giving him more access, needing more, wanting?—
“Ahem.”
The sound slices through the air like a bucket of ice water tossed over my head, and I freeze. Chad straightens, and we both turn toward the living room.
Mason leans back in the armchair, arms crossed, his eyes on us with a warmth that stirs something in my stomach. He holds back a smile as his gaze travels between us.
“Well, don’t stop on my account,” he teases.
