A smile pulls at my lips.
“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s make it forever.”
CHAPTER 63
Willow
The credits are still rollingwhen Carson clicks off the TV, plunging the room into a quiet kind of dark—the only light coming from the soft glow above the stove in the kitchen. No one says a word, but everything shifts.
The air thickens.
My pulse skitters.
Graham rises first, reaching a hand toward me. I take it without hesitation, letting him pull me gently to my feet. Carson follows, brushing his fingers along my lower back, guiding me with that same easy confidence he wears like a second skin.
They don’t take me to the bedroom.
Instead, Graham pulls me to the middle of the living room—next to our makeshift nest—and turns me to face him. His thumb brushes my jaw again, the same way it did when I told them I was ready—when I gave them the words they’ve been waiting to hear.
“I want you to feel everything,” he says, a soft promise. “Nothingrushed.”
Carson steps behind me, his body heat wrapping around me. “We are going to give you so much pleasure, peaches.”
I shiver as Carson’s mouth finds the curve of my shoulder, his lips grazing the sensitive skin just above where his claiming mark will go. My knees nearly buckle.
Graham tilts my chin up, holding my gaze. “Color?”
“Green,” I whisper. “So green.”
“Good girl.”
They undress me slowly.
Worshipfully.
Their hands never stop moving, soft touches trailing heat across every inch of bare skin. And when I’m standing there between them, flushed with a breathless need, Carson presses his lips to the hollow of my throat again.
“You sure?” he murmurs.
I nod once, giving them full permission.
Graham lowers me down onto the plush throw blankets and pillows laid out on the floor. My back hits softness, but the tension coiling inside me is anything but gentle. They follow me down.
Carson kisses my collarbone, his tongue flicking out to taste, as his fingers trail over my bare stomach. “You want Graham first or me?”
I blink up at them, dazed. “I…both. All of you.” I find Hunter’s steady gaze from the couch, where he hasn’t moved. He’s watching us, his dark eyes taking it all in with satisfaction.
Graham’s mouth curves, slow and dark. “Eventually, sweetheart. But one at a time right now.”
He leans in and kisses me then—slow, possessive, curling my toes with every swipe of his tongue. I gasp into it, fisting his shirt. And when his lips drag down my throat to the tender spot at the junction of neck and shoulder, I know.
This is it.
He lingers there, letting his breath fan against my skin. Giving me a chance to tell him to stop. His hand snakes between us, finding my slick folds, thumbing over my clit until I’m arching off the blankets with a moan.
Then he bites.
The pain is sharp and hot and dizzying—but it melts into something that breaks me open. I moan louder, arching into him as his teeth sink into my skin, as his bond floods into me, snaking through my veins similar to lava flowing down a volcano.
