Hunter drops down beside me on the couch in their house—our house now. That realization hits in waves, but it’s true. They’ve made it ours. Every corner of the space reflects that—from the pink tea kettle on the stove to the skate shelf mounted by the front door. They’ve even set up rooms for Landon and Finn without so much as blinking.
“How’re you feeling today, princess?” Hunter asks, bumping my knee with his.
“Like I’m going to explode out of my skin if I don’t getsome activity in,” I say, flopping dramatically against the cushions.
He chuckles, the sound low and warm. “Landon suggested taking you to the track for some light practice. If you’re up for it.”
My heart does this giddy little lurch, and I sit up straighter. “Yes! Absolutely. I’ll go get my stuff.”
“Slow down,” he says with a grin, grabbing my wrist before I can bolt. “You’ve got time. He went with Carson to the store. Apparently, they’ve both developed a thing for your happy moans when you eat. They’re bonding over which foods get the best sounds.”
I burst out laughing. “That’s weirdly sweet—and vaguely threatening.”
Hunter winks. “You’re the one who made orgasm sounds over that cinnamon roll last night. Carson looked like he was about to propose to the bakery.”
That tracks.
I press a hand to my mouth, trying not to laugh louder, but it slips out anyway. The warmth that blooms in my chest isn’t just from the teasing—it’s from the way these five men are starting to form their own rhythm. Their own unit. A pack that doesn’t just revolve around me, but includes each other, too.
“Where are Graham and Finn?”
Hunter’s mouth twitches. “Also shopping. But last I heard, Finn was dragging Graham through a camera store, insisting he needs a full upgrade. Lenses, lighting, some kind of ‘necessary’ editorial printer—oh, and his own personal development studio in the basement.”
I raise a brow. “Seriously?”
“Dead serious. He claims it’s vital for his art. And because, and I quote, ‘no one outside this pack is qualified to handle the full-frontal masterpieces he’s capturing.’”
I groan, hiding my face in my hands. “I swear to God, if he prints any of those…”
“No one’s seeing you naked but us, Willow,” Hunter murmurs, his voice dipping lower with just enough edge to make my pulse stutter. “That’s not negotiable.”
I glance over, and his gaze is steady, protective. Not possessive. Just sure.
“Noted,” I whisper, the tension shifting into something heavier. Something hotter.
Hunter leans closer, his fingers brushing my jaw before he presses a kiss to my temple. “Get dressed, little hurricane. Practice is happening, even if it’s just a few laps.”
I nod and rise from the couch, my chest buzzing with anticipation.
Loved. Protected. Seen.
And more than ready to put my skates back on.
Landon pushesopen the door and holds it for me, his hand brushing the small of my back as I step through. I don’t miss the way his eyes trail over me—starting at my laced skates and skating up the length of my legs, lingering on my hips, my mouth.
The rink smells of waxed floors and old skates, the kind of scent that seeps into your soul if you’ve skated long enough. The lights hum overhead, casting a cool blue sheen across the polished surface. It’s empty. Ours. The quiet kind of sacred.
“You sure you’re up for this?” he asks, lips twitching. “I don’t want to be the guy who re-injures your ribs with flirt skating.”
I smirk. “First of all, flirt skating is not a real thing.”
“It should be,” he says. “It’s like regular skating, but with better outfits and more sexual tension.”
I nudge his hip with mine, biting back a grin at his lame joke. “I’ll survive. Just don’t expect me to go easy on you.”
Landon rolls out onto the rink, arms out wide. He turns to face me and skates backward—effortlessly.Showoff.
“Come on, then,” he calls, eyes glinting. “Impress me.”
