I can’t.
I don’t want to.
I shake my head, my lips brushing against his. “No.”
He grins, that sinful, cocky smirk that does things to me, and then he’s kissing me again, his hands roaming, his body pressing into mine in a way that makes my head spin.
And that’s when it happens. The apartment door swings open. And everything comes crashing down.
Carson rips himself away from me, spinning just in time to see Graham and Hunter step inside. The tension that immediately settles into the room could level a fucking city.
They don’t say a word.
They don’t need to.
Their eyes say it all.
Hunter’s jaw is locked so tight I’m surprised his teeth don’t crack. His nostrils flare as he takes in the scene—me still perched on the counter, breathless, flushed, lips swollen, Carson standing way too close, his jeans still unbuttoned. Our combined scent is heavy with lust and desire in the air.
Graham, on the other hand, looks two seconds frommurder. His gaze cuts from me to Carson, sharp and cold, assessing, calculating, fury simmering under the surface.
I swallow, forcing myself to slide off the counter, straightening my clothes, trying to pretend I wasn’t just seconds away from letting Carson fuck me right here in the kitchen.
“I—” My voice catches, so I clear my throat and try again. “I’m going to get changed.”
Silence.
Thick. Heavy. Unforgiving.
And I can feel their eyes on me as I flee, disappearing down the hall, locking myself in my bedroom before my knees buckle and I have to face what the hell just happened.
I lean against the door, my heart hammering against my ribs, my breath uneven.
I press my ear to the door, breath shallow, their voices bleeding through—low, angry, knives slicing the thick silence apart.
“You fucking crossed the line,” Graham growls. “We talked about this. The last thing we needed was to get involved.”
Carson’s chuckle is dark and amused. “Yeah? And how’s that working out for you, G? Because last time I checked, we’re all involved.”
A thud, followed by a sharp grunt. Someone got shoved or punched.
Hunter’s voice is low when he speaks. “She’s been hurt, Carson. You should have fucking said no.”
Carson laughs—an actual, full-bodied, bitter laugh. “Oh yeah? And you would’ve said no? If she came to you—wearing next to nothing, looking at you as if you were the only thing in the goddamn world? If she pulled you into her bed, whispered your name the way she did mine?” He snorts. “Tell me you would’ve said no, Hunter. Fucking lie to me.”
Silence answers him.
A beat of pure tension.
I swallow hard, fingers locked tight around the doorknob, my pulse slamming against my ribs. God, I’m pathetic. I pushed for this, begged for it, cornered him until there was no way to say no. And now? I’m hiding. Cowering in my room like some brat who got caught breaking the rules—furious at myself for wanting it, hating myself for being too scared to face it.
Carson exhales roughly. “I don’t regret a single second of it. Not one. And I won’t apologize for it.”
Graham’s response is clipped, a loud inhale through his nose, attempting to stay calm. “It’s not about regret, Carson. It’s about control. If we lose it, if we—” A pause. A growl. “We are supposed to protect her.”
“She’s not some fragile little thing,” Carson snaps. “She wanted this. And I wasn’t about to push her away when every part of me has been dying to touch her since the day we fucking met.”
“And if she wakes up tomorrow and realizes she made a mistake?” Hunter asks.
