“Oh, save the territorial bullshit.” Kross scoffs, not even looking at him. “You don’t get to call dibs like she’s a fucking parking spot. You had your moment. Now it’s my turn. That’s how sharing works—try to keep up, bro.”
My stomach flips hard.
Jesus fucking Christ.
The way they say it—so casual and certain, like ownership isn’t a question but a goddamn fact, does things to me.
Mark doesn’t say anything.
But he stiffens.
It’s subtle—just a hitch in his breathing, a sharp pull of his jaw, the way his eyes cut away the second Kross’s mouth finds mine again. Like he can’t stand the sight of it. Like it crawls under his skin in exactly the wrong way.
That’s all it takes.
Kade sees it immediately.
I don’t know how I know—maybe it’s the way his posture shifts, or the way his gaze flicks from Mark to me and back again, quick and assessing—but something clicks into place behind his eyes.
He pulls his blade free and drops down to Mark’s level, unhurried and controlled. The knife spins once between his fingers, catching the light before he stills it.
He doesn’t look angry. Doesn’t look rushed.
He looks decided.
“So,” he says quietly, more to himself than anyone else, “you don’t like that.”
Mark swallows hard, eyes darting away again.
Kade’s mouth curves—not a smile, exactly. More like a conclusion.
“Good,” he murmurs. “Kross, you wanted a turn, didn’t you? Well, since we have an audience, I think now is the perfect fucking time. Maybe then he’ll actually fucking learn,”
Kross instantly smirks, knowing full well what his brother means. Like some telepathic fucking twin thing is passing between them of their grand plan. But as Kross’s hand comes down on my hip firmly, and his smirk turns back to me, it hits me. And holy shit if it doesn’t get me wet all over again.
Kross’s mouth crashes into mine again, hard and unapologetic, his grip pulling me flush against him like there’s no room left for hesitation. His teeth catch my lower lip, tugging it into his mouth before releasing it with a sharp pop that leaves my pulse stuttering.
“Why don’t you wrap those pretty lips around my cock, little valentine,” he murmurs, the words soft and dangerous, threaded with a confidence that makes heat rush straight to my face.
My cheeks burn. I bite my lip where he did, slow and deliberate, letting my gaze hold his before I sink down in front of him.
I trail my hands and mouth down his body, stopping when I find the shallow cut across his skin. Blood seeps slowly, warm and vivid against him. My eyes lift to his.
“It’s nothing,” he says easily, smirking. “Just a little scratch.”
He fumbles with his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency until it finally gives. His cock springs free, and holy fuck—there’s no subtle way to process that. It’s hard and heavy in my hand, solid and warm as I guide it up, letting the tip drag slowly across my lips. I keep my eyes locked on his the entire time, watching the exact moment his control falters.
A hiss escapes him as his fingers thread into my hair, guiding instead of forcing, control disguised as indulgence.
“That’s it,” he mutters. “Fuck—you have the softest lips I’ve ever felt.”
I steady myself, one hand braced against him, anchoring my balance the other jerking his cock as I suck.
Movement to the side pulls my attention.
Kade.
He hauls Mark upright with brutal efficiency, forcing him to sit, and face us. Mark resists—weak, and frantic, but Kade doesn’t waste words.
