It’s the pressure on my neck, the fingers on my clit, the way Silas is savaging my ass with each thrust, the way Cal’s cock is so deep in my pussy I can feel him in my teeth—like I’m split open, hollowed out, and then made new again every time they fill me. My vision whites out. I scream. I convulse. I squeeze both of them so hard it pushes Cal over the edge, triggers Silas, and they both empty into me—Cal’s cum hot and thick, coating my insides as he holds me pinned to his chest, and Silas’s heat flooding my ass, a brand that says mine, mine, mine.
I collapse against Cal, every muscle turned to jelly, every nerve ending flickering in aftershocks. Jace kisses the top of my head, hands gentle now, as if afraid I’ll break.
There’s a weird peace in the aftermath. The air is warm, thick with sweat and sex, a cocoon against the outside world. Cal strokes my ribs, sweet and mindless.
For a long moment, there’s just the thud of heartbeats and the rustle of fingers on sensitized skin. Cal presses a tender, lingering kiss to my shoulder, his lips warm and soft. Jace strokes the damp hair back from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent. Silas nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his breathing slowly steadying, his body relaxing against mine.
“Still with us, firefly?” he murmurs, his voice a low, contented rumble.
“Mmm.” It’s the most I can manage, my entire being languid and humming with blissful aftershocks. I feel Jace smile against my temple, his lips curving softly.
“Forgot how she gets after. All sweet and soft and agreeable.”
“Don’t get used to it,” I mumble, but there’s no heat in it.
I’m too thoroughly satisfied, too boneless and replete to summon any snark. Cal chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest and into my back, a warm, soothing vibration.
“There she is,” he says, a smile in his voice.
I burrow deeper into their embrace, soaking up the feeling of skin on skin, the scent of us, the rightness of it. My eyes drift shut, lulled by the steady rise and fall of their breathing, the comforting, familiar rhythm of their hearts.
There’s still so much to figure out. So many conversations to have and decisions to make. But right now, cocooned by their warmth and strength and love, I let it all fall away. For this perfect, peaceful moment, I simply am. Theirs and mine and ours. The rest can wait until morning.
30
SILAS
Iwake to sunlight lancing through the blinds in molten ribbons that slice across Jace’s bed, and for a moment I lie perfectly still, eyes closed, trying to convince myself this isn’t a dream. Parker is folded into my arms, her head settled just above my heart—the scarred, battered thing that somehow still beats. Her auburn hair spills across my chest in a cascade of silk and sparks, each breath she draws warm against my ribs. Behind her, Cal is pressed into her back like a second soul, his face buried in that fiery tangle of hair, one arm wrapped possessively around her waist so his hand rests on my hip.
She stayed.
The mantra loops through my mind:She stayed.After every confession, every trembling admission we ripped from each other. After we’d loved her so completely, she’d drifted off between us, limp and sated. She could’ve bolted—could’ve woken in the dark, panic roaring like a beast, fled the way she did six years ago.
But she didn’t.
She’s here. Soft and warm and achingly real in my arms.
A slow peace has settled in my chest, a quiet deeper than anything I’ve known. It’s as if the static hum under my skin—leftover from childhood nights when I listened for the sound of my father’s footsteps—has finally gone mute.
All my life, I’ve been too much: too violent, too intense, too broken. By fifteen, my own parents flinched when they saw me, their golden boy twisted into something they no longer recognized. But Parker never flinched. Not when I stumbled home bloodied from one of Dad’s “discipline sessions,” knuckles split and eyes empty. Not when the other kids whispered about Silas Vale—the psycho, the enforcer-in-training, the one you didn’t cross. Not last night, when I claimed her in a frenzy, teeth and hands marking her skin, needing her to know she was mine.
She looked at me like I was human. Worth more than the violence I mastered.
I tighten my arm around her, feeling the delicate architecture of her ribs beneath my palm. She’s so small, so breakable—just the thought used to terrify me. Yet here she is, stronger than any storm. Strong enough to leave. Strong enough to return. Strong enough to choose us, despite everything.
Last night…Christ. Last night her hunger matched ours. We paused for breath only to talk, laugh, devour sandwiches Jace ordered, and gulp water because we’re not idiots. Parker fell asleep mid-sentence at one point, sprawled across Cal’s chest while Jace and I watched her breathing slow. An hour later, she woke, kissed a route down Cal’s skin, and we started again.
From downstairs drifts the aroma of coffee—bitter, tannic warmth rising in lazy spirals—then the salty scent of baconcrisping in its own fat. Eggs crackle against the pan. Jace’s turn to cook on weekends, meaning real food instead of Cal’s “breakfast is whatever’s fastest” or my own habit of skipping it.
Parker shifts against me, her fingers flexing on my chest. Cal stirs, a low growl rumbling in his throat—half groan, half contented hum. He stretches against her back like a cat unfolding in sun, prompting her to murmur something muffled before burrowing deeper into the warmth against my skin.
“Morning, angel,” Cal rasps, his voice rough with sleep. He presses a light kiss to her shoulder, then her neck. “Sleep well?”
“Mm. No.” She sounds sleepy, her lips brushing my chest. “Too much…everything. Body hurts.”
“Good hurt?” I ask, tracing the back of my hand through her hair.
She makes a sound that could be a protest or an assent. “S’all your fault.”
