He laughs.“You think he’d let me take care of him?”He shakes his head.“Nope.He’s always the one who has to be the caregiver.It’s his thing.”
“We love him, even when he’s a control freak.”I kiss his nose.
His hand finds the back of my neck, massaging lightly.“You okay?”
“More than okay.”I shift closer, curling into his side.“You?”
He kisses the top of my head.“Yeah.You always ruined me.In the best way.”
We fall into a silence that doesn’t need explaining.Nothing feels missing.He holds me like he means it, arms firm around me, fingers brushing lazy shapes against my back.It doesn’t feel like this is only just for tonight.Not when he’s still touching me like I matter.Not when my body feels memorized and my heart, maybe, a little less guarded.
ChapterThirty-Three
Cleo
The second time Barret and I make love, it’s slower.Sweeter.Hungrier.Like we both know we’ll feel it for days.
And when he falls asleep wrapped around me, his breath warm at the curve of my neck, I lie there a moment longer.Listening to the rhythm of him.Letting my body remember the shape of him inside me.
Eventually, I slip away, get dressed and head outside the bedroom.
The door clicks shut behind me, quieter than it should be, yet somehow it sounds too loud—like I’ve just disrupted something sacred.The bedroom fades into stillness.My legs ache, tender and ruined in the most delicious way.Every step reminds me how thoroughly he took me.How completely I gave in.
My thighs sting, used in ways that make my knees untrustworthy.Between them, I’m still damp.Still parted.Still his.
The cotton shirt I threw on clings to my skin, each brush of fabric against my nipples sending a fresh jolt through my nerves.Barret’s scent clings to me—his skin, his sweat, the heat of our bodies still lingering in the fibers.I smell like sex.Like him.And I don't try to hide it.I don’t even want to.
Bare feet whisper over the floor as I pad through the hallway, down the stairs, the silence wrapping around me like a blanket I’m not ready to shed.I expect hush.Stillness.That quiet, sacred aftermath of sex that should stretch on forever.I expect the world outside our bed to be holding its breath.
To be waiting—still swaying in the same haze of intimacy we left behind in the sheets.
But the moment I step into the living room, the spell shatters.
It’s alive.
Alec’s the first one I see, lounging on the couch like he owns the place.Combat boots propped on the coffee table, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, even though he knows damn well there’s no smoking allowed in here.His stare lands on me and lingers, expression unreadable.He doesn’t say a word.Just watches.
Dexter’s in the armchair, slouched deep, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows.There’s a bottle cradled between his thighs—something dark that looks suspiciously like soda, though the way he holds it makes it feel illicit.Probably Dr.Pepper, because there’s no alcohol in this house, and I doubt Eddie would be thrilled to find one of his protégés reconnecting with alcohol.
Dex is mid-sip when he spots me.That grin curves across his face like he’s been waiting all day to see this exact scene.
“Well, well,” he drawls, voice thick with amusement.“Look what the cat dragged out of the sex den.They said you weren’t dead, but I needed visual confirmation.”
Alec’s mouth twitches.Still no words.Just that same, unsettling calm.
I stop halfway into the room, arms crossing on instinct.Not quite covering myself, not really hiding—just trying to get a grip on whatever this is.My heart pounds like I’ve been caught.Like I’ve done something forbidden.
Even though I haven’t.
Unless sleeping with one of my boyfriends is still considered a sin for Dead Moth Parade.
I glance around the room.“No one told me the rest of the band was here.”
Dexter raises the bottle in salute, completely unbothered.“Eddie flew us in.Said we needed to be with you guys.”He takes another long sip.“Surprise.”
Alec rolls his eyes, slow and purposeful, like he’s saying,They dragged me here, against my will.His boot taps once on the table, he’s judging something or mad at the world, who the fuck knows?
Footsteps approach behind me.I don’t need to look to know who it is.
