"Yes! I could kiss you all!" I shout, the words bursting out before I can stop them.
I'm trembling in the living room's amber light, and I hate that they can probably see it.
Xavier approaches first, because of course he does. Always the gentleman, always asking permission for things the other two would just take. His hands hover at my waist, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his palms. "May I?" The question comes out rough, like he's been holding his breath for hours.
I manage a nod, not trusting my voice to work properly when my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
His hands rise to cup my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones with reverent gentleness. He searches my eyes, pupils dilated with want and something deeper, something that makes my breath catch. "I've dreamed about this," he whispers, voice breaking slightly. "About you."
When his mouth finally meets mine, it's with the kind of desperate tenderness that steals my breath. His lips are soft, warm, moving against mine like a prayer. "So perfect," he murmurs against my mouth, and I can feel him trembling. His tongue traces my lower lip with agonizing patience, askingpermission even now. When I part my lips for him, he groans a low, broken sound that vibrates through my chest.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, slow and thorough, mapping every inch like he's trying to memorize the taste of me. My fingers tangle in his hair, and he makes another sound that sends heat pooling low in my belly. "God, you taste like heaven," he breathes between kisses, his forehead pressed against mine. "I could kiss you forever."
His hands frame my face like I'm something sacred, holding me steady as he deepens the kiss. When he finally pulls back, his eyes are dark with emotion and desire. "Mine," he whispers, thumb tracing my swollen lips.
"My turn." Griff's voice cuts through the moment, a growl that vibrates through his chest and into mine. His hands are already claiming my hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. "Been watching you two dance around this for too damn long."
Before I can respond, his mouth crashes against mine with bruising intensity. "Open," he growls against my lips, and when I gasp at the command, he takes full advantage. His tongue plunges deep, rough and demanding, fucking my mouth with a raw hunger that makes my knees buckle.
"That's it," he rumbles, one hand fisting in my hair to hold me exactly where he wants me. "Take it." His tongue sweeps and thrusts, claiming every inch, tasting me like he's starving. The scrape of his teeth against my lower lip makes me moan, and he growls in response. A primal sound that sends liquid heat straight to my core.
"So fucking sweet," he pants against my mouth, biting gently at my lip before diving back in. His free hand grips my throat, not cutting off air, just holding, possessing. "Could eat you alive." His tongue tangles with mine aggressively, stealingmy breath, my thoughts, everything except the feel of him consuming me.
When he finally releases me, I'm trembling and gasping. "Mine to devour," he growls, eyes wild and dangerous. "Say it."
"Easy, Griff." Logan's voice carries that quiet authority that makes both Xavier and Griff step back. He moves into the space they've created, hands coming up to frame my face with devastating gentleness. His thumbs trace my cheekbones, and I lean into the touch like a flower turning toward sunlight.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he murmurs, and there's raw hunger beneath the controlled surface. His mouth covers mine, and it's like being consumed by wildfire. Slow-burning but completely devastating. His tongue sweeps against mine with patient certainty, but there's nothing gentle about the way he claims my mouth.
"So fucking beautiful," he growls against my lips, the curse word shocking from his usually composed mouth. His tongue delves deeper, stroking and caressing with masterful precision. Every sweep, every taste is deliberate, calculated to drive me wild. When I moan into his mouth, he purrs. A deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through both our chests.
"That's my girl," he murmurs, catching my lower lip between his teeth. "Let me hear you." His hands slide into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss. The taste of bourbon and dark coffee floods my senses, but underneath it is pure Logan which is commanding and intoxicating.
He kisses me like he's trying to brand himself onto my soul, passionate and consuming. When I whimper his name, he groans like I've wounded him. "Again," he demands against my mouth. "Say my name again."
When he finally breaks the kiss, he doesn't go far. His forehead rests against mine, our breath mingling in the chargedspace between us. "You're ours," he whispers, and the possessive growl in his voice sends shivers down my spine.
And God help me, I believe him. I believe all of them.
The silence that follows is charged, electric. We're all breathing hard, the air thick with want and a deeper current that feels like inevitability. Logan's hands are still framing my face, Griff's grip on my hips hasn't loosened, and Xavier's watching us all with those dark eyes that miss nothing.
"So," I manage, my voice coming out rough and unsteady. "That happened."
Griff chuckles, a low rumble that vibrates against my back. "About fucking time."
Logan's thumb traces my lower lip, swollen from their kisses. "No going back now," he murmurs, and there's satisfaction in his voice. Like he's claiming a victory he's been planning for months.
Xavier steps closer, his hand joining Logan's at my face. "We should celebrate first," he says, his voice carefully controlled despite the way his mint scent carries notes of barely restrained hunger. "Dinner. Wine. Proper conversation about what we've accomplished."
"Dinner," I agree, though my voice comes out breathier than intended and I'm pretty sure my brain has temporarily short-circuited from the combination of good news and really excellent kissing. "I'll cook. Something special, since we're celebrating everything right now. Us and the wedding."
"I'll get wine," Griff offers, standing up from his chair with movements that are slightly less coordinated than usual. "The good stuff, because this definitely qualifies as a special occasion."
"I'll help in the kitchen," Logan adds, though the way he's looking at me suggests cooking isn't the only thing on his mind.
We migrate toward the kitchen in a haze of barely contained tension and the kind of anticipation that makes every casualtouch feel charged with electricity. The kitchen feels smaller with all four of us in it, but in a good way, like we're creating our own little world separate from venue crises and impossible timelines.
Griff produces a bottle of wine that probably costs a few hundred dollars, while I assess our available ingredients and settle on something impressive but manageable given my current state of distraction. The wine is excellent and goes down dangerously easily, which I realize about halfway through my second glass when I catch myself laughing a little too loudly at Griff's story about a construction mishap involving confused permits and a very angry building inspector.
