She opened it wearing silk pajamas and her hair loose around her shoulders. Her eyes searched my face, and her expression shifted.
“Oliver.” She brushed her fingers along my jaw. “What happened?”
“I kissed him. Or he kissed me.”
Her brows flared, but rather than surprise or jealousy, she appeared relieved and even desirous.
“Finally,” she murmured.
“He wants us to join him in his bedroom. Right now.”
Her pupils dilated when she nodded, then her hand found mine as we walked to the west tower, where Kiernan’s bedroom door stood open.
He waited near the fire that burned in the massive hearth. He’d removed his shirt, exposing the dark hair that dusted his chest and trailed past his navel. Firelight played across the planes of his stomach, the ridges of his muscles, the broad set of his shoulders.
“Close the door,” he said as his gaze tracked our approach with dark hunger.
The latch clicked shut and sealed the three of us in warm amber light.
“Tonight, we begin.” He spoke in a low tone. “The three of us together. But before we go further, there’s something we need to discuss.”
I tensed, wondering what rules he was about to set forth.
“How long has it been since you were tested?”
The question caught me off guard, but it shouldn’t have. Of course he’d ask.
“Six weeks ago,” Ophelia said. “SIS requires quarterly screenings. I’m clean.”
“In hospital,” I added. “Also, clean.”
Kiernan nodded. “Unit 23 has the same requirements. My last test was five weeks ago.” He looked from me to her. “I haven’t been with anyone since. But I won’t assume anything, and neither should you.”
His gaze darted to mine, then hers. “Which means we have a choice. I want you bare, but that’s a decision we make together.”
I twitched at the thought of feeling her with nothing between us.
“No condoms,” Ophelia whispered.
I swallowed. “Agreed.”
Kiernan’s eyes darkened as he got closer. “Then, tonight, nothing separates us.” Heat radiated from his bare skin, and his scent surrounded me as he traced my jaw with his fingertips and tilted my face up toward his.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
His dark gaze held mine.
“You’re allowed to want this.” His thumb brushed my lower lip and pressed until I opened to him. “You’re allowed to want me.”
He lifted my shirt over my head and tossed it aside, then his palm pressed flat on my chest, right over my pounding heart.
“Racing,” he observed.
“Yes.”
“Afraid?”
“No.”
