"Beat me here," I noted.
"I'm a fast worker." The flush deepened. "In certain contexts."
I laughed—bright, surprised, the sound bouncing off the corridor walls—and reached for the door handle.
The room was dim. The bedside lamp cast amber light across the sheets, the walls, the man sitting on the edge of the mattress. Dec. Fully clothed. Black T-shirt stretched tight across his chest and arms, the fabric straining around biceps that made the cotton look like it was reconsidering its structural integrity. Jeans dark, boots still on. He hadn't changed. Hadn't undressed. He was sitting there with the patient, coiled stillness of someone who'd chosen his position and had no intention of moving until his prey arrived.
He looked up when we entered. His gaze moved from me to Nolan and back with a slowness that was deliberate, that was savoring, that was the look of a man deciding exactly what hewas going to do to the two people he loved and taking his time with the decision.
I closed the door. Turned the lock. The click was small and loud and final.
"Making sure it's closed this time," I said, glancing at Nolan. "Learned that lesson at the safehouse."
The memory hit Nolan like a flashbulb. The cabin, the half-open door, the sound of footsteps retreating down the hallway, and his smile broke wide and warm and incandescent, the flush traveling from his ears to his collar, and the sight of it—Nolan smiling, really smiling, the analytical armor temporarily offline—made my chest expand with a feeling that was too big for a single word and too warm to be anything other than love.
We crossed the room together. Two men approaching one. The lamplight gilding Dec's face, the dark of his eyes, the hunger in his expression no longer contained behind walls but standing in the open, unapologetic and filled with determination.
He reached up. One hand found my hip. The other found Nolan's.
And pulled us both forward.
15
UNGUARDED
DECLAN
Sean's hip under my left hand. Nolan's under my right. The fabric of their shirts warm against my palms as I pulled them forward, and the momentum carried all three of us onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs and breath and the low, electric hum of a charge that had been building on a rooftop and was now demanding to be finished.
I was hard. Had been since Sean had announced his fifteen minutes with that grin, since Nolan had stood up and saidI'll need fifteen as wellwith the decisive composure of a man who'd calculated the variables and liked the result. The ache was thick and heavy against my thigh, my cock straining against the denim, and the anticipation had done what anticipation always did to me—sharpened every nerve, heightened every input, turned my body into an instrument tuned to the frequency of the two men now kneeling on the bed beside me.
I kissed Sean first. He opened immediately, hungry and familiar, tasting like toothpaste and the faint trace of the beerfrom the rooftop. Eight years of this mouth and it still spiked my pulse. His tongue found mine, aggressive, urgent, and I let the kiss deepen while my hand found the back of Nolan's neck and pulled him in.
Sean broke away. Nolan took his place. Different. Nolan kissed with intention, every movement deliberate, his lips mapping mine with a precision that was its own form of heat. I gripped his jaw, angled his head, took the kiss deeper, and he made a sound against my mouth—low, surrendered—that traveled straight to my cock.
We rotated. Sean kissing Nolan while my mouth found the side of Sean's neck, tongue tracing the tendon, tasting salt and clean skin. Nolan kissing me while Sean's lips worked the curve of my shoulder, his breath hot and damp. Three men on a bed, trading mouths and heat, hands wandering—Sean's fingers tracing my abs through the T-shirt, Nolan's palms flat on my chest, my own hands spread across the warm skin of their backs where their shirts had ridden up.
Every point of contact registered. Every touch catalogued. The analytical mind that tracked threats and counted exits was now tracking pleasure and mapping skin, and the repurposing of that precision felt like the most honest thing I'd done in fifteen years.
Sean's fingers found the hem of my shirt. Nolan's joined them from the other side. Together, they pulled it over my head, their hands coordinated without discussion, and the cool air hit my chest and stomach and the scar tissue on my ribs and the places where the bronze skin was still flushed from the rooftop. Nolan's eyes traveled down my torso, his gaze lingering on the ridges of my abs, the width of my chest, and the heat in his expression made my breath catch.
I reached for Sean's shirt. Pulled it off in one motion, the red hair mussed, the pale freckled shoulders catching the lamplight,the lean muscle of his arms and chest flushed and warm. Then Nolan's, slower, the fabric dragging across his collarbones, revealing the body he'd rebuilt from depletion into power—broad shoulders thick with new muscle, chest full and hard, the definition in his arms speaking to weeks of consistent work. Both of them shirtless in the amber light, both hard, the outlines unmistakable against their jeans.
Sean couldn't wait. He never could.
He dropped forward onto all fours between us, that half-grin already forming, and reached for our waistbands. He tugged my jeans and boxer briefs down in one rough motion, enough for my cock to spring free, the thick length slapping against my abs, and the air on the sensitive skin made my jaw tighten. Then Nolan, same treatment, the fabric yanked down past his hips, Nolan's cock heavy and flushed, the downward curve full and slick at the tip.
Sean looked up at both of us. The grin.
Then he leaned forward and took Nolan into his mouth. Slow. Torturously slow. His lips barely moving, his tongue dragging a lazy path along the underside, his eyes half-closed with a satisfaction that was pure provocation. Nolan's head fell back, a rough exhale escaping through parted lips.
Sean pulled off. Turned to me. Same pace. The head of my cock sliding between his lips with a deliberateness that bordered on cruelty, his tongue circling once, twice, the wet heat closing around me and then stopping. Holding. Not moving. Just the pressure and the warmth and the cheeky refusal to give me more.
"Harder." My voice came out rough. Lower than I intended.
Sean's eyes lifted. Green and bright and full of a challenge I'd been rising to for eight years.
"Make me."
