But I still couldn't sleep.
They'd practically kidnapped me from Mr. Henderson's. After dinner, they'd washed and dried the dishes, then cleaned the kitchen, telling me to sit and relax. They'd served up coffee and tea, cleaned and put away the dishes, then whisked my luggage into their car. Drake chauffeured me in their SUV back to the Jessup—wait, no—back totheirproperty while Dane had followed in my little car.
I'd felt weirdly on edge the whole time. I knew I shouldn't. I'd lived with these men for four years. I'd been fourteen when they'd arrived in the house—angry sixteen-year-olds, too full of piss and vinegar to want to have anything to do with the other kids. They'd pushed every boundary, fought every rule, argued with my parents until they'd finally realized my daddy wasn'tone for budging. Tough love from him, silk over steel from my Mumma.
My parents had taken in kids no one wanted. Pregnant teens with screaming babies, damaged children from broken homes, teens with eyes too old and burning anger at the world. All types had passed through our doors. I had one blood sister and one blood brother, but hundreds of siblings by association.
Drake and Dane were the only "siblings" I'd ever wanted to sleep with. And it's strange, but I only ever viewed them as a package deal—I couldn't love one without the other.
The hot flush of embarrassment crept up my neck, heating my cheeks. I groaned, draping one arm over my eyes as I remembered that night.
I'd stood in the shadows of the garage, hands pressed against the weatherboard, the wood scratching at my palms, my breathing ragged as sixteen-year-old me watched Dane and Drake make out in the back seat of Drake's car.
Drake had turned eighteen three months before, and I knew they were both waiting for Dane's birthday before they left our house. My Mumma and Daddy weren't ones for turning out kids on their eighteenth birthday, but these boys were ready. They'd been adults for a long time.
They'd returned from a night out, celebrating Dane's birthday. I'd heard them roll in, the car sliding into the garage, then silence. They hadn't come barreling in, sneaking up the stairs as they normally did.
We'd celebrated earlier that day. A fancy lunch my parents had organised for Dane. I'd helped decorate the cake. The kids had all sung happy birthday while Dane glowered—as per his usual expression. My Mumma had showered him with kisses and hugs, getting teary when she retold the story of Dane's arrival at our house and his subsequent transformation into a man of quality.
"No boys reside in my house," my Mumma had declared. "Only men of quality."
Dane's façade had chipped just a little at her proclamation. My daddy had agreed, describing his pride in Dane, and I'd watched, entirely too aware of the way Drake draped an arm around his foster brother, giving him strength.
They'd taken the car, disappearing after the festivities. The phone had rung, a foster agency desperate for someone to help with an emergency case. My parents had packed up, springing into action. They'd left an hour ago, and I knew they wouldn't return until the early hours.
"Lock the door, Corazón," my mother had called as she'd double-checked her purse. "The fratres will be home in a few hours. Watch the bebes."
I'd stayed awake, restlessly pacing. Besides Drake and Dane, there was only me, my two younger siblings, and one foster toddler in the house. All of whom were sleeping soundly. I'd wanted to go with the boys. I'd wanted to sit in the backseat while they gave each other shit, teasing and laughing. They revolved around each other, circling closer until, in my mind, it became nearly impossible to separate Drake from Dane. They were joined, two parts of the same whole, and I loved being around them.
Curious that it had been nearly ten minutes since their arrival, I went to investigate—finding more than I bargained for.
"Yeah," Drake's groan broke the silence of the garage. "Like that."
Dane's quiet chuckle sounded low and rough. Dirtier, hotter than the rare times I'd heard it over the dinner table.
"This?" Dane asked, his voice teasing.
Drake swore in response.
"Or this?" A long, loud moan filled the garage.
I shuddered, knowing I shouldn't be here. Knowing I shouldn't be hiding in the shadows, listening to their private moment. It didn't help that I couldn't see much beyond their shadowy outline through the car's rear window. Their bodies moving, heaving, their hands hidden from my view.
"Fuck," Drake grunted. "I need to come."
"Nuh-uh. It's my birthday. Pretty sure I get to decide who comes and when." There was a slight pause. "And where."
"Fuck." I watched Drake fist his fingers in Dane's hair, pulling him down to fuse their mouths together.
They moved together now, their bodies fighting for dominance even as they enjoyed the dance. My fingers fisted in the hem of my sleep shirt, my body heavy and damp with need. Hot, sticky wet coated that secret part of me, slicking my thighs with need.
"Fuck, baby." It was Dane's turn to groan. "Yeah, fist it. Harder. Make me ache."
I wanted to see. The thought lodged itself in my brain, unable to be swayed. I wanted to see this. Them. I wanted to watch as they came.
I took one step, my bare foot carefully, silently, landing against the concrete floor.
Five more steps, that's all it would take for me to be close enough to them, close enough to see through the window as they did things my mind had only ever wondered about.
