We both sense her at the same time and ease apart, our gazes swinging toward the bathroom.
Dove lingers in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, clutching a small bottle of something.Wet hair clings to her bare shoulders in blue ribbons, dripping water down her collarbones and over her…
“Is that a hickey?”I squint at her beauty mark.
“Thank me later.”Jag lifts, sliding to my side and making room for her.“Come here, Little Bird.”
“I’d rather watch.”She pads across the room and sets a bottle of lube beside us.
Her shoulders droop, posture soft with fatigue that runs deeper than physical exertion.Her warm-honey eyes fixate on us, not sad or frightened.But heavy.Weighed down by ugly truths and rewritten memories.
She looks emotionally exhausted and off-balance, holding the knot of the towel against her like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Hey.”I rise on an elbow.“We should sleep.”
Her head snaps as if I startled her.She shakes it, small but firm, stepping closer.
“Please, don’t stop.”She glances between us.“I want to see you two together.As an outsider.”
“Dove.”Jag sets his jaw.“You’re not—”
“That’s all I can handle right now.We talked about this.”
I understand what she’s asking.
She’s been angry with Jag for seventeen years.Even though he has now begged for forgiveness and laid every ugly truth at her feet, there are still miles between what they were and what they want to be.She’s not going to leap from guardian and ward, brother and sister, and enemies with history, straight into lovers and call it healed.
Jag’s already there.He crossed that line years ago in his head and heart.But Dove hasn’t.Not yet.She needs room to move at her own pace, to choose him without feeling shoved or cornered by time or expectation.
But she doesn’t want to be shut out or pushed to the sidelines while her insides are rearranging.She wants to witness stability in our fragile threesome and experience the pleasure of watching us fuck instead of being inside the storm of it.She wants participation without the pressure.
Jag gets it.He looks at me, and our gazes tangle, refusing to separate.His dick thickens against my hip, and I curl my hand around it, giving him a teasing stroke.
“Remove your clothes.”He smacks my thigh and climbs off the bed.
Grabbing a chair, he sets it close, right beside me.Then he turns to Dove.
“One request.”He rests a hand over hers on the towel.“Take this off.Let us look at you while you’re looking at us.”
She nods, staring up at him with so much trust in her eyes.He earned that, and I’m stupidly happy for him.
He pulls the towel free, lets it fall from her body, and spreads it over the seat of the chair.
She stands there naked, unguarded, and so fucking arresting that my heart seizes.Jag lets himself look, too, hungrily, brazenly, cock straining his jeans, and a groan vibrating in his chest.
He’s seen her naked more times than I have, but always through a camera lens.This must feel surreal to him.To both of them.
Taking her hand, he guides her to the chair and positions her on the towel as if to protect her from invisible dirt.
While he does that, I shed my clothes and leave them where they fall, settling back on the bed with my hands braced behind me.
My pulse thrashes in my ears, and blood pounds in my saluting dick.I don’t know how the mechanics of this will work or how I’ll respond.I just know that I trust him.
He pulls off his clothes, revealing a physique carved in bold, vascular lines.Broad shoulders, shredded torso, washboard stomach, and a long, thick cock, all strength and endurance, built for stamina.
“Trust me?”He snags the bottle of lube and squirts it onto his palm.
“Yeah.Fully.”
