We eat in comfortable quiet—forks scraping plates and coffee cups being refilled.
When we finish, Mom starts packing leftovers before we can protest.
“Take these,” she insists, pressing containers into Evan’s hands. “You’re not leaving empty-handed.”
We gather our coats and say our goodbyes.
Ben hugs me at the door. “You good?”
“Yeah.”
He holds on a second longer than usual. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?”
My throat tightens. “Of course.”
It’s a lie. The guilt is getting to me. He lets go of me.
Mom hugs me last. “Remember what I said.”
“I will.”
Outside, the cold is a stark contrast to the warmth of my brother’s house. Callum unlocks the car and gets into the driver’s seat.
Silas opens the back door for me. Then slides in beside me instead of taking the front.
Evan takes the front passenger seat.
I’m pressed between Silas and the door, and he’s not giving me space.
His thigh is against mine.
“Comfortable?” I ask.
“Very.”
Callum starts the engine and pulls away from the curb.
Silas’s hand finds my knee. Not sexual. Possessive.
“You’ve been patient.” His voice is low, meant only for me.
“Have I?”
“You have.” His thumb traces a slow circle against the inside of my knee. “I appreciate that.”
My pulse kicks up. “And now you’re done making me wait?”
“Now I’m done making you wait.” His fingers tighten on my knee. “And when we get home, I’m going to fuck you, and I’m keeping you in my room until morning.”
Oh my God. Arousal pools at my core. Callum can’t drive fast enough.
Evan turns around in his seat, catches what’s happening, and raises his eyebrows. Callum’s watching in the mirror, grinning.
The drive home takes fifteen minutes. It feels like an hour.
Silas doesn’t move his hand and doesn’t stop the slow, deliberate pressure of his thumb.
By the time we pull into the garage, I’m wound tight. We take the elevator up, and Silas stands behind me, close enough that I feel him breathe.
