“This isn’t a game, little wolf.”
While I hold her gaze, Shiloh’s hand glides down her bare arm, over her waist, and lower—fingertips skimming the curve of her hip before finding the tender skin high on her thigh and stroking once, slow enough to make her shiver.
Ever lowers his mouth to the side of her neck and bites lightly, then soothes the sting with his tongue.
There. Now she’s listening with her whole body.
“You don’t get to disappear,” I tell her quietly. “You don’t get to throw yourself into danger and call it independence.”
Her eyes flash. Anger first.
Then shame.
Then want, hot and unwanted and impossible for her to hide when Ever’s mouth drags over the pulse in her throat and Shiloh’s hand settles higher, just one inch from where she needs him.
“Tell him,” Shiloh murmurs against her ear, smiling when she jolts. “Tell him how good bad ideas look on you.”
“Go to hell,” she breathes.
“Likely,” he says, and lets two fingers drag up the inside of her thigh.
Her knees weaken and fall open. Ever catches all of it. I watch her composure crack and feel something dark in me bare its teeth.
“Move her.”
Ever turns her without hesitation. No roughness. No wasted motion. He guides her backward toward the bed while Shiloh keeps touching—light kisses at her shoulder, fingertips skating over her thigh, a maddening trail of sensation that keeps her body hot and alert and aching. By the time the backs of her knees hit the mattress, she’s breathing through her mouth.
“Sit.”
She obeys slowly, like stretching it out makes it less like obedience. I let her have that lie.
When she settles on the edge of the bed, Shiloh parts her knees with one lazy pass of his hand and steps aside for me. I kneel between them.
Her fingers knot in the coverlet.
I take the hem of her dress and push it up, inch by inch, exposing more of her thighs, more of the trembling muscle there, the slick sheen of darkness between her legs. Her legs twitch, wanting to close and not daring to.
There you are.
My mouth almost curves. I lift the dress and pull it over her head, baring her without words.
The others already did the work beautifully. Shiloh and Ever brought her right to the edge and held her there long enough for her body to start begging on its own. In the way her cunt clenches around nothing every time my knuckles brush her thigh. In the way her hips tip forward before she catches herself.
I run my thumb once along her inner thigh.
Then again, higher. Not where she wants it. Not yet.
“Do you understand what this is?”
Her lips part. Her chest rises. No answer.
Behind her, Ever climbs onto the bed and settles close at her back, one knee on either side of her hips, one broad hand flattening over her waist to steady her when another tremor runs through her. He doesn’t crowd hermore than necessary. He just keeps her held exactly where we want her.
Safe.
Pinned.
Open.
