Her breath catches.
Zane steps closer, softer. “We’re not asking you to promise forever.”
“I’m not playing anymore, Aurora,” I say. “If you leave, that’ll suck. A lot. But I’d rather feel it than act like this is just convenient.”
“But… all of you?”
I offer her a one-shouldered shrug. “This is Coyote Glen. You know how it goes.”
Aurora steps fully into us with a playful glint in her eyes.
Her hand slides to my chest first. Then her other hand reaches back without looking and finds Zane’s wrist. Ryder is directly in front of her, close enough that the heat from him feels intense.
“I mean,” she says, “if this is happening… I don’t want to stand here talking about it like it’s a business merger.”
That does something to all three of us.
Ryder’s jaw tightens. “Aurora.”
“You want me,” she continues, gaze lifting to his. “All of you. Together.”
Zane steps closer behind her, near enough that her back brushes his chest when she shifts.
“Yes,” he says.
Her fingers curl slightly in my shirt.
“Then stop looking at me like I’m going to shatter.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Aurora
Zane’s mouthfinds mine with a heat that's both restrained and desperate.
A spark ignites as his lips brush against mine. He holds back, trying to be gentle, but failure is evident in his trembling frame.
His hand, rough and warm, slides behind my neck, thumb stroking the sensitive spot just under my ear, coaxing me closer.
The kiss deepens, and I’m consumed with the lingering electricity of the storm that still crackles between us. His lips part slightly, inviting, testing, teasing, and when I respond, when I open to him, a quiet, ragged sound escapes from deep within his chest, resonating through me, hitting me low and hard.
He kisses me like he wants more than just this kiss. And I kiss him back with equal fervor, needing him… all of them.
His forehead presses to mine as he reluctantly pulls away, barely an inch, our breaths mingling in the narrow space, uneven and hot. My lips feel bruised and swollen. My legs wobble beneath me.
My pulse throbs in my throat, threatening to escape. I’m dizzy, and he looks like he wants to shatter whatever composure I have left.
That’s when Finn’s hand finds my waist, his touch gentle, melting every bone in my body. He turns my face toward him, his eyes locked onto mine.
His kiss is a slow, intense anchor, pulling me out of my own head and into him. His lips move against mine with a devastating confidence, a quiet intensity that feels like a hand closing around my heart, squeezing until I’m breathless.
I can taste the warmth of cinnamon on his tongue. My fingers curl into the thick of his shirt, desperate for more, and when I tug him closer, a low, rough sound escapes his lips, vibrating straight through me.
His thumb strokes a slow line along my jaw, guiding the kiss deeper, slower, surer, and the world narrows to the warmth of his mouth and the way he holds me—he’s been waiting to do it properly.
When he finally breaks away, it’s only far enough for our breaths to mingle, his warm, mine shaky. My pulse is pounding so hard it echoes in my ears, in my throat, in every inch of me he touched. He looks at me, clearly not finished.
And neither am I.
