Ezra is in front of me, his cock hard and glistening, and I reach for him without thinking, my fingers wrap around hislength. He groans, his head falls back as I stroke him, my thumb brushes over the tip, spreading the precum that beads there.
Lucien’s fingers work my clit in time with his thrusts, his cock hitting that spot inside me that makes my vision blur. Ezra’s hands are on my face, tilting my head up so he can kiss me, his tongue sweeps into my mouth, swallowing my moans.
Beside me, Maceo shifts closer, his cock hard once more as he strokes himself. My fingers stay wrapped around Ezra’s length as he reaches out, his hand wraps around Maceo’s hand, guiding it forward, pumping his cock in time with Lucien’s thrust inside me. Their bodies press in tighter around me, the contact seamless as the pressure builds, winding tighter between us.
“Fuck, Ez,” Maceo groans long and low.
“Let’s cum for our Marvel, Mace.” Ezra says softly, his eyes on Maceo as they both fall apart on either side of me, their cum spilling over and painting my skin.
Watching them unravel together is too much. I’m so close, teetering on the edge, my body trembles with need. Lucien’s fingers pinch my clit, and that’s all it takes. I shatter, my body convulses around him as pleasure crashes over me in waves. Lucien groans, his thrusts becoming erratic as he follows me over the edge, his cock pulses inside me as he spills into the condom.
For a moment, we’re all still, our bodies tangled together, our breath comes in ragged gasps. The world narrows to just this, this cocoon of warmth, of limbs and skin and satisfaction so deep I can feel it in my bones.
Lucien’s arms tighten around me, his lips brush my shoulder with a tenderness that makes my soul ache. “You’re everything to me, to us, Sweetness,” he murmurs, his voice soft, the nickname washes over me like a benediction.
Ezra’s hands frame my face, his touch reverent as his thumbs brush my cheeks. His dark eyes, usually so analytical, holdnothing but raw emotion behind them. “Never letting you go,” he says, his voice firm, not a question but a declaration, his wonder, finally found.
Maceo, still sprawled beside us with his hair splayed across the pillow, reaches out, his fingers trace an invisible pattern on my thigh. The tribal tattoos on his arm shift with the movement, mesmerizing in the dim light. “Never,” he echoes, his voice rough with emotion, those eyes hold promises I never thought would be meant for me.
Lucien’s arms tighten further, pulling me back against his chest, his lips brush the shell of my ear. “Never,” he whispers, the word carrying centuries of waiting.
I look at them, truly look at them, Maceo, with his wolfish grin and possessive hands that have rebuilt broken things all his life. Ezra, with his quiet intensity and steady gaze that sees through to my very core. Lucien, with his elegant grace and dark promises spanning lifetimes, and my heart swells so big it feels like it might shatter my ribs, might remake me entirely.
I never imagined a life with the connection of one, let alone three men who see me as complete, not as defective, not as almost something. As enough. As theirs. Now that I have it, this belonging that fits like the magic that’s slowing awakening inside of me. I know I’ll never let it go.
“Never,” I whisper, my voice breaking around the enormity of what I’m promising, what I’m accepting. “Not ever.”
As they surround me, their hands on my skin, Ezra’s careful touch, Maceo’s confident caress, Lucien’s knowing fingers, their breath warm against my neck, I know it’s true. This house that once seemed a burden to get rid of, this town that once felt like a temporary stop, these men who once were strangers, this is where I belong. This is where I stay. Fate didn’t dictate this. Neither did some prophecy or curse.
No, this is what I choose. Because I choose them. Because, finally, I choose myself.
Chapter
Nineteen
THE DAY HAD SUCH HIGH HOPES
Steam curls thick against the glass as I brace my hands against the edge of the marble sink. The mirror is fogged beyond recognition, its surface completely obscured by condensation that drips in lazy rivulets down the glass. The world has been reduced to soft shapes and blurred light, and for a moment, I let myself exist inside that quiet sanctuary, where nothing feels quite real and everything feels possible.
It has been a few days since the storm.
A few days since everything was blanketed in mounds of white, and somehow, everything has settled back into place in a way that feels almost too easy. It’s as if the wards were never disrupted, as if the magical upheaval that tore through Ruby Springs was nothing more than a particularly brilliant mirage we’ve all decided to pretend never happened. We’ve returned to normal but it feels fragile, like spun glass that might shatter if I examine it too closely.
I drag a hand down my face, water beads along my skin before dripping steadily into the porcelain sink below.
“We’re running out of time,” I murmur to my reflection, even though I can’t see it through the fog. The words hang heavy inthe humid air, weighted with all the things I haven’t said, all the decisions I keep pushing to tomorrow, about the wards, the missing pages, and Founder’s Day closing in whether I’m ready or not. Adjusting my shower cap more securely over my braids, I train my ears for any movement beyond the bathroom door, listening for signs of life from the three men who have somehow become the center of my universe.
From the bedroom beyond, the house is quiet. They are still asleep, all three of them tangled together in the massive bed that somehow accommodates us all. I smile because although everything else feels like it’s going up in smoke, the shop, locating the spell cast on me, the mounting pressure to call my magic forth, my relationship with Lucien, Maceo, and Ezra is as easy as breathing. It’s only been a few days of our newness, this strange and wonderful arrangement we’ve fallen into, and yet it feels as if I’ve always had them in my life, as if they were always meant to be there.
The thought of them soothes the growing anxiety that’s been building in my chest like a living thing, warm and comforting in a way I am still getting used to. The bed had felt too large when I first arrived here, too much space for one person rattling around in a house meant for a family. Now it feels exactly right. It’s as if the bed had always been waiting for this particular configuration, for them, for us.
I shake the thought off before it can root too deeply. The last thing I need is to start believing the house is clairvoyant on top of everything else magical happening in my life. I step beneath the spray, letting the hot water cascade over me in sheets. My eyes close as I tilt my face upward, letting the heat sink into my skin, into my muscles, into the tension I haven’t quite been able to shake since the snowstorm passed.
For a moment, it is just me and the water and the blessed quiet. I allow myself to get lost in the steam, in the simplepleasure of being clean and warm and safe. My mind won’t stay quiet for long unfortunately. It cycles through a long list of things I need to achieve and accomplish in the next few days, decisions about Thorne Curiosities, conversations with buyers, phone calls about my life in New York I keep putting off, loose ends I haven’t been ready to tie up.
The door opens behind me with a soft click, pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I don’t startle, don’t even tense. I’m not surprised. It was only a matter of time before one of them found me, drawn by some invisible thread or simply by the absence of my warmth in the bed. You would think it would be the Fae who woke with the dawn, attuned to natural rhythms, but no one cherished their sleep more than Lucien. He could probably sleep through a hurricane if given the chance. Maceo was equally committed to his rest, grumpy as a bear if roused too early.
“Hey Ez,” I say as he steps in behind me, the heat of his lean body cuts through the steam and his hands settle at my waist with familiar certainty.
