Chapter 22 The Way They Touch Me
I wasn’t sure how long we’d been lying there.
Time didn’t feel real anymore. Just sweat and warmth and the vague sensation that my legs might never work again.
Patrick was behind me, all heat and muscle, one arm slung low over my waist like he was making sure I didn’t get any bright ideas about leaving. His breath hit the back of my neck in slow, even waves. Now and then, he’d shift, just enough to press a kiss to my shoulder like it was habit.
Drew was in front of me, annoyingly quiet, eyes fixed on my face like I was a puzzle he’d finally solved and couldn’t stop looking at.
“Okay, seriously,” I said, voice scratchy. “What are you staring at?”
His mouth curved just a little. “You.”
“Why?”
“You’re pretty.”
God. I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re disgusting.”
“Still true.”
He leaned in and kissed me—slow, deliberate, unfairly soft. And yeah, fine, maybe I kissed him back with more enthusiasm than I meant to. Maybe I sighed a little. Maybe I grabbed his arm and pulled him closer.
Sue me. I was exhausted, and he tasted like heat and everything I hadn’t known I wanted until about ten minutes ago.
Patrick made a noise behind me that sounded like a laugh, muffled against my skin. “He gets sentimental when he’s satisfied.”
“Do not analyze me,” Drew murmured.
“Too late.”
Patrick’s hand moved along my stomach in lazy circles, like he couldn’t be bothered to stop touching me. Not that I was complaining.
I was floaty. Raw. Overheated in the best way. Every inch of my skin is still buzzing from them. Every muscle stretched out and soft, like they’d taken me apart and put me back together without bothering to ask for permission.
“You okay?” Patrick asked.
“Define okay,” I said.
He laughed, low and slow. “Can you speak? Move? Breathe?”
“Barely. But yes.”
“Then you’re perfect.”
Drew hummed and pulled me in tighter. I ended up tucked between them like a body pillow—Drew curled in front of me, Patrick wrapped around my back, one arm still banded across my waist like I might try to escape.
Spoiler: I wasn’t going anywhere.
Drew ran his fingers over my ribs. Not sexual. Just steady. Like he needed to remind himself, I was still there.
“Your heart’s still going fast,” he said.
“I just got completely ruined by two men at once,” I said. “Give her a minute.”
His mouth twitched. “Fair.”
We settled into silence again, but it wasn’t awkward. Just warm. Heavy. Safe.
We lay there like that for a while—quiet, breathing, tangled in enough limbs to make me question how I ever used to sleep alone.
I shifted once, and Patrick immediately tightened his arm around my waist.
"You're not going anywhere," he muttered, barely awake.
"I was just adjusting."
"You adjust when we say you can adjust," he said, but his voice was too low and sleep-heavy to sound serious.
Drew snorted into my hair. “Control issues.”
Patrick didn’t deny it.
I let myself go still again, muscles too relaxed to argue. My thighs ached in a good way. My neck had bite marks I hadn’t even noticed. My lips were probably swollen. And somehow, the only thing I could think of was that my toes were cold.
Drew seemed to read my mind—or my twitch—because a second later, he grabbed the blanket with his foot and tucked it under mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“You’re annoying,” I whispered.
“I know.”
I didn’t say thank you.
He knew anyway.
We could’ve stayed like that forever. Except Mike knocked on the door like the most impatient man alive.
“Are you dead?”
Patrick groaned.
“Because if you’re dead, I’m not cleaning it up.”
“Go away,” I croaked, not even lifting my head.
“Cool, cool. I’ll tell Jake you said that when he comes looking for your corpse.”
Drew raised an eyebrow. “You think Jake’s the one who’ll freak out?”
Patrick sighed. “It’s always Jake.”
“I’m fine,” I yelled toward the door. “I’m just recovering from getting absolutely destroyed, thanks.”
There was a pause.
Then Mike’s laugh echoed through the hallway. “Nice. Proud of you, princess.”
I buried my face in the pillow and muttered, “Why do I even speak?”
Patrick kissed the back of my neck again. “Because we like it when you do.”
Eventually, the house went quiet again. Mike’s footsteps thumped away, and I let out a long breath.
Drew pressed a kiss to my forehead. Not possessive. Not even horny. Just… there.
“You really okay?” he asked again.
His voice was softer this time. Less teasing.
I nodded, then surprised myself by saying, “I liked it.”
Drew didn’t say anything. But the way he pulled me in closer said enough.
Patrick’s hand slid down to my hip. He didn’t squeeze. Just rested there.
“Next time,” he said quietly, “you tell us if you want more.”
“More?” I asked.
He didn’t elaborate.
Which made it worse. Or better. I wasn’t sure.
Eventually, sleep started pulling me under. My body was still humming, but my brain was foggy enough that I could finally let go. I was wrecked and raw and completely bare between them.
And the only thing I felt was full.
Not from sex.
From them.Safe was weird.
I hadn’t had a lot of that.
Patrick’s thumb was tracing slow lines on my hip. Drew’s palm curved around my thigh. Their bodies bracketed me in—two entirely different types of pressure, but both of them steady. Present.
And the weirdest part?
It didn’t feel like too much.
It didn’t feel like too many hands. Too much attention. Too much of anything.
It felt like exactly enough.
I sighed and buried my face in Drew’s neck. He smelled like skin and heat and a little bit like me, which probably should’ve been gross, but wasn’t.
Patrick shifted again, pulling the blanket up a little higher. “You falling asleep?”
“Maybe.”
“You’ve earned it.”
I hummed. “You think the others will leave us alone?”
“No,” Drew said. “But we’ll deal with them.”
I smiled into his skin. “That’s hot.”
Patrick kissed the back of my shoulder. “Sleep, Em.”
So I did.
Surrounded. Anchored.
And, somehow, not overwhelmed.
Just… good.