Chapter 145: Reid
I lean against the table and watch.
Jake’s mouth is on hers, and for a moment, that familiar flicker of jealousy coils in my chest — but it’s not the kind that burns. Not the kind that makes me want to break something.
It’s slower. Hotter.
And it surprises me.
Because yeah, I want to be the one kissing her. I want my hands on her, want to hear the sounds she makes when she forgets to hold them back. But, surprisingly, I don’t want to break Jake’s jaw for it. Not even close.
So I just watch.
Madeline’s body moves against his, her fingers curling into his shirt, and I can tell exactly when she’s lost in it — when the rest of the world stops existing for her.
She has no idea I’m standing here.
Jake knows.
He always knows.
And when he finally stops, when he tells her softly to look, I’m already waiting for it — for the way her head turns, for her eyes to find mine.
She freezes the second she does.
Her eyes go wide.
The color drains from her face, then floods back in double.
Embarrassment.
Maybe even shame.
And there's no fucking way I’m having that.
There’s no universe where she has to feel bad for this. For wanting. For being wanted.
I smirk, letting my voice come low and steady.
“Seems like a productive way to spend the afternoon.”
Jake chuckles under his breath, the bastard, and she looks between us — wild-eyed, like she’s trying to figure out if this is some kind of trap.
Her mouth opens, a stammer starting to form, probably an apology she doesn’t owe.
I shake my head once. Just once.
Don’t.
She stops.
Jake gets it instantly, knows there's too much distance between her and me right now. He slides his hands down her sides and stands, carrying her with him like she weighs nothing. She gasps, startled, but he sets her gently on the edge of the table beside me.
Now she’s between us.
A twin on each side.
I take the hair tie from her wrist — the one she always keeps there — and gather her hair, slowly, strand by strand, my eyes never leaving that beautiful face.
When I finish, I tie it loosely, pulling her hair back until her neck is bare. The pulse at her throat flutters, fast.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t even blink.
I rest one hand on the table beside her and tilt her face up with the other, my thumb under her chin. I study her eyes — the fear, the want, the confusion all fighting for space. Then I close the distance.
Her lips are already swollen from Jake’s kiss. It should make me angry, bu it doesn’t.
For some twisted, fucked up reason, it makes me want her more.
When I kiss her, it’s slower than his.
Hungrier.
There’s nothing gentle about it — just the taste of her, the sound of her breath catching, the feeling of her body tensing, then melting.
When I finally pull back, her eyes are unfocused, her lips glistening, her chest rising quick.
And the best thing about this whole thing? I don’t have to say anything.
Jake’s already there, his hand on her jaw, guiding her face toward him. He kisses her too, deep and unhurried, like they’ve done this a hundred times before.
When he lets her go, she just stares between us.
Her voice is small, shaking.
“I don’t… I’m not sure what’s happening.”
Jake’s hand settles at her back. “Like I told you, Trouble,” he murmurs. “We both can’t— don't want to stay away from you.”
I nod, my voice a low echo of his. “We understand if this is too much. If you’d rather pick.”
She swallows, lost for words.
Jake leans in closer, eyes dark and soft at the same time. “But if you don’t…”
I finish it for him.
“Then we’re both here.”
And for the first time since I’ve known her, she doesn’t look afraid of that.
Her voice is so small I almost don’t hear it.
“You’re both… here?” she asks, eyes flicking between us, her breath still uneven. “You both want—”
She trails off, cheeks flushing pink again, like the words themselves feel too heavy to say out loud.
Jake and I move in at the same time — instinct, maybe. She doesn’t have to keep swiveling her head between us now. We’re both right in front of her.
She blinks up at us, and something in my chest pulls tight. She looks so damn confused. So sweet. Her pupils are still blown from the kissing, hair strands loose around her face in places, her lips a little swollen. It makes me want to drag her right back into my arms and ruin the perfect control I’ve been clinging to.
But instead, I smile softly. I can’t help it. “You’re adorable when you’re trying to make sense of us,” I tell her, voice low, maybe more serious than I mean for it to be.
Her blush deepens, and that only makes it worse — because she’s not just adorable right now. She’s stunning. The kind of beautiful that hits you in the gut. The kind that makes you forget how to breathe.
And knowing she’s just been kissed like that — knowing her lips are still warm, still a little damp from where our mouths were — it’s doing things to me I shouldn’t admit out loud.
Jake steps a little closer, his voice steady, calm, grounding.
“It’s… unconventional,” he says, his tone gentler now. “And you don’t have to figure it out right away.” He glances at me, then back at her. “But we’d both rather have you in our lives than not at all.”
Her eyes widen. For a second, she doesn’t breathe. Then she looks between us again, like she’s trying to check if he’s serious, if I’m serious — if this is real.
The way her throat moves when she swallows nearly breaks me. She’s fighting tears, and I can tell she’s thinking too much. So I soften my expression, let some of that hunger drop away, and just look at her the way I’ve been meaning to — like she’s something rare, something worth protecting. She needs to understand that.
She looks so small on that table, but so strong, too. Stronger than she even realizes.
Jake catches her chin in his hand, not forcing, just coaxing. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re not in trouble. You don’t have to choose, or apologize, or explain.”
I nod, stepping closer until her knees brush my thighs. “We’re not fighting over you, Madeline.” My voice comes out lower than I expect. “That’s not what this is.”
She blinks, tears shimmering on her lashes.
I reach out and wipe one away with my thumb, slow. “You can have both of us,” I say quietly, “if that’s what you want.”
And when she looks up at me — that mix of disbelief and wanting and fear — I know she’s realizing what we already have:
She doesn’t have to pick.
She already belongs to both of us. And we belong to her.