Chapter 146: Reid
We stand in front of her, both of us, and I can see how hard she’s trying to make sense of this. Her breathing’s uneven, her eyes flick between us like she’s waiting for one of us to laugh and tell her it’s a joke.
It isn’t.
Jake and I each rest a hand on her legs, rubbing slow circles through her jeans. The small movement is steady, grounding. She needs to feel that we mean what we say.
She’s trembling slightly, and I get it. We’re not teenagers anymore—she’s sitting between two men who’ve seen a lot of the world, who know what they want. And yeah, we want her. But that doesn’t mean we’re going to lose our heads right now, ignore her feelings just because we want to be closer physically.
We’ve had time to think about this. Weeks.
Time to realize it wasn’t just some passing fascination.
Time to fight about it—literally fight about it—and then actually talk about it like grown men who’ve shared everything else in life, and could figure out how to share this, too.
Now we just need to show her that we mean what we said: that she isn’t a game, that she’s worth doing this right.
She looks up at us, eyes still wide, and says softly, “You’re sure this won’t come between you two?”
Jake answers first, calm and certain. “We already did the hard part. We worked it out.”
Then she asks, almost in a whisper, “Why me? There are… so many other girls.”
I let out a small breath, a huff of disbelief. “You really don’t see it, do you?” My hand slides higher, just to the side of her thigh, steadying her, not claiming her. “It’s not about other girls. It’s about you. There’s just… something about you, Trouble. Always has been.”
Jake nods. “We’re sure. We’ve thought about this for a while now.”
She looks like she’s about to start rambling again—questions tripping over themselves, doubts spilling out—but I just reach up and cup her jaw, thumb brushing along her cheek. She stops talking immediately.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “Breathe.”
Her lashes flutter, and then—finally—she smiles. Soft, tentative, a little disbelieving. “It feels too good to be true.”
Jake leans in, his voice rougher now. “That’s because you’re too good to be true.”
She lets out a laugh — fragile, shaky, caught somewhere between disbelief and surrender — and it hits me harder than it should.
That sound. That damn sound.
Jake leans in first, brushing his mouth over hers like he’s been waiting centuries for the permission to do it. It’s patient, deliberate, the kind of kiss that doesn’t demand anything but still takes everything. Her breath catches, shoulders trembling just slightly under his touch, and I can see it — the exact moment she gives in.
Her fingers curl in his shirt, desperate for an anchor. When he finally pulls back, she’s still chasing the ghost of his lips.
But it's not his she's going to find.
I move in, closing the distance before her eyes even lift. My hands frame her jaw, tilting her face up toward mine, and she exhales my name — just a whisper, but it’s enough to make restraint feel like a ridiculous concept.
The first press of her mouth against mine is soft. Searching. Then something changes — something small and seismic — and she leans into it, into me, until I can feel every stutter of her pulse against my fingertips. She tastes like adrenaline and heat and something I don’t have a name for, something that’s been building under my skin since the first day she walked into our lives.
When I draw back, her eyes flutter open, dazed, unfocused. She looks wrecked in the most devastating way — lips pink, breathing ragged, that wide-eyed innocence that’s half curiosity, half hunger.
Jake’s hand finds her waist, pulling her back toward him. He kisses her again, slower this time, and the sound she makes — quiet, breathless — vibrates straight through the room. His low groan follows, rough and unrestrained, as if keeping his distance one more second might undo him completely.
We move around her like a tide, one step forward, one step back, taking turns, giving space, learning her. It’s careful but charged, a rhythm that feels instinctive — her lips to his, then mine, each kiss threaded with something unspoken, a silent promise that none of this will hurt her.
When it finally breaks, she’s looking between us with that same stunned expression, tears glinting but unshed. No fear now. Just raw emotion — trust, wonder, disbelief.
I rest my forehead against hers, our breaths tangled. “As much as I’d like to keep you locked in here all night,” I murmur, my voice gone low and rough, “Sloane’s due back any minute to go over the vessel layouts.”
Jake groans against her temple, his mouth still hovering close. “You’re kidding.”
My lips curve into a grin that’s half-apology, half-threat. “Wish I was.”
He huffs a short, frustrated laugh, and before I can talk myself out of it, my hands slide down to her waist. She’s light in my grip, startled only for a breath before her arms loop instinctively around my shoulders.
Jake steps in behind, his palm a solid weight at her back as I lift her easily from the table. She fits against me like she’s meant to — every curve, every soft exhale aligning perfectly with the rise and fall of my chest.
Her eyes dart between us, lips parted, and for a moment the world narrows to this: my heartbeat, her warmth, Jake’s steady presence behind her.
I kiss her once more, slow enough to memorize the shape of it. Jake’s mouth finds the curve of her neck, and she gasps softly — not in fear, but in the quiet kind of surprise that feels like recognition.
It’s only a minute, maybe less, but it feels suspended outside of time — her caught between us, us caught in her gravity.
Then I breathe out against her skin and force myself to set her down.
Because if we don’t stop now, we never will.