Chapter 194: Jake
When the bathroom door shut and the shower came up to a roar, I patted my thigh. “Come.”
She did—good girl—careful at first, then trusting, settling her weight over me like we’d rehearsed it. I didn’t rush. I took my time the way I wanted to—eyes first, hands second—cataloguing, claiming.
Yes, Reid and I are sharing. Yes, I’m more than fine with that. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want my own minutes with her, the kind I can fold and keep.
I slid my fingers into her hair—still damp at the ends, soft as a secret—then traced along her jaw, the little dip before her ear, the straight line of her nose that makes her look stubborn even when she isn’t trying. My thumb found her bottom lip and pressed, slow, until it gave under the touch.
She smiled, breath catching. “You look like you’re trying to memorize me.”
“I am,” I said, because I was. At this point I could sketch the exact green of her eyes from memory—the flecks that go gold when she’s laughing; I know which side of her mouth lifts first when she smiles; I could bet money on which strand of hair breaks from a ponytail and lays itself across her cheek like it owns the place. I know it—and it’s not enough. I want to look forever. I want to spend years proving I paid attention.
“Okay,” she whispered, and the word felt like a vow.
We kissed—slow, reverent. The kind that says we have all night and we’re still not going to waste a second. Her hands tightened in my hair; I answered with my palm at the small of her back, holding her exactly where I wanted her, exactly where she wanted to be.
The shower cut off. A beat later the door opened and Reid stepped out in nothing but gray joggers, water still walking down his chest. Her jaw slipped open—honest, helpless. I laughed—quiet and mean—and tapped her hip. “Go on,” I told her, and stood.
My turn under the water was fast enough to be obedient and long enough to reset. When I come back out—towel at my neck, clean, water clinging to shoulders that remember too many miles of road—I pause in the doorway.
She’s in his lap the way she was in mine, almost to the inch. One of his hands cradles the back of her head, keeping her close; the other fits itself to the dip of her waist like it has always belonged there. Both of her palms are on his chest, fingers splayed, reverent. They’re kissing like the room has narrowed to a single square foot and they’re going to live there.
I lean against the jamb and watch. There’s a twisted satisfaction in it—like watching myself from the outside. Same girl, same heat, same soft sound when she needs air; different angle, different pair of hands. I can see what it does to her to sit on him, how the line of her back changes, how his restraint turns into something like worship when she tightens her grip.
Mine, I think, and I don’t need to say it. Ours, and I don’t need to say that either.
I let them have another breath. Another two. Then I push off the door, cross the soft beige carpet, and let the lamplight and the heat of the room fold all three of us back into the same story.
I hook my hands under her thighs and lift her off Reid. “All right. That’s enough.”
Reid groans; she giggles, breathless. I carry her the few steps to the nearest bed and set her down on the edge. The lamp throws honey light across her knees. Reid and I take our place in front of her like we did the other night—shoulders squared, heat rolling off us, patient because we promised we would be.
We’ve already had the talk, he and I. She leads.
She looks up, wide-eyed, cheeks flushed, fingers twisting the hem of her blue shirt.
“You lead,” I tell her. “All of it. You tell us what you’re comfortable with, what you’re not. We’ll follow.”
Reid’s voice is low, certain. “We don’t guess. We don’t push. If we miss, you correct us."
I keep my hands to myself, even though every nerve I’ve got is leaning toward her. “Every second we’re close to you, Madeline, we want to touch you. To let you know how much we want you.”
Reid nods once, jaw tight. “And nothing we’ve ever done this far comes close to explaining how maddening it is to be in your presence.”
Silence, thick and bright. She’s looking between us like she can hear our hearts in her own chest.
Reid’s mouth tilts, not quite a smile. “But we’d like to show you.”
Her lips part. I have to lock my hands on the mattress frame to keep from reaching for her before we’ve finished the ground rules.
“Again. We don’t do anything you don’t want,” I tell her. “Ever. For us it’s simple: stop means stop. No means no.”
Reid: “Always.”
She swallows. “I want…” Her voice goes small, brave. “I want you to show me how much you want me.”
It hits like a live wire. A sound breaks loose from both of us at once; Reid’s is a ragged “Christ,” mine is a curse I bite down to keep from scaring her.
She wets her lips, eyes dark. “I’m on birth control,” she adds, almost shy. “If that… changes anything.”
For a second there’s no air in the room. We’d planned to play it safe—latex, lines drawn, patience. Neither of us has been with anyone in months. Not since her. Not since this. And we know she hasn't either. But what she's suggesting...
Reid’s voice roughens. “Are you sure?”
She nods, biting her lip, gaze steady. “I’m sure.”
The word settles between us like a key turned in a lock. I exhale, slow. Reid drags a hand over his mouth and meets my eyes—agreement, warning, hunger—all in one look.
“Then you lead,” I say to her, softer now. “Tell us what you want first.”