“Right here,” he whispers, forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling. “Just us, baby. Nothing else matters.”
He’s right. The past, the blood, the chaos—they all fall away until there’s only this moment. Only him. His body, his breath, his heart pounding in time with mine. I hold his gaze, refusing to look away as pleasure coils low in my belly, winding tighter with every movement.
His hands move over me like he’s committing me to memory, tracing every curve and hollow as if I might disappearagain if he doesn’t learn me by heart. Each touch lingers—warm, possessive—guiding me with quiet certainty until I’m exactly where he wants me. His thrusts deepen, every slow roll stealing the breath from my lungs and filling the space with his name. Our breathing takes over the room, uneven and urgent, the cadence of our love long restrained finally breaking free.
He shifts suddenly, one firm hand gripping the back of my thigh, lifting until my leg hooks over his shoulder. The new angel steals a gasp from me, sharp and breathless. He slides deeper, impossibly so, and the world tilts on its axis. My fingers clutch at his shoulders, nails biting into skin, needing something to hold on to as the pleasure spirals higher.
A low groan tears from his chest, rough and unrestrained. The sound vibrates through me, and I can’t tell whose voice breaks next—his or mine—as we find that perfect rhythm. Every movement is a conversation; every breath is an unspoken word. He leans closer, his forehead pressed to mine, sweat and warmth and love tangled together.
“Come with me, Berk,” he breathes, the plea rough and fractured as his control splinters. His eyes lock onto mine—molten gold, aching with a tenderness so intense it unravels me. I don’t look away. I let the heat between us swell and take over, let the rest of the world dissolve until there’s nothing left but him—and the storm he’s pulled from my depths.
When I finally tumble over the edge, it isn’t just release—it’s surrender. It’s a connection fierce enough to scorch and gentle enough to mend in the same heartbeat. I fall with him, holding on asif letting go would break us, his name spilling from my lips. In that fractured, perfect instant, nothing exists but the truth we’re sharing.
We’re alive.
And for the first time in forever, we’re whole again.
He slips from me slowly, breathing ragged, but instead of leaving the warmth between us, he stays pressed close, his skin hot against mine. His arm slides around my waist, pulling me into his chest until I can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against my back. The room smells like us—heat and sweat and raw passion that feels too real to question. His lips brush the side of my neck, his words a husky breath against my skin.
“Damn, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion and satisfaction. “Give me a minute, and we’ll get the party started.”
I laugh softly, still catching my breath, ready to tease him when a sudden burst of manic laughter cuts through the quiet. Both our heads snap toward the doorway. Ronan leans against the frame, a wicked grin curving his mouth, his eyes glinting with mischief and hunger. Emerson stands just behind him, more composed but no less intense, his gaze sliding over the scene in front of him.
“Damn, brother,” Ronan drawls, his voice dripping with amusement and challenge. “I thought you’d have better stamina than that.” He pushes off the doorframe, taking a few slow, deliberate steps forward, his gaze locked on me. “Should I show you how it’s done?” His head tilts slightly, one brow lifting in invitation, the smirk never fading.
Warmth blooms across my cheeks and down my chest, but it isn’t embarrassment that sparks it. It’s the way they’re all watchingme—three men, each different, each carrying the same unmistakable hunger in their eyes. My gaze flicks between them, pulse hammering. Rowan stiffens at my side, but the look he gives his brother holds no jealousy—only shared fire.
Emerson’s mouth curves, just barely, but it’s enough to make my stomach tighten. His voice stays low and steady, carrying across the room with the weight of a vow. “Careful, Ro,” he says. “If you start something, you’d better be prepared to see it through.”
Ronan’s grin widens, slow and sinful, and the air between us shifts, heavy with tension and familiarity, with love and danger and want. I look at each of them, my heart racing, knowing what this means, knowing what it has always meant.
Whatever’s about to happen next, none of us are walking away unchanged.
Chapter Seventeen
Ronan
When Em and I sent Rowan to bed with Berk, the plan was simple—give them space to heal what was broken. I didn’t expect to walk in later and find them tangled together like that, moving with hunger that said forgiveness had turned into something far more primal. Especially after the noises coming from the shower earlier. Our girl has a hunger for us—one we’re more than willing to satisfy.
For a second, I can’t breathe. Her leg is hooked high over his shoulder, his hands gripping her hips like he’s anchoring himself, and the sound she makes—soft and wrecked—shoots straight to my dick. He’s always loved her. My pulse slams against my ribs, and my body reacts instantly, no thought, no control.
Behind me, Em lets out a low grunt, barely contained. I glance sideways and see the tension in his jaw, his fists flexing at his sides. He’s fighting the same war I am—instinct versus restraint—even though he just had her several times hours ago. Neither of us moves. We stand frozen, watching, letting the moment burn into us like a scar. The room feels too small, too charged, the air thick with heat and need.
When they finally slow, when Rowan’s body bows against hers and the sounds turn into soft whispers, I can’t take it anymore. I let a smirk crawl across my lips, that familiar devil-may-care grinthat always gets me in trouble. If I don’t say something now, I’ll explode.
“Damn, brother,” I drawl, stepping forward, voice dripping with amusement and challenge. “I thought you’d have better stamina than that.” I push off the doorframe, taking my time crossing the floor, every step measured, deliberate, my gaze locked on Berk. “Should I show you how it’s done?” I tilt my head, raising one brow in invitation, the smirk never leaving my lips.
Her cheeks flush instantly, but there’s no fear there—just heat. She looks between the three of us, pulse fluttering in her throat, lips parting like she wants to speak but can’t quite find the words. Rowan tenses, his body going taut beside her, but there’s no jealousy in his eyes when he looks at me. Only fire.
Emerson finally comments, his voice quiet but steady, cutting through the haze that’s filled the room. “Careful, Ro. You start something, you better be ready to finish it.”
My grin widens, slow and sinful, a smile that says I’m already past the point of caring. The air between us hums, thick and electric, full of tension and history and everything we’ve kept buried for too damn long. I can feel it—the shift happening right here in this room—where forgiveness bleeds into desire, and all our broken edges finally fit together again.
In more ways than one.
Once I rise over them, the mattress dipping under my weight, I hook my fingers into the hem of my shirt and peel it off in one smooth, practiced motion. It’s effortless—deliberate—and the instant Berk’s eyes widen, her breath catching, a slow heat coilsthrough me. Her gaze tracks down my chest, lingering on every scar, every line of muscle, every mark of ink, and I let a knowing smirk settle in, because I recognize that look all too well.
“Oh, I plan on finishing it,” I say, voice low enough to vibrate through the space between us. “But this is your only chance to back out, Pix.” I reach down, catching her chin with my fingertips, tilting her face up so she can’t look anywhere but at me. “We’re going to wreck you tonight, baby. You good with that?”