I take a breath, slow and careful, feeling the weight of everything we’ve survived balancing on my tongue. “I love you guys,” I whisper. “And I probably don’t say it enough.”
It’s like dropping a stone in still water. Ripples move through all three of them.
Emerson’s features soften first, a muscle ticking in his jaw—the only sign of how hard he’s holding himself together. “Love you too, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough.
Rowan tips his head toward me, eyes steady in the way only he can manage. “Love you. Always,” he says. No flourish, no tease. Just truth.
Behind me, Ronan slides an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest for a second before brushing his lips across my temple. “Pix,” he whispers, “you’re my whole damn world.”
My throat tightens. I try to swallow it down, but it lingers, warm and sharp.
Still holding Ronan’s hand, I climb onto the bed. Rowan shifts without hesitation, scooting into the center, opening the space for me like he’s done it a thousand times. When I crawl over him, his hands rise to my hips—gentle at first, then firmer as heat sparks between us.
His body reacts immediately, cock pressing up against me through the thin fabric of my shorts, and I feel a shiver chase up my spine. His breath brushes my throat, warm and controlled, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that twists low in my stomach.
I settle onto him, straddling his waist, and the energy shifts. The room draws tight around us, the air heating as Ronan climbs onto the mattress behind me, his palm gliding up my back. Emerson shifts closer from the other side, shoulder brushing mine as if unwilling to let even an inch of space separate us.
Their presence is overwhelming in the best way—three shadows, three anchors, three hearts beating in the same bruised rhythm as mine. After everything we’ve lost, after everything that’s been ripped away, this—this impossible, dangerous, beautiful thing—we still have it.
Rowan’s thumbs stroke my hips. Ronan’s lips graze the back of my shoulder. Emerson’s fingers curl around my wrist, grounding me as I breathe them in, one by one.
“I need you guys tonight.”
It comes out quieter than I mean for it to—hoarse, pulled from the part of my chest that still feels bruised and hollow. For a heartbeat, none of them move. Then all three react at once, like predators catching the same scent, like protectors answering the same call.
Rowan’s grip on my hips tightens, his gaze snapping up to mine, storm-dark and hungry. I can feel the tremor he tries to hide in the way his fingers flex against my skin. Emerson shifts in closer, brushing his knuckles along my cheek with a tenderness that nearly unravels me on the spot. Ronan’s palm finds the small of my back, heat bleeding through his touch in a slow, claiming sweep.
“Pix,” Ronan murmurs against my shoulder, his breath a warm shiver across my skin. “Say it again.”
I swallow hard, the need thick in my throat. “I need you.”
That’s all it takes.
Rowan’s hands slide up my sides, firm and certain, drawing me closer until our foreheads almost touch. His voice is low, a velvet rasp that sinks straight into my spine. “Then you have us.”
Emerson’s fingers trail down my jaw, slow enough to coax another breathless ache out of me. He tilts my face toward him, his eyes searching mine, soft and fierce all at once. “You don’t get us in pieces,” he says. “You get all of us. Every damn time.”
The bed shifts as Ronan pulls me back against him, his arm circling my waist, his chest solid heat against my spine. The tattoos on his forearm brush my skin—inked lines that curl and flex with each controlled breath he takes. “Let us take the weight for a while,” he growls softly. “Let us make you forget everything but us.”
I close my eyes as their mouths find me—slow, deliberate kisses along my throat, my shoulder, the edge of my jaw. Each one different. Rowan is fire and restraint. Emerson is warmth and reverence. Ronan is hunger held barely in check.
Their hands map over me with purpose, fingers sliding, palms smoothing, pulling me into them until my breath shatters in my chest. My knees weaken, my pulse climbs, and a soft sound slips from me—something between a gasp and a plea.
Because their touch is grounding.
Their closeness is salvation.
And their need for me… it’s a storm I don’t ever want shelter from.
My hands find their shoulders, their hair, their chests—needing something to anchor myself to as their lips and hands work over my body. Every point of contact sends another wave of heat rolling through me, another reminder that I’m not alone in this war, not alone in this pain, not alone in this moment.
“I waited years for you,” I whisper, the words trembling but true, “and I’m not waiting anymore.”
Rowan’s breath stutters against my neck. Emerson’s fingers press into my hips. Ronan’s grip tightens, pulling me fully back against his chest.
“Good,” Ronan growls, voice rough with emotion and want. “Because we’re done waiting, too.”
My clothes are gone before my next blink, one of the positives about having three men to worship you.