“How can you look at us like that?” I ask. “Knowing everything we’ve done?”
“Because I see you,” she says simply. “Both of you. Not just what they made you.”
Cyrus and I exchange glances, something settling between us — quieter than the conversation we’d had over dinner, but no less significant. That had been the decision. This feels like something else. Like the weight of it finally becoming real.
“We meant what we said tonight,” I say, taking her hand. “It wasn’t just words over a meal.”
“I know.” Keira’s eyes move between us. “Neither was my answer.”
Cyrus exhales slowly, his thumb tracing over her knuckles. “Our world is dangerous. That doesn’t change, even if we step back from active work. You understand what you’re really agreeing to.”
It isn’t quite a question, but she answers it like one anyway, reaching up to touch his face and then mine, her palm warm against my jaw.
“I understand who I’m choosing,” she says quietly. “Both of you. All of you.”
I watch Cyrus guide Keira to the couch, his hands gentler than I’ve ever seen them. The fierce protector who once snapped a man’s neck without blinking now treats her like blown glass, his fingers skimming her bruises with calculated care.
“We won’t let anything happen to you again,” he promises, his voice breaking slightly.
Something shifts in my chest, witnessing this—a tightness unrelated to Keira. It’s Cyrus. My twin. My other half. The realization hits with startling clarity: loving Keira hasn’t just made me vulnerable to her; it’s stripped away the armor I’ve maintained even with him.
For twenty-four years, we’ve operated as extensions of each other, perfectly synchronized yet carefully bounded. Now those boundaries blur. His pain becomes mine in ways too intimate to measure. His tenderness toward her awakens something primal in me that has nothing to do with possession or control.
When he catches me staring, neither of us looks away. Something unspoken passes between us—acknowledgment of this shift, this new terrain we’re navigating without maps. His eyes hold mine, and for the first time in our lives, I don’t know exactly what he’s thinking.
Keira looks between us, seemingly aware of the tension. She stands, taking both our hands.
Cyrus’s breath catches. “How?”
“I want to feel you both...” She hesitates, then continues with characteristic boldness. “Inside me. At the same time.”
My pulse quickens, heat pooling low as I instantly understand her meaning. It hasn’t happened often — only a handful of times since the Hunt ended — but the memory of it is seared into me completely.
“It’s been a while,” Cyrus says quietly, his voice already rougher than it was a moment ago.
“I know.” Keira holds his gaze, then mine. “That’s why I need it. I need to feel whole again. Filled completely. By both of you.”
Cyrus and I exchange a look over her head — the kind of wordless conversation we’ve had our whole lives, except now she’s at the center of it.
“You’re sure?” I ask, already guiding her toward the bedroom.
“When have I ever not been sure about this?” she murmurs, reaching for the buttons on my shirt while Cyrus’s hands slide beneath her sweater.
We undress her slowly between us, two sets of hands taking their time with every inch of skin revealed. When she’s finally bare, Cyrus lifts her onto the bed while I move to retrieve the lubricant from the nightstand.
I position myself between Keira’s spread thighs while Cyrus moves behind her. The bottle of lubricant clicks open, and I watch Cyrus drizzle the clear fluid between her ass cheeks. His fingers circle her tight entrance with practiced precision.
“Relax for me,” he murmurs against her neck, pressing a single digit against the resistance.
I lower my mouth to her pussy, drawing my tongue through her folds. She’s already wet, her body responding to our combined attention. Her back arches as Cyrus works his finger deeper into her ass, stretching her carefully.
“Such a greedy little hole,” Cyrus says, adding a second finger. “Opening up for me so perfectly.”
I suck her clit between my lips, feeling her thighs tremble against my shoulders. Her taste floods my mouth—familiar yet intoxicating every time. I slide two fingers inside her pussy, curling them upward to find the spot that makes her gasp.
“Please,” she whimpers, her body caught between our relentless attention.
“Patience,” I warn, delivering a sharp slap to her inner thigh that leaves a pink handprint. “Good girls wait until they’re told.”