Carter’s breath catches and Tate tilts his head, mouth twitching. “That’s our girl.”
Carter leans down, cupping my jaw with both hands, kissing me slow, deeper this time. “You’re everything,” he murmurs against my lips. “Everything, Haven.”
I reach for him andhe melts into the moment like he was made for it. His body moves over mine, careful but eager, hands tracing every curve.
Tate lowers himself between my legs, his hand trailing up the length of my calf, slow and savoring every inch. When he reaches my thigh, his fingers hook into the waistband of my shorts, he peels them down inch by inch, dragging the fabric over my hips, my knees, until they’re gone.
The air feels different against me, his shoulders settle against the mattress. His mouth finds me, lips parting, tongue trailing along my inner thigh. Heat flares sharp, my hands twitch desperate for somewhere to hold on.
Carter leans in close, brushing his mouth along my cheek, the corner of my jaw, until finally he’s kissing me. His lips tremble, whimpers breaking against mine like he can’t contain it, and I feel him shiver every time I gasp. His hand cups the side of my face, thumb stroking over my cheekbone, grounding me even as my body arches toward Tate’s mouth.
Tate doesn’t let up. One of his hands locks tight at my hip, pinning me in place. Every drag of his tongue feels fucking incredible, precise, pulling sounds out of me only he can.
Carter swallows them, kissing me harder, murmuring against my lips, little fragments of words I can’t even catch. Praise, comfort, worship, they blur together until I’m surrounded by the weight of it. Tate holding me down, Carter lifting me up, and me caught somewhere between them, unraveling.
The room falls into a hush except for the last sound they drag out of me, the wet pull of Tate’s mouth, Carter’s soft, broken noises against my skin. In that silence, I realize what’s really happening. I’m not just being touched, I’m being bound by hands, mouths, voices, until all that’s left of me is theirs.
Carter’s chest is against my back now, one arm draped around my middle, his lips brushing the back of my neck every few seconds like he’s reminding himself I’m still here.
Tate’s sprawled at the end of the bed, long legs kicked up, one arm slung over his eyes like he’s half-asleep with his hand is still curled around my ankle, thumb lazily tracing circles over my skin. I sigh softly, too tired to form words,
“You good?” Carter whispers, voice muffled and warm against my shoulder.
I nod. “Starving.”
Tate snorts. “She lives.”
I don’t even have the strength to glare at him, but Carter chuckles softly, pulling the blanket back over the three of us. “We’ll get food soon. Just… lay here a minute.”
“You’re the one who said you were gonna cook,” Tate mutters without moving.
“You also saidyouwere gonna help.”
“I lied.”
I smile, eyes still closed, heart still doing that fluttery thing it only does when they’re both like this—close, bickering, grounding me without even trying.
“I’ll cook,” I offer, voice scratchy. “I’m the only adult here, clearly.”
“Absolutely not,” Carter says, kissing the top of my head. “You just went full final boss on your ex. You’re not lifting a finger.”
Tate’s thumb pauses its lazy circles. “He’s right,” he adds. “I’ll order something.”
I blink. “Wait you’re voluntarily spending money on food delivery instead of arguing about cooking?”
He grins without looking at me. “Don’t get used to it.”
“Don’t make me,” I mutter, tucking my face back into Carter’s chest.
The three of us fall quiet again. Today, I didn’t just win a match, I survived a war and they made damn sure I didn’t have to do it alone.
16
Tate
The replay’s on mute.
The only way I can watch it without wanting to punch a hole straight through my screen.