Chapter Twenty-Seven – Fawn #2
Oh God . . . I nearly forgot I squirted for the first time last night. I wonder if I can do it again or if it was a one-off. It was such a rush; it felt like a water balloon being filled then finally exploding.
But he’s right. We dove straight into chaos last night. Admittedly, amazing chaos, but I want the slow parts too. I want to learn about them the way they’ve clearly been learning about me.
“What do you have in mind?” I ask.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, all his teeth showing with a smug smile. “But make sure not to wear open-toed shoes.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Hmm. Okay.”
I’m sure Dylan has plans that will be fun. Probably quite crazy, and possibly dangerous, but definitely entertaining.
Before I can ask about it, Torin strolls into the kitchen smelling of cigarettes.
Dylan eyes him up and down. “See, you’ve got a shirt two sizes too small . . . We get it, dude. You’ve got muscles.”
Torin doesn’t even look at him as he heads to the coffee pot. “You can shut the fuck up. It’s nearly eight in the morning, and I’ve already had enough of you today.”
“Stop having a tantrum,” Dylan fires back. “Have a coffee and smile.”
“Go fuck yourself, Dyl.”
“I’ll have Fawn do it for me. We know how good she is with her mouth.”
Hang on; why am I getting dragged into this? I freeze mid-pancake-bite, staring between them.
“Whoa,” I squeak, eyebrows shooting up. “Don’t bring me into this.”
Torin points at him. “You’re a jackass. Go take your medication before you forget.”
These two are going to be the death of me. But somehow, in the middle of all this arguing and commotion, there’s this little bit of sweetness too.
The banter stops, and Dylan perks up. “Fawn’s letting us take her out later . . .”
“Dude, you haven’t even told me where we’re going yet,” Torin replies.
Dylan closes the gap and whispers something in Torin’s ear. I can’t hear a single syllable, but Torin’s face shifts into a slow, unmistakable smile.
“She’ll dig that,” Torin sounds amused.
Now, I am literally burning with curiosity, but I don’t want to ruin the surprise. Surprises are fun, and I don’t get them that often. Well, at all, really.
Torin leans over the counter, takes one look at the burnt pancakes on my plate, and gives me a closed-lip smile.
The last bite of pancake is the worst. It’s bitter on my tongue but I eat it anyway. I am glad to be finished, washing the ashes away with another gulp of coffee. Before I even finish, Dylan slides another pancake in front of me. “Thank you, but I’m full now.”
“Full of charred charcoal,” Torin mumbles under his breath. Dylan doesn’t hear his remark.
“Oh! Oh, toss me your phone,” he suddenly says, already forgetting about the pancakes.
With slight hesitation, I unlock it and push it across the counter. “Why? You’re not going to prank-text someone, are you?”
He scoffs, placing a hand on his chest as if I’ve just offended him. “You really think I’m that immature?”
Torin and I lock eyes . . . and answer at the same time. “Yes.”
The look on Dylan’s face is priceless: offended, guilty, defensive, and amused all mixed together. And let’s be honest here? He would probably text Delilah something like Guess what? Fawn slept with both of us, hahahaha.
“I’m putting the three of us in a group chat,” he says, typing furiously.
“Oh, that’s a good idea,” says Torin, nodding. “You can let us know when you get home safe and things like that.”
My stomach does a weird little flip. Okay, this is . . . real. Like, actually real.
A relationship. With both of them.
My mouth opens to say something, but nothing comes out.
Torin notices my surprise, and he leans in slightly; his voice softens. “Maybe we should try and figure out what’s going on here . . . establish some ground rules. You know, just get things straight.”
Dylan nods, crossing his arms over his bare chest like he’s the CEO of relationships.
Torin gestures toward us three, tracing a path in the air. “It’s just us three. Nobody else.”
His eyes dart from Dylan back to me, checking that we’re listening. I nod.
Torin leans back against the counter and continues.
“We like each other, so no messing with feelings. Our girl gets time with us, we get time with her, and we give each other space when we need it.” He says this like it’s only common sense or whatever.
“We lay things out if one of us needs answers or if we’re confused. ”
Dylan nods in agreement. “Yeah, that’s all fair.” Then, he uncrosses his arms and gives me a look that’s way too serious for joggers. “Fawn, are you on anything?”
I blink. “Anything? Like drugs?” I furrow my brows — not quite understanding what’s going on.
Dylan’s eyes widen in surprise as he quickly shakes his head. “No! Not drugs,” he says, waving his mug in frantic little circles. “I meant, like, birth control?”
Torin groans and drags a hand down his face. “Jesus, Dyl. Maybe try phrasing better next time.”
“I’m ASKING A RESPONSIBLE QUESTION FOR ONCE. Jackass!” Dylan protests.
I stare at them for a moment, feeling a mix of shock, amusement, and fondness. Seriously, only these two could turn a real talk into something straight out of a comedy show.
“Yeah,” I tell him with a little laugh. “I’m on the pill. The doctor said it would help with my PCOS.” I shrug. “Turns out . . . that was a crock of shit.”
Dylan’s face lights up when he hears I’m on the pill. “So that means we get to come in—” he begins, wiggling his eyebrows.
Torin immediately slaps him upside on the head. “Dude!”
My mouth is agape. This irks Dylan, and he rubs his arm. “Well, I’ve been tested, and I always used protection.”
“Same here,” Torin says. “Plus, I haven’t had sex in months.”
They both look at me. Expectant. Gentle. Serious.
“Same here,” I clarify.
Dylan nods, as if he’s checked off all the things necessary in the responsible adulthood box. “Okay. Good. That’s all done.” He looks like he’s proud of himself for dealing with this serious adult conversation.
But then Torin relaxes his stare. He edges in a little bit closer and speaks in a slightly deeper voice. “Fawn . . . are you sure this is what you want?” He gestures between the three of us. “If you don’t, you can walk away. No hard feelings.”
The room falls silent. I can hear the birds singing, the fridge humming.
It’s crazy, but why not? Why shouldn’t I be wanted?
I look at them — really look. I think of everything they’ve done for me so far.
How they’ve shown up.
How they’ve protected me.
How last night felt . . .
How they worshipped my body.
How could I not want this?
I pull in a slow breath, hold it, and let the nod come with the exhale. “I want this. I’d be a fool not to.”
Torin lets out a deep sigh of relief, as if he’d been holding his breath.
Dylan’s face relaxes in that bright, sincere way of his before moving in.
He places his hands on my waist, as if seeking permission in silence.
With a slight tilt of my chin, he gently picks me up and places me on the edge of the kitchen counter.
My feet dangle over the side as his eyes drift up to meet mine, doubt giving way to this tender look of relief.
“I’m really glad,” he murmurs. “Honestly? I don’t think I could’ve let you go, princess.”
He leans in and kisses me, then pulls back, smiling with breathless excitement.
Torin slides up and shifts into the space in front of me, right between my knees. He cups my jaw with one hand and strokes my cheek with his thumb to make sure I’m still in serious mode. Then, he kisses me too — slow and steady.
Behind Torin, Dylan pumps a fist in the air like a victorious little kid.
“FUCK YES! God, this is gonna be so good, the three of us. I can feel it!”
Torin turns his head, shooting him a look. “Dyl. Relax. You’d think your frontal lobe hasn’t developed yet.”
But Dylan just grins impossibly wide, bouncing on the balls of his feet, like he’s physically incapable of calming down.
I can’t help but laugh. Because he’s not wrong — this is going to be good.
Different yet beautiful . . .
The room falls silent for a moment, that’s when a sudden thought comes to mind.
“Oh, where are my panties?” I ask casually, like it’s a normal breakfast question.
Both of them freeze. Dylan glances at Torin, and he pretends like the ceiling is the most amazing thing in the world.
“Torin . . .” I say, easing into it.
He shrugs, wearing his shamelessness like a badge. “I wanted a memento, just in case you didn’t want to hang around.” He waves a dismissive hand. “Sorry if a guy likes souvenirs.”
My jaw drops in amazement. “Is it a normal thing for you to . . . collect souvenirs?”
“Hell no,” he shoots back. “Your panties are special.” He winks.
Dylan reacts like he’s just missed out on a Black Friday sale. “Fuck! Why didn’t I think of that?” he says. “Can I have your bra?”
Oh, sugar, they’re arguing over who gets possession of my clothes. I rub my temples. “Only if I get a couple of your shirts.”
Now I understand why Delilah has a collection of men’s shirts.
“Well, I guess we can manage that for our princess,” says Dylan with pride.
So, here we are, the three of us trading clothes like we’re in some crazy rom-com hostage situation.
Seriously, what is my life right now? Totally weird.
But in a way, it feels . . . just right.