Chapter 17 Cyrus
CYRUS
Icarry Keira into our penthouse, her body cradled against my chest. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sleek, open-concept space, but I don’t give her time to explore. Not yet.
“Later,” I murmur, pressing my lips to her temple. “First, bed.”
Ace walks ahead, pushing open the double doors to our bedroom.
The massive California king dominates the space, black sheets already turned down.
I place Keira in the center, watching as she sinks into the mattress, her dark hair fanning out across our pillows.
Something primal roars to life in my chest at the sight.
“Stay,” I command, my voice rough with need. “We’ll be back.”
In the kitchen, I pull ingredients from the refrigerator and set water to boil. Ace leans against the counter, watching me with that infuriating smirk of his.
“What are you doing?” he asks, amusement coloring his tone.
I crack eggs into a bowl. “Making breakfast.”
“Since when do you cook for our conquests?”
“She needs fuel.” I reach for the pepper grinder. “We’ve been at her for days, and I plan on continuing for many more.”
Ace’s eyebrow rises. “Domesticity looks strange on you, brother.”
I ignore him, whisking the eggs with more force than necessary.
“Are you actually making her tea?” Ace asks as I prepare a herbal blend. “Next, you’ll be fluffing her pillows and asking about her feelings.”
“Fuck off.” I slide the eggs into a pan. “I’m making sure she has the energy to take both of us again. Multiple times.”
Ace’s laugh is low and knowing. “Admit it. You’re catching feelings for this one.”
I grab the knife I’d been using to slice fruit and point it directly at him. “I’m not catching shit. She fits us perfectly, that’s all.”
Ace doesn’t flinch at the blade—he never does. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Don’t pretend you’re not as addicted,” I counter, lowering the knife to continue slicing strawberries. “I see the way you look at her when you think I’m not watching. The way your hands linger. You’ve never spared a second glance at our previous conquests.”
Ace’s jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. “She’s a good fuck.”
“She’s ours,” I correct, arranging the food on a tray. “And I’m going to make sure she has enough energy to remember that. Repeatedly.”
Ace shrugs and walks off, heading back toward the bedroom without another word.
I watch him go, noticing the tense set of his shoulders beneath his expensive shirt.
He’s been off since Keira mentioned her fantasy last night—that little confession about wanting to see us touch each other.
I shake my head, returning to the tray of food I’m preparing.
It’s just a dirty little fantasy. We’ve had plenty of women with wild imaginations before. Hell, we’ve played into them when it suited us. But this is different. This crosses a line neither of us has ever entertained crossing.
I arrange the toast beside the eggs, thinking about the look on Keira’s face when she admitted what turned her on.
The flush in her cheeks, the way her pupils dilated—she’d been so fucking beautiful in that moment of vulnerability.
And yeah, we’d teased her, let her think we might consider it.
Why not? The fantasy clearly drove her wild.
But that’s all it is. A fantasy.
Ace and I, we share everything. Always have. But not that. Never that. We’re twins, and while we’ve crossed plenty of lines together, there are boundaries even we respect.
I pour the tea, remembering how Keira’s breath had caught when we’d suggested we might kiss while fucking her. It had been worth playing along just to see that reaction. To watch her come apart at the mere suggestion.
Teasing her about it is one thing.
The truth is more complicated. When she said it, something in my chest tightened—recognition, maybe, of something I’ve spent thirty years deliberately not recognizing. Ace and I share everything, but we’ve never shared ourselves with each other. Not like that.
We won’t. The thought alone makes my skin feel too tight. But I understand why she fantasizes about it—she sees how we move together, how we breathe in sync, how, sometimes, touching her feels like touching him through her. She sees what we refuse to see.
And maybe that’s what scares me most.
But actually acting on it? No.
I lift the tray and follow Ace’s path toward the bedroom, pushing aside the momentary discomfort. Keira wants to believe her fantasy might come true, and we’ll let her. It’s harmless enough to play along in words only.
After all, we’ve got enough real ways to ruin her without crossing that particular line.