Chapter 23 Ace
ACE
“Can’t sleep?” I ask.
Keira shifts, careful not to wake Cyrus. “I’ve been thinking about something.”
I turn to face her fully, noting the tension in her expression. “What is it?”
She hesitates, then draws a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize... for suggesting that you and Cyrus... touch each other.” Her voice falters. “It was wrong of me to mention that. It’s been weighing on my mind.”
The words hang heavy between us. Beside her, Cyrus stirs, his eyes opening. He’s always had an uncanny ability to sense important conversations.
“What’s happening?” Cyrus mumbles, instantly alert despite the hour.
“Keira’s apologizing for suggesting we touch each other sexually,” I say, my tone deliberately neutral despite the discomfort crawling under my skin.
Silence stretches for several heartbeats. Cyrus’s hand finds mine across Keira’s body—a gesture of solidarity we’ve shared since childhood.
“It scared us,” I admit, words I’d never say to anyone but the two people in this bed. “What we have, Cyrus and I... It’s beyond sex.”
“We’ve shared everything our entire lives,” Cyrus continues, his voice rough with sleep and emotion. “Every possession, every victory, every tragedy.”
“Even you,” I add, brushing a strand of hair from Keira’s face. “But some lines shouldn’t be crossed. Not because we’re ashamed or judgmental—”
“But because what we have is already perfect in its complexity,” Cyrus finishes. “We don’t need to blur those boundaries.”
Keira nods, relief washing over her features. “I understand. I’m sorry I made things uncomfortable.”
“Don’t apologize for your fantasies,” I tell her. “We want all of you—your darkness, your desires. Even the ones we can’t fulfill.”
I watch Keira’s expression soften with our reassurance, but something tugs at my chest—a truth I’ve been holding back from both of them. Maybe it’s the vulnerability of the moment or the darkness that makes confession easier, but words form before I can stop them.
“But thinking about something doesn’t mean not wanting it.”
The admission hangs in the air between us. Keira’s eyes widen, and I notice Cyrus go completely still beside her. The hand that had been holding mine across Keira’s body withdraws, almost imperceptibly.
“What are you saying?” Keira asks.
I maintain my composure, though my heart hammers against my ribs. “I’m saying that boundaries exist for reasons beyond simple desire or disgust. Sometimes we don’t cross lines precisely because we recognize what might lie on the other side.”
My words feel hollow even to me. I’ve spent nights staring at Cyrus across Keira’s sleeping form, wondering what it means that we can share her body so intimately, that we can experience pleasure simultaneously through her.
These thoughts have visited me in unguarded moments—not with lust, but with curiosity about the nature of our connection.
Cyrus shifts beside Keira, his jaw tight. I recognize the tension in his shoulders—the same posture he adopts before a difficult assignment.
“We should sleep,” Cyrus says abruptly.
Keira looks between us, clearly sensing the subtle shift in atmosphere. The connection between my brother and me has always been impenetrable to outsiders, but Keira sees more than most.
I nod slightly, accepting Cyrus’s deflection for now. Some conversations are better left for daylight, if they’re meant to be had at all.
I watch as Keira shifts between us, turning first toward Cyrus. Her eyes are soft, filled with an emotion I’m still learning to identify—something between gratitude and tenderness.
“I really am sorry,” she whispers to him, her palm coming up to rest against his stubbled cheek. “It was never my intention to make either of you uncomfortable.”
Cyrus’s expression softens in that way that it only does for her.
Even in the dim moonlight, I can see his defenses lowering, the tension in his jaw relaxing as she leans in and presses her lips gently against his.
The kiss is chaste, apologetic, carrying none of the hunger that typically defines our interactions.
Something unfamiliar tightens in my chest as I observe them. Not jealousy—Cyrus and I have never known jealousy with each other—but a recognition of the intimacy that exists beyond physical pleasure. It’s territory we’ve only started to navigate since Keira entered our lives.
She pulls back from Cyrus and turns to me. Her eyes meet mine, searching for something I’m not sure I can give her.
“Ace,” she says simply. She leans across the small space between us and kisses me with the same gentle pressure she offered my brother.
Her lips are soft, warm, and, for once, neither demanding nor being demanded of.
I respond without thinking, returning the tender gesture with an uncharacteristic gentleness of my own.
When she pulls away, she settles back between us, drawing the covers up to her chin. Cyrus’s arm returns to its place around her waist, his fingers brushing against my forearm in the process. The touch isn’t intentional, but I don’t pull away.
“Sleep now,” I murmur, surprised by the protective instinct that washes over me.
Keira’s eyes flutter closed, her breathing gradually evening out as she drifts off. Across her sleeping form, I meet Cyrus’s gaze. A silent understanding passes between us—this woman has somehow changed everything.
I close my eyes and allow sleep to claim me, my hand still resting lightly against Keira’s hip, Cyrus’s presence a familiar comfort on her other side.