35. Full Party Encounter
Chapter thirty-five
Full Party Encounter
Cameron
There are five adults in this living room, and somehow Dex still manages to take up seventy percent of it.
Physically, that should be impossible. Spiritually, it is completely accurate.
Full party restored. Apparently this is what our version of a long rest looks like.
He's stretched sideways across the couch with his head in Micah's lap, one knee bent over the back cushion and the other foot hanging off the opposite armrest like furniture was invented specifically to inconvenience everyone else.
Micah has one hand buried lazily in his hair, and every few minutes Dex goes quieter without seeming to realize why.
Not silent.
Let's not get reckless.
But quieter.
Griffin and I are on the floor in front of them, my back resting against his chest and his legs framing mine.
Every so often, without looking away from the movie, Dex reaches into the popcorn bowl and offers me a handful over my shoulder.
Ronan has claimed the armchair beside the couch with one ankle propped over his knee, looking like the only person in the room who understands the intended use of furniture.
The whole thing feels almost aggressively domestic.
Which would probably be more convincing if Griffin's hand hadn't been under my shirt for the last twenty minutes.
Not doing anything particularly sexual.
Just warm against my stomach, thumb moving absent circles over my skin while some action movie none of us is actually following destroys another historically significant European building.
Dex points toward the television. “That guy's dead.”
“He's on the poster,” Griffin says behind me.
“Marketing lies.”
I feel Griffin's laugh against my back before I hear it, and something soft moves through me.
This.
I like this.
Dex has been home long enough now that Chicago isn't dominating every conversation.
He's back at the bar for his normal shifts.
Grave Intentions has shows on the calendar again.
There are demos and songwriting emails and people Austin Fletcher knows apparently contacting him, like Dex has always belonged in that particular universe.
He still talks about Chicago.
A lot.
Because he is Dex.
But he doesn't look like somebody trying to decide which life he has to choose anymore.
He just looks like himself.
He looks like home.
I look up as Micah's fingers drag lightly over Dex's scalp.
Dex's eyes close.
His whole face softens for approximately three seconds.
Then he ruins it. “You know what I was thinking about today?”
“No,” Micah says.
Dex opens one eye. “Rude.”
“Usually safer.”
His head turns in Micah's lap until he's looking directly at me. “Dollface.”
“No.”
“I haven't said anything.”
“You called me Dollface in that voice.”
“What voice?”
The grin appears slowly.
There it is.
Micah's hand stills in his hair. “What were you thinking about?”
Dex's eyes remain on mine. “I was thinking maybe Cami should boss me around again.”
Heat moves through me so quickly that for one embarrassing second I am certain everyone in the room can physically see it.
Griffin laughs behind me—a quiet sound against my shoulder that says he absolutely felt my body change.
Dex’s grin turns smug.
I roll my eyes. “Shut up.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“Your face did.”
“You like my face.”
“Sometimes.”
“Usually when it's between your—”
Micah puts his hand over Dex's mouth. “Finish that sentence, and you're sleeping alone.”
Dex says something muffled against his palm.
Micah removes it.
“I said,” Dex repeats with great dignity, “I respect Cami’s leadership.”
“Liar.”
“Deeply.”
Ronan makes a small sound from the armchair.
It takes me a second to realize he's laughing.
I look back at Dex.
He's still watching me—waiting.
It’s like he isn’t quite asking, just leaving the door open and making sure I see it.
Dex will play with almost anything, but he rarely hides the invitation.
He makes it obvious enough that I can choose whether I want to pick it up.
Tonight, apparently, I do.
I shift forward out of Griffin's arms and stand.
The change in the room is subtle but immediate.
Dex sits up slightly.
Micah's gaze follows me.
Ronan's attention sharpens.
Griffin's hand leaves my stomach as I move.
I cross the few feet between us.
Dex watches the entire way.
By the time I stop in front of him, the smugness has faded into something more alert.
“Sit up.”
His eyebrows rise.
Then he does. “Yes, ma'am.”
Fuck.
That still hits.
Apparently it may always hit.
He plants his feet on the floor while Micah shifts enough to give him space. His hands reach instinctively toward my hips.
I catch one before he gets there. “No.”
Dex goes still.
It’s a little dramatic, if I’m honest.
It’s big for a tiny moment when the energy between us changes because I've given him a direction and he's decided to follow it.
My body lights up.
I apparently find it extremely hot that he could move if he wanted to and simply chooses not to because I told him not to.
His eyes flick toward my fingers wrapped around his wrist, then back to my face.
“Keep your hands there.” I guide his hand back to his thigh.
“Yes, ma'am.”
Micah's breathing changes beside him.
Griffin makes another quiet sound somewhere behind me.
And I—God—I fucking like this.
I lean down and kiss Dex.
Hard enough that he immediately tries to chase my mouth when I pull back.
His hands twitch on his thighs, but they stay put.
A hot little thrill runs straight through me. “Good boy.”
Dex groans.
Actually groans.
Griffin mutters, “Jesus Christ.”
I start laughing.
Dex opens his eyes and glares at me. “You're weaponizing that.”
“Yes.”
“Unethical.”
“Want to complain again?”
His mouth twitches. “No, ma'am.”
Micah laughs, but when I glance at him, there's something under the amusement.
Interest.
Heat.
And something quieter I know well enough to recognize as pride.
Like he's enjoying watching Dex give me something he normally gives to him.
Because Dex trusts both of us differently.
That thought settles somewhere surprisingly deep.
I turn back toward Dex and kiss him again.
This time Micah's hand moves to the back of his neck.
Dex's whole body changes at the contact.
His shoulders drop.
His mouth softens against mine.
His attention narrows.
I break the kiss slowly.
His hands start to reach for me.
Micah's fingers tighten just enough to be intentional. “Didn't she tell you to keep those hands down?”
Dex inhales. “Yes, Sir.”
An electric pulse moves through me.
Griffin's hand lands at my hip from behind, steady and warm, and I realize he feels the heat too.
Or maybe he felt me react.
Probably both.
Ronan watches from the chair.
Tracks.
Makes sure nobody disappears inside the momentum.
Dex glances toward him.
There is a very specific kind of trouble in that look.
Ronan sees it immediately. “Don't start with me.”
Dex's smile comes back. “I didn't do anything.”
“Good, you don’t want to.”
“Prove it.”
Ronan stands.
Dex's pupils blow wider.
Oh.
This is going to become a problem—a really hot problem.
Griffin's mouth brushes my shoulder.
His breath is warm against my skin. “You having fun?”
I lean back into him without taking my eyes off Dex. “So much.”
“Thought so.” His lips press to the side of my neck.
My whole body feels awake now.
Too many currents crossing.
Dex's attention on me.
Micah's hand still resting possessively at his neck.
Ronan moving closer with that precise, unreadable expression that somehow manages to be more threatening than an actual threat.
Griffin behind me.
Solid.
Familiar.
Mine in one way while absolutely none of this requires anybody else to be less.
And there it is.
The strange, nearly impossible thing we've somehow built.
No one has to move away for somebody else to come closer.
The movie continues for another twelve minutes.
None of us could tell you what happens.
At some point somebody turns the television off.
By then, the room has already shifted enough that silence feels better than background noise.
We stay in the living room.
That part surprises me.
Maybe because every sexual configuration we've intentionally explored until now has eventually migrated toward somebody's bedroom or Ronan's basement.
Private places.
Prepared places.
Places where sex belongs.
Tonight nobody suggests moving.
Our living room has blankets draped over the back of the couch, abandoned glasses on the coffee table, Griffin's socks beside the recliner, and a popcorn bowl that has to be relocated before someone ends up sitting in it.
It doesn't feel like a scene.
It feels like the house got horny.
Dex is shirtless first.
Naturally.
He peels his shirt off in one dramatic movement and throws it toward Ronan.
Ronan catches it on reflex.
Looks at the shirt.
Looks at Dex and drops it on the floor.
Dex looks offended. “Rude.”
“You threw laundry at me.”
“That was flirtation.”
“That was cotton.”
Micah laughs into Dex's shoulder.
Griffin's chest shakes against my back.
Even I lose it.
And somehow the laughter doesn't break the tension.
It makes the whole thing hotter because nobody is performing.
Nobody is trying to turn this into some monumental first full group experience.
We're just five people who know each other extremely well, becoming increasingly naked in a living room.
My shirt disappears.
Then Griffin's.
Micah's.
Ronan stays dressed longest, which Dex notices almost immediately.
“You planning to supervise?”
“No.”
“You're standing there like a disappointed museum curator.”
“I am attempting to determine where I can sit without putting my knee into someone's lumbar spine.”
“Hot.”
Ronan takes off his shirt.
Dex goes quiet.
I burst out laughing. “That worked.”
Ronan's mouth curves.
Dex points at him.
“Don't be pleased with yourself.”
“I said nothing.”
“Your nipples did.”
There is a full second of silence.
Then Griffin laughs so hard he has to bend forward.
Ronan closes his eyes. “Sometimes,” he says carefully, “I understand why violence appeals to people.”
Dex looks delighted.
God, I missed this man.
Dex brings his own weather—and I missed the storm.