18. Gen
Chapter 18
Gen
I wake to the sound of low voices.
It takes a few seconds to orient myself. The voices are male, which confuses me. Until I remember where I am. I’m still wrapped in Silas’s sweatshirt, but now there’s a warm blanket resting over my legs. The lights are dimmed, the air still scented faintly with the tea Silas made me. There’s music playing—low, jazzy, familiar. It must be late.
I shift slightly, trying not to draw attention, but then I hear my name. Or rather, a version of it. Silas’s voice, low and coaxing. Then Max.
“You want to share her.”
“I want to share her.”
The words hit my bloodstream like heat.
I stay still. Still enough to keep breathing shallow and steady, hoping they think I’m asleep. But inside, my pulse starts to hammer. Because I know who “her” is. And I know what they’re talking about.
Max says something I can’t catch. Then Silas speaks again, quieter this time.
It doesn’t sound casual. It doesn’t sound like a joke. It sounds like he’s serious. Like they’ve been circling this for a while. Sharing . The word lands hot and sharp in my stomach. My thighs press together involuntarily.
I should be shocked. Embarrassed. Horrified.
Instead, I’m warm. And flushed. And something that feels an awful lot like want coils deep and low inside me.
I blame the pregnancy. That’s the only thing that makes sense. It’s the hormones. It has to be that.
Because it’s not the way Silas has always looked at me—sweet and steady and a little bit wild. And it’s definitely not the way Max’s gaze makes my skin feel too tight, his silence somehow louder than anyone else’s attention.
It’s not that.
It can’t be.
I shift again, stretching subtly, like I’m just waking up. My breath hitches when I catch Silas’s gaze. He’s watching me now, his expression unreadable. But then it shifts—slowly, deeply. Recognition flickers across his face, and the easy smirk he wore earlier fades into something different.
“You’re awake.”
His voice is calm, but there’s tension in it now. but there’s a new weight behind it. Not shock. Not shame. It’s definitely not guilt.
I push up slightly, the blanket falling from my lap. My hair’s a mess, and I’m still wearing his sweatshirt, and I should probably feel awkward. But I don’t.
Silas moves in closer, one hand pressed to the couch cushion beside my hip. “Is that what you want?” His voice dips low. “To be shared? To be taken care of?”
The silence stretches, charged. My chest tightens. He knows I was awake and heard them.
“Yes.”
It slips out before I can frame it into something safer. Before I can dress it up in rationale or load it with disclaimers. I want this. I want them. Both of them.
I want the impossible weight of their attention, their hands on me, their need focused in tandem.
I want to be wanted without apology.
Silas watches me. His mouth curves, but it isn’t playful. It’s reverent. “Say it again.”
“Yes.” This time, I hold his gaze. There’s no shame in mine. I’m owning this, leaning into what I want. “I want you both.”
He lifts his hand and touches my jaw with careful pressure. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth, then trails down to rest just beneath my chin. My pulse jumps.
“I’m going to kiss you.”
The words don’t need to be spoken. I already know. My lips are already parted. But I nod.
The kiss isn’t tentative. He doesn’t test the waters. He sinks into it, his mouth claiming mine in a way that strips me bare without touching a single piece of clothing. My fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt. I lean into him, caught in the swell of it.
He tilts his head, deepening the kiss, hand sliding behind my neck to hold me there. His tongue grazes mine, and I gasp, my hips shifting under the blanket.
Behind him, Max is silent.
But I feel him. Every cell in my body knows he’s there. Watching.
Silas must feel it too, because when he breaks the kiss, he doesn’t pull away. He just trails his mouth along my jaw and murmurs, “He’s still here.”
I nod, too breathless to speak.
Silas’s hand skims under the hem of the sweatshirt I’m wearing—his sweatshirt. His fingers drag across my stomach, the lightest touch, but it sets my nerves alight.
“Do you want him to stay?” he asks against my skin, kissing the corner of my mouth. “Because I meant it, G. I don’t mind sharing.”
The words send a sharp pulse of heat through me. My thighs press together.
I don’t answer. I don’t have to. He can feel it in the way I arch toward him, the way my breath hitches when his hand slides higher.
His eyes find Max over my shoulder, and there’s a dare in them. An invitation. He shifts, angling his body just enough that Max can see the way my legs part. The way my nipples strain against the thinning cotton of the sweatshirt.
Silas’s mouth drags down my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make me shiver.
“She’s so responsive,” he says softly, for Max’s benefit as much as mine. “I barely touch her and she melts.”
I expect embarrassment, but it never comes. I let it wash over me—the heat, the attention, the feeling of being wanted by two men who could have anyone.
“You’ve had her before?” Max’s voice is tight.
Silas’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Once.”
Heat blooms in my chest. It shouldn’t turn me on, hearing them talk about me like this. There are a lot of things that shouldn’t be happening right now, but I don’t want to stop any of them.
Silas leans in, brushing his mouth over my cheek before whispering, “But it wasn’t enough. Not by a long shot.”
He slips his fingers beneath the hem of the sweatshirt and begins to peel it up. His eyes stay locked on mine, searching for any sign I want him to stop. I don’t.
He lifts the sweatshirt over my head and lets it fall behind me. I’m left in just a pale camisole—thin, ribbed, stretched tight across breasts that are already more sensitive than usual. He runs his knuckles along the edge of the fabric, then slowly pulls it down.
My nipples tighten instantly, a sharp pulse of sensation that makes me gasp. Silas’s hands are warm where they settle on my waist, steadying me. He doesn’t rush. He just looks.
“You’re stunning,” he says, but it’s not just a compliment. There’s pure adoration in his voice.
Max hasn’t moved. His jaw is still tight, but his eyes have darkened, focused completely on me. I like it.
Silas bends, mouth brushing the swell of my breast, tongue flicking over my nipple. I arch into him with a soft sound I don’t even try to hold back.
Behind him, Max shifts. His breathing is heavy. The tension radiating off of him is palpable, but he doesn’t leave.
He watches.
And I let him.
Silas drags his tongue over my nipple again, then sucks it into his mouth with a low hum of approval. His palm splays over my ribs, holding me steady as my hips shift beneath him. I’m wet. Aching. Aware of every inch of bare skin, every inch still untouched.
I moan and tilt my head enough to catch Max’s stare. His eyes lock on mine and something passes between us. Something unspoken and loaded.
Silas lifts his head. His voice is low, coaxing, threaded with heat.
“She wants you to watch.”
Max doesn’t answer, but his hands curl into fists at his sides.
Silas kisses the valley between my breasts, then glances back over his shoulder. “Or maybe not just watch.”
That pulls Max’s gaze from mine. He looks at Silas, then back to me. Me, half-naked on the couch. Me, breathing hard, flushed and wanting.
“You sure?” Max asks, voice rough.
I feel it again—that tightening in my chest. That same pull I’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. The answer’s on my tongue.
But I stop.
I press a hand to Silas’s chest, and he freezes, eyes flying to mine. “Wait.”
His brows draw together. “Gen?”
Max is completely still now. Watching. Waiting.
“I need to tell you something,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.
Silas doesn’t move. He just holds my gaze, making sure I’m certain. He already knows. This isn’t for him.
I turn to Max, breath catching in my throat. “It’s not a secret,” I say, carefully. “Not really. Just…something I haven’t told you yet.”
He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t blink. He crosses his arms in front of his chest.
“I’m pregnant.”
The silence that follows is deafening.
Max’s face doesn’t change. Not at first. But his jaw shifts. His arms fall slowly to his sides. He exhales through his nose and looks at me—not the way he did a minute ago, but deeper. Slower. Like he’s seeing all the pieces at once and trying to figure out where they fit.
His gaze flickers to Silas, then back to me.
I push forward, even though my voice shakes. “I’m not asking you for anything. I’m not expecting anything. I certainly wasn’t expecting a baby. Or this.” I swallow hard. “So, if this changes anything—if it changes everything —I get it.”