Chapter 32
Gabe
Ichew slowly, the meat barely registering on my tongue. What the hell just happened? One second, Sadie was dropping the kind of words that should’ve lit this place on fire, and the next everyone’s talking like she hadn’t just asked three grown men to figure out if they wanted to share her.
Boone is carrying the conversation like nothing’s out of the ordinary, Shepard adds the occasional quiet comment, and Sadie’s laughing at something about the fire station mural. Meanwhile, I feel like the floor just shifted under me.
I glance between them, trying to read if I’m the only one stuck in the weight of it. But Boone’s cutting into his food with calm precision, Shepard is nodding along, and Sadie’s twirling her wine glass like it’s an ordinary Wednesday.
Is it just me losing my mind here?
The meal goes on, somehow. Forks scrape against plates, Boone tells some story about Gus chasing a raccoon down the street, Shepard mutters about needing new shelving at the library. I stab a piece of potato, chew, swallow, and wonder if everyone is deliberately pretending.
When it’s over, Boone clears the table, and I follow Shepard into the kitchen to wash up. He takes the sponge, I handle the rinse. The work is easy, automatic. My mind isn’t.
She glances in once, smiling at us before drifting back to the living room. Boone stays near her, drying his hands on a towel. By the time Shepard and I finish stacking the last plate, it feels like something has been left unsaid between us.
Boone claps me on the shoulder when I move to leave. “Thanks for coming,” he says simply.
I just nod. Words feel heavy, dangerous.
Sadie hugs Shepard first, then me. My arms close around her automatically, the warmth of her body bleeding straight into my chest. I inhale too deeply, catching the faintest edge of her scent, and let her go before I can embarrass myself.
She smiles, soft and a little tired. “Good night, Gabe.”
“Night,” I mutter. My throat feels dry.
Outside, the door shuts behind me, and I finally let out the breath I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. Christ. My shoulders sag. The cool night air helps, but not enough.
“You want to come over?” Shepard’s voice cuts in.
I turn, startled. He’s leaning against the railing, hands in his pockets. His expression is calm, but there’s something deliberate in the way he asks. “I’ve got a bottle of tequila.”
I almost say no. I should. But my head is still a mess, and maybe the last thing I need is to sit alone with it. I nod once. “Yeah. Alright.”
He pulls out two glasses, pours generously, and hands one to me.
We sit at the table, the bottle between us. He raises his glass, almost like a toast, then tips it back. I do the same, the burn biting my throat.
“This is crazy, right?” I say finally, breaking the silence.
Shepard’s mouth twitches, not quite a smile. “It is.”
I run a hand over my jaw. “She wants us. All of us.”
“Yes.” His voice is steady, but I don’t miss the flicker in his eyes.
“And we already—” I stop, swallow more tequila, grimace at the fire it leaves behind. “We already shared her. That night. In my head, it should’ve been fucked up, but it wasn’t.”
He leans back in his chair, studying me. “It wasn’t.”
The admission hangs between us, heavier than the liquor.
“I keep thinking about it,” I confess. “The way she looked. The way she sounded. And you were right there, and it didn’t feel wrong. It just… was.”
Shepard doesn’t flinch. “Maybe because it’s her.”
“Maybe.” I stare into my glass. “So what, we just… try it out? See if it works?”
He exhales, slow. “That’s what she wants. And I…” He pauses, searching for the words. “I want her, too.”
The knot in my chest tightens, but it isn’t anger. It’s relief. The honesty is bracing, solid.
We talk for what must be half an hour, the tequila loosening our tongues.
Shepard admits he’s been distracted, that she lingers in his head more than he wants to admit.
I tell him I’ve been fighting instincts I thought I’d buried years ago.
Neither of us says it lightly, but neither of us backs away from the truth.
Finally, Shepard sets his glass down, his voice more serious. “We should talk to Boone. He deserves that.”
“Tonight?” I ask.
“It’s late,” he says. “But maybe. If he’s still up.”
I hesitate, then nod. “Let’s just head downstairs. See.”
The hall is quiet as we walk, our footsteps soft on the worn stairs. Boone’s door is just ahead, light seeping faintly from the edges.
And then we hear it.
A low moan.
Shepard stops dead. I freeze beside him. The sound carries again, unmistakable this time. A woman’s moan. Her.
Shepard glances at me, then covers his mouth with his hand. His shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “Well,” he whispers, “guess he’s awake.”
Another noise, Boone’s voice this time. “Is that you guys?”
Shepard snorts, unable to hold it in.
I find my voice, calling back flatly, “Seems you’re preoccupied. We’ll come back tomorrow.”
There’s a murmur inside, muffled, then Boone’s voice again. “Give me a minute.”
The door swings open. Boone fills the frame, shirtless, wearing only a pair of gray shorts. His chest gleams faintly with sweat, his hair mussed. Behind him, Sadie sits on a chair, swallowed in one of his long T-shirts, her legs tucked beneath her.
“Everything okay?” Boone asks, his voice calm but carrying an edge.
I clear my throat, trying not to let my gaze linger too long on the picture behind him. “Yeah. We just wanted to talk.”
His eyes flick between us, wary. Shepard crosses his arms, still biting back a grin.
Boone tilts his head, assessing us both. “Then come in.”
He steps aside, letting us in. The apartment smells like food and sex, the air heavy with her scent. Sadie’s curled on the chair, Boone’s T-shirt sliding off one shoulder, hair a mess, eyes watchful. She looks like sin and softness wrapped together, and I have to force myself not to stare too long.
Shepard moves past me, his usual calm slipping back over him like armor. Boone shuts the door behind us, leaning on it for a second as if steadying himself.
I clear my throat. “We wanted to talk.”
Boone’s eyes flick between us, cautious. “About?”
“You know what about,” Shepard says. His voice isn’t sharp, but it’s steady.
Sadie leans forward, pulling her knees closer to her chest under the shirt. “Then let’s talk.”
The four of us settle awkwardly—the couch, the chair, Boone dragging another seat closer. For a moment it feels like a standoff, all of us waiting for someone else to start.
Finally, Boone breaks the silence. “She laid it out earlier. What she wants. What she’s asking for. We need to be clear about whether we’re in or out.”
I glance at Sadie. Her expression is calm, but her hands are twisted in the hem of Boone’s shirt. She’s nervous, too.
“I’m not asking you to change who you are,” she says softly. “I’m asking if you’re willing to try. That’s all. To see if this works without tearing each other apart.”
The weight of it presses down. I let out a slow breath. “I’ve never done this. Not like this. But… I want you. I want to see where it goes.”
Her eyes soften. Boone looks at me, something flickering across his face—relief, maybe.
Shepard exhales. “Same.”
Boone leans back, crossing his arms. “Alright then. We try. But slow. Careful. No one’s forcing anything.”
Sadie nods, her lips parting like she’s about to speak, but Boone holds up a hand. “And we keep it honest. If it’s too much, if someone can’t handle it—we say it. Out loud.”
“Agreed,” Shepard and I say at the same time.
Sadie lets out a shaky laugh. “This feels like a contract negotiation.”
Boone smirks, the tension in his jaw easing.
Then she shifts, the hem of Boone’s shirt riding up over her thighs. “So… trial run?”
Her voice is teasing, but I can see the flush on her cheeks. She’s serious.
Boone’s brows lift. “Now?”
“Why not?” Shepard says quietly.
My heart kicks hard against my ribs. I should say no. This is insane. But the thought of touching her again, with them, with no walls, has me half-hard already.
Boone rises and disappears into his bedroom, leaving us in tense silence. When he comes back, he’s holding a small bottle. He sets it on the table with a heavy thunk.
“Lube,” he says simply. “If we’re doing this, we do it right.”
Sadie’s breath catches. My mouth goes dry. Shepard adjusts his glasses, the only sign that he’s rattled.
Boone looks at her. “You set the pace. You say stop, we stop. Understood?”
She nods, biting her lip.
He turns to us. “Same goes for you two.”
I swallow hard. “Yeah. Understood.”
Shepard murmurs agreement.
Sadie pushes up from the chair, the T-shirt slipping further down her shoulder, exposing the curve of her collarbone. She crosses the room, deliberate in every step, and stands before us like she’s deciding where to begin.
Boone reaches out first, tugging her gently onto his lap as he sits back down. She settles against him, small compared to his broad frame. His hands bracket her thighs.
Shepard shifts forward on the couch, his eyes never leaving her. I can’t stop staring either, my breath coming shallow.
“Come here,” Sadie says softly, looking at me.
I hesitate only a second before moving closer. She reaches out, fingers brushing my jaw, pulling me in. Her lips meet mine, warm, insistent, and the world tilts.
Boone’s hand slides up her thigh as we kiss, his low growl rumbling against her back. Shepard curses under his breath, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
She pulls away from me, turns to Shepard next. He leans in and their mouths meet, his hand cupping her cheek like he’s afraid she’ll break.
Boone’s eyes flick to me over her shoulder. It’s a challenge and a truce all at once.
Sadie pulls back, breathless, eyes shining. “See? Not so impossible.”
Boone huffs a laugh, his hands spreading wider on her thighs. “We’re just getting started.” He gestures toward me, toward Shepard. “Touch her. She’s yours, too.”
The words slam into me. I reach out, tentative at first, my hand brushing up her calf, higher, until I feel the heat of her skin beneath the shirt. Shepard mirrors me, his hand sliding to her other thigh.
Sadie exhales shakily, leaning back against Boone’s chest, her head tipping onto his shoulder. Her eyes flutter closed.
Boone kisses her temple, murmuring low. “Good girl. Show them what you like.”
She shifts, spreading her legs a little wider, and the shirt rides up, baring her slick cunt. My breath stutters. Shepard’s hand twitches against her skin.
Boone picks up the lube, pressing it into my palm. “Go on,” he says.
The bottle feels heavy. I squeeze some onto my fingers, slick and cold, and ease my hand between her thighs. Shepard’s watching, his chest rising fast, but he doesn’t stop me.
Sadie gasps when I touch her. Her hips jerk, needy. Boone holds her, his arm braced across her stomach.
Shepard leans in, his voice a whisper. “Let me.”
I pull back, hand shaking as I pass the lube to him. He slicks his fingers, then eases them inside her. Her moan rips through me.
Boone’s eyes close for a second, his jaw tight. He looks like he’s barely hanging on.
Sadie writhes, caught between us, her hands clutching Boone’s arms. “Don’t stop,” she begs.
I can’t sit still anymore. I lean in, kissing her again, stealing her breath as Shepard works her with shallow thrusts of his fingers. Boone presses his mouth to her neck, teeth grazing her skin, his growl vibrating against her.
It’s messy. It’s unpracticed. But it’s real.
Her body arches, her cries filling the room, and when she shatters, it feels like all three of us fall with her.
We hold her through it—Boone bracing her, Shepard stroking her thighs, me kissing the tears from her cheeks. When it’s over, the room is silent except for our ragged breathing.
Sadie curls against Boone’s chest, eyes heavy, lips swollen. “Trial run,” she whispers, her voice wrecked.
Boone kisses her hair. “Trial run,” he agrees.
Shepard meets my eyes over her head. There’s no confusion there. Just the quiet acknowledgment of what we’ve just done.
I nod once. He nods back.