Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
TRINITY
I wake with a start, squinting against the sunlight streaming through the windows we forgot to close last night. My head throbs with only a mild hangover—better than I expected after all the whiskey and champagne I drank on the boat.
Something warm and solid presses against my right side. Turning my head, I find Matheo’s sleeping face inches from mine, his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, breathing deep and even.
The memory of drunkenly throwing myself at him floods back, immediately triggering a flood of embarrassment that would make me want to hide under the bed if he were awake to see it.
Looking at Matheo also makes me wish that I’d tried a little harder to overcome his objections last night.
When I shift on the bed, I realize there’s another body behind me. Kyren lies on his side with his back to me, maintaining a careful distance even in sleep.
Lucas and Cash are missing. Since there are no sounds of movement coming from the attached bathroom and the bedroom door is slightly ajar, I assume that means they’ve left the villa.
I return my gaze to Matheo, whose messy hair and full lips relaxed in sleep take the hard edge off of his typically very alpha persona.
My first instinct is to slip away before either of them wakes up—to retreat to the safety of the couch and pretend this never happened. To rebuild the professional walls I so thoroughly demolished last night.
But as I start to carefully extract myself, a sudden thought stops me: Why am I running?
I’ve spent years holding myself back, constructing careful boundaries, afraid of rejection. Look where that’s gotten me—alone, watching my exes marry my sister, hiring men to pretend they want me to be with me.
Maybe I’m tired of playing it safe. Maybe I want to be bold for once.
Without using bourbon-based cocktails as an excuse to do it.
Our contract confirms what Lucas already told me—they’re available for whatever I need. And what I need right now is to stop overthinking everything.
I turn toward Matheo, studying his face in repose. Without his intense gaze, he looks younger, more vulnerable. The firm line of his jaw, relaxed in sleep. The slight curve of his lips, hinting at pleasant dreams.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I lean forward and press my lips against his.
For a moment, he doesn’t respond, still caught in sleep’s embrace. Then I feel him stir, his body tensing slightly before relaxing as consciousness returns. His lips move against mine, soft and unhurried.
When I pull back, his eyes are open—dark and liquid with residual sleep, but quickly focusing on me with that characteristic intensity.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice deliciously rough.
“Morning,” I whisper, suddenly shy despite last night’s intimacy.
“You’re still here.” He sounds pleasantly surprised, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my face.
“Still here,” I confirm. “Is that okay?”
Instead of answering, he cups the back of my neck and draws me in for another kiss, deeper this time. His tongue traces the seam of my lips, and I open to him with a soft sigh.
His hand slides down my bare back, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I press closer, my body molding against his, and feel his immediate response—hard and insistent against my thigh.
“More than okay,” he murmurs against my lips. “Though I didn’t expect you to still be here when I woke up.”
“I almost wasn’t,” I admit. “Old habits.”
He pulls back slightly, studying my face. “Why did you stay?”
The question catches me off guard with its directness. I could deflect, make a joke, or give some superficial answer. Instead, I tell the truth.
“Because I’m tired of running away from things that might hurt me,” I whisper. “Because sleeping here last night was...I don’t know. Something I needed.”
His thumb traces my lower lip, his expression thoughtful. “And what do you need this morning?”
The question hangs between us, weighted with possibility. Behind me, I feel Kyren shift slightly, a reminder of his presence. I wonder if he’s awake, listening to our hushed conversation.
“I need to stop overthinking everything,” I whisper, making my decision. “I need to just feel.”
Matheo’s eyes darken. He kisses me again, more demanding this time, and I respond eagerly. His hand slides down to my hip, gripping firmly as he pulls me against him.
“Is this what you want?” he asks against my mouth, his voice rough with desire.
“Yes,” I breathe, pressing closer. “Please.”
He rolls me onto my back, his body covering mine as he settles between my thighs. I’m acutely aware of Kyren’s presence beside us, still seemingly asleep but somehow radiating awareness.
Matheo pauses, following my gaze to Kyren’s back. “Do you want me to wake him?” he asks softly. “Or would you prefer privacy?”
The question sends heat pooling low in my belly. The thought of Kyren joining us, of being between them both, is almost overwhelmingly tempting. But something holds me back—the memory of his rejection six months ago, the confusion I still feel about his motives.
“Just you,” I whisper. “For now.”
Matheo nods, understanding in his eyes. He lowers his head to kiss me again, one hand sliding up to cup my breast. I arch into his touch, letting sensation overwhelm thought, letting desire chase away doubt.
For once in my life, I’m not planning ten steps ahead. I’m not worried about consequences or complications or how this will all end.
I’m just here in this moment, and with this man who makes me feel wanted. And for now, that’s enough.
Matheo’s weight on me is a grounding force, his skin hot against mine as he deepens our kiss.
My hands roam his shoulders, fingers digging into the firm muscle there, urging him closer.
He growls low in his throat, a sound that vibrates through me, igniting sparks along my nerves.
His lips trail down my jaw, then my neck, teeth grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear.
I gasp, my hips arching instinctively to meet his.
“You sure?” he murmurs, his breath warm against my collarbone, his hand sliding beneath the thin strap of my nightie.
“Very,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.
I tug at the fabric of his boxers, desperate to erase any barrier between us.
He chuckles, a dark, rich sound, and helps me shove them down, kicking them off somewhere under the sheets.
His bare skin against mine sends a shiver through me, every inch of contact electric. “You can officially stop asking.”
His fingers slip beneath the hem of my nightie, pushing it up over my hips, then higher, until it’s bunched around my shoulders.
I lift my arms, letting him peel it off completely, leaving me exposed under his gaze.
His eyes darken, drinking me in like I’m a landscape he’s been aching to explore.
He dips his head, capturing a nipple between his lips, sucking gently before flicking his tongue.
I moan, threading my fingers through his hair, holding him there as heat pools low in my belly.
“Matheo,” I breathe, my voice a plea, a demand. He understands without words, shifting to position himself at my entrance, his gaze locking with mine. There’s a question in his eyes, a last check, and I nod, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him closer.
He enters me slowly, stretching me with a delicious burn, and I bite my lip to stifle a whimper. He pauses, giving me a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against mine, breath ragged.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispers, his voice taut with restraint.
“It’s perfect,” I manage, rocking my hips to urge him deeper.
He complies, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust stoking the fire building inside me.
His hands grip my hips, angling me just right, and I lose myself in the sensation, in the way he fills me, in the rough drag of his stubble against my skin as he kisses my neck.
The world narrows to this—to the slick slide of our bodies, the heat of his breath on my ear, the tension coiling tighter with every move.
I clutch at his back, nails scraping lightly as I chase that edge, my breaths coming in sharp, needy gasps.
He speeds up, sensing how close I am, his own control fraying at the edges.
One hand slips between us, finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with just the right pressure.
“Trinity,” he groans, my name a raw sound on his lips, and it’s enough to push me over.
Pleasure crashes through me in waves, sharp and all-consuming, my body clenching around him as I cry out, muffling the sound against his shoulder.
He follows moments later, a shudder ripping through him as he buries himself deep, his grip on me tightening like he’s anchoring himself through the storm.
Just as much of an anchor of his knot that swells against the sensitive flesh inside me, tying us together.
I haven’t taken a knot in months—six, to be exact—but the expected discomfort doesn’t come. Matheo fits inside me easily, as if I were physically designed to take his knot.
As the aftershocks fade, my chest heaves, my body limp beneath his. He presses a tender kiss to my temple, still inside me, both of us catching our breath in the quiet. I turn my head to the side, a lazy smile tugging at my lips, only to freeze.
Kyren is there, no longer facing away, his bright green eyes fixed on us, intense and unblinking. He’s been watching, and the weight of his stare sends a fresh jolt through my already trembling frame.
Then he abruptly rolls off the bed and leaves the room.