Chapter 39 #2
I don’t know how long we sit there, curled up on the edge of my bed, our knees tucked close and coffees long gone.
We talk about everything and nothing. I tell her about a stream raid that made a new girl cry, about how Carter whistles when he’s cooking and how Tate won’t shut up during loading screens.
I tell her how I can’t believe I’m a full-time streamer now.
How I wake up to Red Bull in the fridge and soft kisses on my cheek and playlists queued up in the hallway.
I tell her how I’m scared it’s too good to last.
She glances at her phone with a reluctant sigh, the clock reminds us that time has passed. She stands and stretches. “Okay, nerd. I gotta run. I promised my roommate I’d bring home sushi and not emotionally unload about my best friend having the dream life.”
I walk her to the door, squeezing her hand once before she steps out onto the porch. “Hey. You’re my forever. That’s never changing.”
She hesitates, her eyes shining just a little too brightly. “I know. But I’m still stealing your oat milk when I visit.”
We both laugh, and she pulls me in for one last hug. “I’m proud of you,” she whispers. “This place, this life—you made it happen. Don’t forget that. I love you Havie.”
When she finally leaves, the quiet settles in around me like a weighted blanket.
The twins won’t be home for another couple of hours, I’ve got time to kill.
So I move through the house with my slippers on, aimlessly rearranging throw pillows, straightening the crooked stack of coasters Tate keeps knocking over.
I run a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away the tension. Toweling off, I pull on oversized sweats and collapse onto the living room couch. My eyelids drag themselves shut almost immediately.
When I stir awake, nearly two hours later, the light has shifted, slanting in through the blinds.
The house is still empty, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the occasional creak from settling floorboards.
I stretch, yawn, and for a moment just lie there, savoring the calm before the twins return.
I make my way into the kitchen, finally eyeing the note Carter left in his embarrassingly neat handwriting.
“Try the pasta bake if you’re hungry. Instructions on the fridge. You’ll crush it, unless you burn the cheese. Then we riot. Love you.”
Beneath the note is a recipe printout with his own edits in Sharpie.
I laugh, flipping the oven on and gathering ingredients. The kitchen starts to smell like roasted tomato and herbs, I dance between the stove and the sink like a girl who never imagined this would be her reality.
Dinner’s almost done when I hear the front door open, followed by the sound of boots hitting the floor.
“We’re home!” Carter calls out.
Tate follows, tossing his keys onto the entryway table. “Something smells edible.”
I peek around the kitchen doorway and grin. “I followed instructions.” I say, shrugging. “It’s edible. Probably.”
Carter kisses me before checking. “I know it’s perfect baby.”
Tate peeks in over his shoulder. “Did you add the garlic?”
“Double.”
He slaps a hand over his heart. “She listens.”
Dinner is eaten quickly. The dishes are in the dishwasher and I’m draped across the couch between them, warm and full and exactly where I want to be.
Carter’s hand traces lazy circles on my thigh, and Tate hasn’t stopped smirking since the moment we sat down, one arm slung across the back of the couch, the other playing with the edge of the throw blanket like he’s waiting for an excuse to toss it over us and cause problems.
“Remember what I said earlier, About us making it up to you?”
My breath catches. “Yeah?”
Tate’s hand snakes up, cupping my throat gently. “Time to collect.”
Carter groans softly, shifting to face me more fully, one of his legs hooking around mine. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. The way you looked in bed this morning.“
Tate leans down, his lips pressing the top of my neck. “Shorts off.”
I move, lifting my hips just enough and Carter helps peel the shorts down my thighs.
Tate’s hands replace his immediately. “Spread those legs angel,” he orders. “Let’s see.”
I do and way they groan in sync makes my pussy ache.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Carter whispers, brushing his fingers along my clit, dragging the wetness up to circle it in soft strokes. “Did dinner turn you on? Or was it us eating off our laps like heathens?”
Tate sinks lower on the couch behind me, gripping my hips. “Maybe it was knowing we’d end up right back here. Right where we first shared you.”
My breath hitches.
Carter slides two fingers inside me, slow and deep. “Tell us what you need, baby.”
I bite my lip, barely able to breathe. “I need more.”
Tate moves behind me, shifting until I’m halfway in his lap, my legs spread wide. Carter kneels in front of me, his fingers curling inside me still.
They move like a team. Carter’s mouth replaces his fingers, warm and soft against my clit, his tongue flicking just right—teasing and soothing. Tate keeps my legs open, spreading me wider, his grip bruising,
I cry out when Carter sucks harder, my hips bucking. “You’re so good,” I gasp. “Both of you—fuck, don’t stop—”
Tate slides a hand under my shirt, pinching my nipple until I whimper. “We’ll give you what you want, pretty girl. Over and over.”
When I start to fall apart, Carter doesn’t slow. He groans into me as the orgasm crashes over. I shake, convulsing in Tate’s lap. He leans over me, pressing me down so my back sinks into the cushions. “Carter, kiss her, I’ll be right back.”
Carter moves immediately, pressing soft, heated kisses along my collarbone and side,. “God… you’re so perfect,” he murmurs, voice rough, nipping gently at the skin where my shoulder meets my neck.
Tate disappears for a second and comes back holding a small black vibrator. He presses it instantly against my clit. “Are you close again pretty girl?”
I nod, breath hitching. “Yes.”
He tilts his head, holding the little black toy in one hand. “We’ve only done one setting,” he murmurs. “And this goes to seven.”
“I—I can’t do seven, I’m gonna come no—.”
“Not yet.” He slides the vibrator off my clit entirely as he leans forward, presses a kiss to my knee like he’s proud of himself. “You’re dripping, you know that? Messing up the whole fucking couch.”
Carter trails his lips down my side, pressing open-mouthed kisses along my ribs and stomach.
“Tate,” I gasp. “Carter p-please, I need—”
“Oh, you’ll get it,” Tate says, dragging the toy in lazy circles along the inside of my thigh. “Just not yet.
He clicks the button once. The vibration kicks up, deeper, steadier. My legs jerk and my back arches. The second he presses it against me again, I lose control.
“Don’t come,” he warns.
“Then don’t do that!”
“You want me to stop?”
“No..” I whimper
“Then hold it.”
He moves the toy in tight circles around my clit, keeping the pressure light.
“You hear that?” he murmurs, lips at my ear now. “That wet little sound your pussy’s making for me? You’re soaking this thing.”
My thighs clamp together instinctively, but he slides between them, spreading me wider with one hand.
“Let me see you, no hiding.”
Carter hums against my skin. “You’re amazing, baby… look at you….”
I’m so close I can’t think or speak. My body’s trembling, the pressure unbearable. “I need to come,” I whisper.
“You need to listen.”
Tate lifts the vibrator again, leaving me throbbing. “No,” I sob, frustrated tears stinging my eyes. “Tate, I can’t—”
“You will,” he says. “You’ll wait. You’ll take what I give you. You wanna come? You do it on my terms.”
“Please,” I pant. “Please, I’ll be good—”
“You already are, that’s the problem. You’re too fucking good. And I want to watch you come so hard you cry.” He flips the setting one more time and holds the toy there. “That’s it, Haven. Come for me.“
As tears fall down my cheeks as I come so hard I see stars.
Finally he clicks the toy off.
They clean me up with gentle hands and stolen kisses. Carter drapes a blanket over us and Tate grabs a half-finished water bottle and hands it to me.
I nestle into the space between them, warm and content, and as a movie plays, half-forgotten and softly flickering on the screen, we fall asleep.