24. Reed
Reed
G od, she's burning up in my hands.
I thought I'd have to talk her into this—not because she didn't want it, but because it's a hell of a thing to offer. Hailey's no prude, but she doesn't exactly scream 'wild child' either. Definitely not the type who makes a habit of going with three men at once.
She didn't know what to do with her feelings—so she tried to shut them down. Tried to push us away. I see that now, clear as day, when before I let jealousy and pride cloud everything up.
That day she told me she liked Dean? She never said she didn't like me too. Never actually rejected me. She just didn't think I'd be okay with her wanting all of us.
Oh, she has no idea how down I am.
I want her—badly—any way I can have her. These last few days, trying to pretend I'm okay just being her friend? Torture. Pure fucking torture.
But being with her now... it's like stepping into sunlight after weeks of rain. That tight weight in my chest loosens. The tension in my shoulders finally lets go.
Hailey's the only thing that makes it better.
And the three of us together? That's not chaos—that's harmony.
We're a unit. We've always been a unit. Dean, Lennon, and me.
We've got that locked-in rhythm, that sixth sense for each other—and if we can bring that to bed?
Hell, she's going to be wrecked in the best possible way. I want to see her unravel.
No—I want to feel it. Be it. Right now, I want to see exactly what Lennon's doing to make her moan like that into my mouth.
I ease back from her lips and gently lower her onto the bed. Her body writhes, hips chasing Lennon's fingers as he works her—slow, deliberate. And damn, if that isn't one of the hottest things I've ever seen.
My cock's already rock hard, aching, leaking. But I don't touch it. Not yet. Right now, she's the main event.
She's gorgeous like this. Flushed cheeks, parted lips, eyes dark with need. Her fingers clutch the sheets, her back arches into Lennon's touch as his thumb brushes her clit, then dips lower.
Lennon's got that quiet, focused look on his face—like he's memorizing every breath, every sound. When she grabs his shirt and whispers, " Please ," he leans in and kisses her—slow, reverent. But his fingers? They don't stop moving.
Her head falls back, a breathy moan slipping from her lips. One hand reaches out—and I know instantly what she wants. I take it, letting her pull me down into another kiss. Her mouth is hot and desperate against mine, and fuck, this is better than any fantasy.
"I missed you," I murmur, gripping her hair, tugging gently so I can nip her lower lip, then lick it softly. "Missed you so fucking much."
She opens her eyes, glazed with heat, locked onto mine. Then she gasps—and I glance down to see Lennon curling his fingers just right, rubbing that perfect spot inside her.
"God, that feels so good, Lennon," she hisses, her whole body shuddering. He watches her like she's a miracle, his fingers never slowing.
Not to be outdone, I slip my hand under her shirt and ease it up over her ribs. Her bra's still in place, but I can feel the tight peak of her nipple through the fabric—already hard and aching for touch. I roll it between my fingers, and she arches with a whimper, her breath catching.
I duck down to suck her nipple through her bra, dragging my tongue over the damp cotton. She lets out a cry and grabs my hair, holding me there like she can't bear to let go.
"Fuck, she just got wetter," Lennon murmurs, awe in his voice. "Keep doing that."
Like hell I'm stopping.
I let go long enough to whip her shirt entirely off and toss it aside.
Her bra follows in seconds, her pants and panties soon follow, and suddenly she's bare—her breasts flushed, her nipples tight and begging for attention.
I lean back in, taking one into my mouth, sucking and teasing with my tongue, while she writhes between us, gasping both our names.
Then I shift her, pulling her into my lap so her back's flush against my chest and her legs are spread wide open for Lennon. I cradle her breasts in both hands, kneading them, tweaking her nipples, as he leans forward and sucks one into his mouth.
She moans loudly, riding my thigh, her slick heat grinding against me. Every shift of her hips brushes her ass against my cock—maddening, electric friction that pushes me closer to the edge.
She's trembling. So close already. And fuck, so am I.
Doing this to her—hearing those wanton cries, feeling her shudder against me—it pushes me right to the edge. I can't take it anymore.
She mewls again—a high, breathless sound that makes my cock throb with need. It's torture in the best possible way. Watching her move like that… fuck, it short-circuits my brain. I can't think. I can't breathe.
Then she reaches back, her hand closing around my cock—and I nearly lose it.
A strangled moan tears from my throat as my head drops to her shoulder. "Fuck me," I rasp. "I'm about to lose it."
"I want you," she gasps. "Both of you. Inside me. Right now. Please."
Jesus. My entire body clenches. My mind's screaming wait, slow it down—but my hands are already moving, unbuckling my jeans, freeing my cock.
It's hard and leaking, almost too sensitive to touch, but her hand finds it again, wrapping around me, stroking.
I bite down on the sound that rips up my throat. She feels so fucking good.
If I'm not inside her in the next ten seconds, I'm going to lose my damn mind.
Lennon catches her by the hips, gently lifts her, and holds her steady above me, still kissing her—slow and deep—as I sit back and watch, completely entranced. Her pussy is glistening, swollen with need, and the sight of it makes my entire body lock up with restraint.
I grip the bed beside me to stay grounded.
"Fuck," I whisper. "She's dripping."
Then Lennon murmurs in her ear, low and commanding, "You're also going to take me in your mouth. Can you handle that, princess?"
"Yes," she gasps. "Please."
"Good girl," Lennon murmurs.
I open my eyes in time to see him nip her bottom lip—and then, slowly, he lowers her onto me.
The moment her heat begins to slide down around my cock, I lose all control.
An unholy sound tears from my chest, matched by her breathy mewl as she tries to take all of me.
She's so damn tight, so hot, it's like my body's going to shatter from the inside out.
I bite down on her shoulder, gripping her hips hard, trying not to slam into her like an animal.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Somewhere in the haze, I register more sounds—her moaning, Lennon's belt unbuckling, the soft rustle of jeans being shoved down. Then flashes of her sucking him in, her lips stretching around him, her moans going muffled as she takes him deeper.
I think I hear the door creak open at one point, but I don't give a single shit.
Dean could be standing there. Hell, the entire church choir could show up and I still wouldn't stop.
They could take notes if they want—or Dean could join in, if Hailey asked for it.
None of it matters. Nothing matters but her.
My mind is wrecked, overloaded with raw sensation. Her pussy milking me. Her mouth stretched around Lennon. Her body slick and writhing and perfect. All I want is to make her feel good. To make her come so hard she forgets her own name. To watch her fall apart while she moans around Lennon's cock.
Lennon strokes her hair, voice low and rough. "Yeah, baby. Like that. You're doing so fucking good."
And fuck me—hearing him say that makes her even wetter.
I've never seen this side of Lennon before. Didn't even know dirty talk was in his vocabulary. But judging by the look on his face—half-wild, all-in—he's as far gone as I am.
We fall into a rhythm. One that's hot and fluid and fucking devastating. It doesn't take long before we're all careening toward the edge.
Hailey gets there first—and Lennon and I are right behind her.
Sleep. It's been a problem ever since my time in Afghanistan. They say around a quarter of combat veterans suffer from PTSD. For some, it's depression. For others, it's guilt. But for me, it's more visceral than that—it's the nightmares.
Not every night. Just sometimes. And there's no rhyme or reason to it. Doesn't matter what I've eaten, how much I've had to drink, how tired I am, or how the day went. Calm or chaotic, exhausted or wired—it just hits. Like some bastard switch in my brain flips without warning.
And when it does, this is where I go.
The dream always starts the same.
I'm huddled under jagged rocks, thorns digging into my back, the air thick with blood and smoke. Somewhere nearby, men are laughing in a language I recognize but don't speak—the kind of laughter that says they've got you cornered, and they know you know it, and they're enjoying it.
Sweat slicks my skin. My hands grip my rifle like it's a lifeline, but it won't save me.
We're outnumbered. Outgunned. Dean and Lennon had been covering the flank, but…
hell. Dean was the first to go—sacrificing himself to draw their fire so the rest of us could run.
His body was ripped to shreds in a blink.
Lennon—the only one to really return any fire—took a hit right before I dove for cover.
I saw him drop, bullets tearing through him—and now I'm alone.
The last survivor. I have no ammunition, no cover, no back-up coming to rescue me.
And I know I'm next.
Then, suddenly, unexpectedly, a hand brushes across my torso and I jolt awake—eyes wide, breath ragged, body tensed for combat. My heart hammers like it's still out there under the rocks, waiting to die.
But… wait. I'm not in that hellhole anymore.
It takes a second, then I realize—I'm in Hailey's cabin.
In her bed. And the soft touch that woke me?
That isn't danger. It's her, shifting in her sleep. Lennon has gone—-no doubt to look in on Grace. He never could be away from that child for long—but that just means there’s more space for Hailey and me.
She murmurs something, only half-awake, nuzzling against me like I'm not a wreck. Like I'm something warm and safe to cling to.
Normally, I'd be up already. Splashing cold water on my face, punishing my body with a run, or swinging an axe until my hands go numb—anything to shake off the ghosts.
But with her lying here like this—soft, close, real—I stay still. I watch the slow rise and fall of her chest. I listen to the steady in and out of her breathing. For the first time in years, the weight I carry seems to lift. The fear, the tension—gone. Just like that.
I feel calm. I feel grounded. I feel… okay.
I stay. I let myself stay.
And when I drift off again, I don't dream at all.