Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Freedom Mansion
Robyn
Yawning, I nestle next to D’Angelo in bed. The pale morning light streams through the arched windows over silver sheets that D’Angelo is adjusting around me with a compulsive neatness. His fingers have constantly been fiddling with the edges for the last five minutes. Has he even noticed?
I stroke over the back of his hand, and finally his fingers still.
It’s unusual for D’Angelo to be dressed in nothing but silk pajama pants this late. I intend to take advantage of this rare time relaxed together in bed just the two of us.
Normally, I’m the one lazing around, while D’Angelo is up at the crack of dawn, dressed in a full suit.
But then, since he’s as clever as the Devil and twice as beautiful, maybe he needs to be dressed smartly to make deals.
“What are you thinking about?” D’Angelo cocks his brow.
“Just wondering how many souls you own.”
“My cucciolo would say that I have his eternal soul collared and leashed.” D’Angelo reaches up to cup my cheek. “What about you, cara mia?”
My breath hitches. “It depends. What do I get out of the deal?”
D’Angelo laughs.
“I should have known that you would drive a hard bargain even with the Devil.” He leans forward, capturing my lips in a hard kiss. “Me.”
“Done.”
D’Angelo settles back.
He gives me a cocky grin. “Look how much work I can achieve before breakfast.”
I sniff. A warm, sweet vanilla aroma with a hint of citrus wafts from downstairs. It is as comforting as a hug.
My mouth waters. “Hmm, smells like a yummy breakfast.”
Eden is baking downstairs, intending to serve breakfast in bed today.
Both D’Angelo and Shay had a bad night.
My stomach drops at the thought.
Was it because they lost in the game yesterday?
I know how much it means to them to win against Wilder after our rival attacked D’Angelo. It means a fucking lot to me as well, especially when D’Angelo’s chest and stomach are a black and blue disaster of bruises.
I still want to report the assault to the cops. I respect D’Angelo’s decision, however, because it’s his to make.
“I should get dressed,” D’Angelo says with all the urgency of a man who has no intention of leaving our warm nest.
“You should.” I play with his hair, kissing him lightly.
“You bloody should not.” Shay is naked — no surprise there — and leaning in the corner of the doorway that leads through to the bathroom.
He has toothpaste smeared at the corner of his mouth.
“Stay where you are, darlin’. Don’t even think about getting up.
Don’t act like you don’t need some spoiling this morning.
I’m about to take a shower. Then I’m running you a bath with that expensive smelly shit you like in it, which will help your muscles.
Also, Dee is attempting to bake your favorite Italian breakfast, cornetti, as a treat.
They’re like croissants but with custard, yeah? ”
D’Angelo narrows his eyes. “You’re lucky that you’re out of reach of my spanking hand for describing the most delicious Italian pastries in the world as like croissants. I should refuse to allow you to eat them as punishment, but even I’m not that cruel. Also, I don’t need pampering.”
Shay wipes the toothpaste off his mouth, before pointing at D’Angelo. “You do. Sometimes, we all do.”
Shay spins on his foot and pads back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. I can hear his happy humming of a song by some British rock band.
D’Angelo growls in frustration.
I snuggle closer to him, before he can jump out of bed and follow through with his threat of a spanking.
“Hey,” I soothe, “he’s right.”
“Don’t side with the sunny brat,” D’Angelo grumbles. “His brightness is hurting my head at this time of the morning.”
“Poor grumpy bear.” I kiss D’Angelo’s head, trying not to laugh.
By the death glare that he is shooting me, it’s my ass that is in danger of the spanking.
“Your head is probably hurting because you slept so badly,” I point out to redirect attention from the way that one of D’Angelo’s hands has dropped to pat over my barely protected ass.
Eden should order thicker cotton t-shirts, or possibly, I should stop stealing them to sleep in.
But I love being wrapped in his scent too much.
“Shay told me that you had nightmares. Do you remember what they were about?”
D’Angelo’s nose scrunches up, and he hesitates.
So, that’s a yes.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” I add. “But I’m here if you want to.”
D’Angelo shakes his head.
We’re resting on the same pillow. Despite the tension in his shoulders, our gazes hold each other safe in a relaxed way, and our voices are hushed.
I prefer pillow talk with my men — the vulnerable, often surprising bonding — than our wildest sex.
And we have fucking wild sex.
“I haven’t experienced such vivid dreams in years,” D’Angelo admits.
“Is it because of Wilder?”
“Possibly, but I’m not the one who looks like the bags under my eyes are carrying suitcases. Shay isn’t sleeping at all.”
“He was watching over you.”
“That isn’t his job.”
“Funny, I thought that he was your boyfriend.”
D’Angelo quirks his brow. “I’d have a witty response to that but I’m tired, aching, and my head throbs. Can we both just imagine that my killer banter—”
“Deflected from the fact that you’re clearly feeling off…? Maybe spiraling?” I place my hand over D’Angelo’s, which has returned to adjusting the sheet in jerky motions. “You don’t need to be the strongest in this family all the time. We can be strong for you.”
“I know that, principessa. You three are the strongest people I know in your unique ways. I’m lucky.”
“And don’t you forget it.”
D’Angelo’s eyes gleam, before his hand tightens in my hair.
He tugs me even closer to him. “I’m still in charge.”
I flush, instantly wet at his low, dominant voice.
“Never in doubt,” I squeak.
D’Angelo smirks, keeping his grip tight in my hair as a reminder.
“Now,” he sounds more in control again, “as the Trouble Twins are busy for once, we can plot. We don’t have long to make sure that we plan them the best birthday they’ve ever had. I am the party thrower extraordinaire.”
“Also, the Modesty King.” My brow furrows. “But the twins are different from each other. They won’t enjoy the same type of party. I want them both to enjoy it. Shay would bounce around like an overexcited puppy if we threw him a surprise party. My Phoenix, on the other hand…”
“Eden hates surprises. How about we send him a written invitation? My handwriting can look attractive when I try. He’ll process that better. At work, I make sure to write down what Eden needs or send things to him via email.”
“This isn’t work. It’s meant to be fun.”
“It won’t be much fun if Eden freaks out when we jump out and yell surprise.” D’Angelo cocks his brow. “Or possibly punches me in the face.”
“He’d never do that to the best boss in the world.”
“Which is why I know he needs warning about the party ahead of time. Then he’ll have the chance to reply by email and tell me if there is anything he wants us to avoid at the party without feeling pressured.”
I am proud that my boyfriend is thinking about my other boyfriend with such thoughtfulness.
I reward D’Angelo by edging closer on the pillow. “But what if he can’t keep it quiet from his twin?”
D’Angelo huffs a laugh. “Eden is disturbingly good at keeping secrets. I’ll be more surprised if it turns out that he’s not a secret assassin than if he is.”
Fair.
“We can ask Eden who he would like to invite. We should make it clear that his friends are celebrating with him, as much as Shay’s are.”
“Code,” I singsong, before adding, “and Cas.”
“Eden may have less friends than Shay but he has deeper friendships. For someone who believes that he doesn’t understand friendship, he sure has a way of making a small group of people claim him as their honorary brother.”
“Like you.”
“For my sins.”
I smile. “At least by holding the party here, the environment will be familiar to Eden. That will reduce his stress. We could set up the library and our bedroom to be quiet spaces, where he knows that he can safely retreat if the rest of the party becomes too much.”
“Because Shay will definitely love the rest of the party to be as wild and raucous as possible.”
“They may be twins and share a birthday, but I need them to see that we both love and see them both. I know that my Phoenix doesn’t think I see him like that. But sometimes, I wonder if Shay doesn’t too. I need them to understand that I know they’re different people and I love them for it.”
“We’ll have to buy them something special.” D’Angelo’s gaze slides away from me.
He’s already imagining something.
Is it wicked or…?
Wait, has he already bought something?
Suddenly, an image slams through me of what I want.
Shay naked on his knees in front of me, looking up through his golden tumble of hair.
Kneeling with his back straight and his hands on his lap like D’Angelo has taught him as a good sub.
Starlight lighting his ice-white skin. Then his winter gray eyes gleaming with joy, as I buckle a leather collar around his pale throat.
As I prove to him that I am his dom just like D’Angelo is.
I can see it so fucking vividly.
I shiver.
“I want to offer Shay my collar,” I burst out.
Then I sit up sharply, staring over my shoulder at the closed bathroom door.
Shit, did I say that too loudly? Did Shay hear?
Luckily, I can still hear the shower running and Shay belting out the British glam rock “I Believe in a Thing Called Love” by The Darkness.
I’d love to watch him sing that at our next karaoke night.
D’Angelo sits up, leaning on his elbow. “Want to say that any louder? I don’t think Eden heard down in the kitchen.”
I turn back to D’Angelo, frowning. “I could bite the words onto your ass. Would that help?”
“I’d prefer it if you kissed the words there. Better yet, do you mean them?”
I nod.
D’Angelo smiles. “Our lucky pet. Then we can offer him our collar together.”