Chapter 31
Marco
The house feels wrong without Jake in it.
Two days since he walked out. Two days of Rachel pretending she’s fine while she slowly falls apart. Two days of Cole and Theo trying to fix what can’t be fixed with words alone.
I’m in my office reviewing the final paperwork on Ryan Williams’ case when I hear it. A sound so quiet I almost miss it—a muffled sob from somewhere upstairs.
Rachel.
Her bedroom door is cracked open when I arrive there. She’s sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall, knees pulled to her chest, face buried in her arms.
“Rachel.” I crouch beside her. “What happened?”
She doesn’t look up. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“You’re on the floor crying. That’s not fine.”
“Jake called.” Her voice is thick, broken. “He’s not coming back until we figure out what the hell we’re doing. Those were his exact words.”
I sit down beside her, my back against the bed. The carpet is soft under me, and I can smell her shampoo—that familiar lavender that’s everywhere in this house now.
“He needs time,” I say. “That’s all.”
“He needs us to stop.” She lifts her head, and her green eyes are red-rimmed, devastated. “He needs me to choose one of you, or none of you, or something that makes sense to him. And I can’t—” Her voice cracks. “I can’t lose you. Any of you. But I can’t lose my brother either.”
“You won’t lose Jake. He’s angry, but he loves you more than he’s angry.”
“You don’t know that.” She swipes at her face. “What if he never forgives me? What if I destroyed your friendship? What if Tommy grows up without his uncle because I was selfish and—”
“Stop.” I catch her wrist gently. “You’re not selfish. You didn’t destroy anything.”
“I’m dating my brother’s three best friends, Marco. That’s the literal definition of complicated.”
“Complicated isn’t the same as wrong.”
She lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. “You’re supposed to be the logical one. The one who thinks everything through. Tell me this makes sense.”
“It doesn’t make sense.” I keep my voice steady, even though my chest is tight, watching her break down. “Nothing about this makes sense. But that doesn’t mean it’s not right.”
“How can something be right if it hurts everyone around us?”
“It’s hurting Jake because he’s scared. Not because we’re doing anything wrong.” I shift closer, my shoulder pressing against hers. “He’s scared of losing you.”
“So, what do we do?”
“We give him time. We don’t apologize for something we’re not sorry for. And we wait for him to realize that you being happy is more important than his discomfort with how you got there.”
“You really believe that?”
“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
“Even if it costs you your friendship with him?”
The question hangs between us. Brutal in its honesty.
Jake is family. Has been for as long as I can remember.
But Rachel—
Rachel is something else entirely.
“Yes,” I say quietly.
Her eyes fill again. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”
“You’re not making me choose. I’m choosing.” I reach up and brush a tear from her cheek with my thumb. “I chose the moment I admitted I wanted you. I didn’t realize what that choice meant until now.”
“Marco—”
“I spent my whole life being careful. Making decisions based on logic and probability.” I keep my hand on her face, my thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone. “And then you showed up, and none of that mattered anymore.”
She turns her face into my palm, and the space between us disappears. I don’t know who moves first—probably both of us at the same time—but then my mouth is on hers and she’s kissing me back.
It’s different from before. More desperate. More real. Like we’re both trying to prove something we can’t quite put into words.
Her hands fist in my shirt, and I pull her closer, shifting so she’s half in my lap. Her back presses against the side of the bed, and I brace one hand on the mattress beside her head.
“Marco.”
“I know.” I kiss her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. “I know.”
She tugs at my shirt, and I help her pull it over my head. Her hands are on my chest immediately, fingers tracing scars I usually keep hidden. The bullet wound below my ribs. The knife scar on my left shoulder. The burn mark from a fire that nearly killed me three years ago.
“Tell me you want this,” I say against her mouth. “Tell me you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.” Her voice is steady now. Clear. “I want you. All of you.”
I let her be certain for three heartbeats, then I take over.
I fist her hair, tilt her head back, and claim her mouth the way I’ve wanted to since the day she walked into this house. Deep, controlled, no room for anything but surrender. She moans into me, nails clawing my shoulders, and I know she’s done asking permission.
I stand, lift her with me, and pin her down over the edge of the bed, her knees still on the carpet. My shirt is gone in one motion, tossed aside. I shove my pants and boxers down just enough, cock heavy and aching against her ass through her thin leggings.
“Tell me you want this,” I rasp against her ear.
“Yes. Please, Marco.”
I yank her leggings and panties down to mid-thigh. She’s soaked. I slide two fingers inside her, curling hard, and she pushes back with a broken whimper. A third finger joins, stretching her open while my thumb circles her clit. She’s trembling, breath hitching against the duvet.
I pull my hand free, coat my fingers in her slick, and ease one into her ass. She gasps, clenches, then relaxes as I work it slowly, scissoring gently while my other hand keeps stroking her pussy. The dual sensation makes her shake harder.
“Marco—”
“I’ve got you.”
I line up and drive into her pussy in one smooth thrust. She’s tight, hot, gripping me like she never wants to let go. I set a steady, deep rhythm—hips snapping, one hand braced beside her head, the other still working that finger in her ass in time with every stroke.
Every few thrusts, I land a sharp spank on her cheek—firm, controlled, watching the skin pink under my palm. She moans into the mattress, pushing back to meet me.
The room fills with the sound of skin on skin, her muffled cries, my low growls. I lean over her, chest to her back, lips at her ear.
“You feel that?” I flex inside her. “This is me choosing you. Every inch.”
She comes hard—pussy clamping down, thighs shaking, a rush of wetness coating us both. I don’t stop. Keep fucking her through it, spanking once more, lighter now, until she’s sobbing my name and coming again, smaller but deeper, her whole body trembling.
I pull out at the last second, fist myself twice, and spill across her lower back and ass—thick, hot stripes marking her skin. She’s still catching her breath when I swipe a finger through it and bring it to her lips.
“Open.”
She does, instantly. Licks me clean, eyes locked on mine, tongue swirling until every drop is gone. The sight nearly makes me hard again.
The room is quiet except for our breathing slowly returning to normal.
“Jake would actually kill us if he walked in right now,” she says.
I’m about to respond when I hear it.
A car door slamming outside.
Then footsteps on the front walk.
Rachel sits up instantly, eyes wide. “Is that—”
It takes a moment before the front door opens downstairs. We didn’t lock it.
“Rachel?” Jake’s voice carries up the stairs. “You home?”
I’m already moving, grabbing my shirt from the floor.
“Oh my God.” She’s scrambling for her clothes, panic written across her face. “He can’t—we can’t—”
I button my pants and grab my shoes. The bedroom door is still cracked open—exactly how I left it when I heard her crying. If Jake comes upstairs, if he sees me in here like this—
“I’m coming up!” Jake’s footsteps hit the stairs.
“Window,” I mouth at Rachel, nodding toward the fire escape. “I’ll go.”
Jake’s footsteps are on the landing now.
I’m moving, sliding the window open as quietly as possible. The fire escape is cold metal under my hands as I slip through, pulling the window almost closed behind me.
My own house. I’m hiding on the fire escape of my own damn house.
Through the window, I watch Rachel smooth down her shirt and run fingers through her hair. She’s still flushed, still rumpled, but at least she’s dressed. She moves to her bedroom door just as Jake appears in the hallway.
“Hey.” Her voice is steadier than I expected. “You came over.”
“Yeah.” Jake’s tone is flat. “We need to talk.”
“Okay. Let me—give me two minutes. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I can’t hear his response, but he must agree because his footsteps retreat down the hall.
I climb down the fire escape as quietly as possible. The metal rungs are cold against my palms, and I’m grateful for the noise of evening traffic covering any sounds I make. When I reach the ground, I circle to the front of the house.
Theo’s Jeep pulls up just as I’m straightening my shirt.
Perfect timing. As always.