Chapter 68 - Wolfson
I must’ve fallen asleep.
As I wake on the bed, the mattress dips with movement. My eyes open to Jag hovering above me.
Braced on hands and knees, he cages me with masculine heat and hooded amber eyes.
I melt.
His gorgeous face… He looks different. The sculpted angles remain, the danger simmering beneath the granite, but the constant tension that lives behind his eyes is missing. The creases have smoothed out, replaced with… Dare I say? Happiness.
“So…” I blink up at him, half-dreaming. “How is the fauxcest progressing?”
“The faux… What?”
“Family role play, brother on sister, everybody pretending they’re biologically related. I’ll be the creepy uncle.”
“I do not want to see your porn searches.”
“Don’t need porn when I have the real thing.” I clasp the thickening cock hanging between his spread legs and search the room for Dove.
Panic jolts fast when I don’t see her. As I start to push up, Jag drops more of his weight, trapping me to the bed.
“She’s showering.” He nods at the bathroom. “Right there.”
I sag beneath him, breathing again. “How did she handle the honesty grenade?”
“She needs time to process. There were a lot of questions. More will come. But…” He lowers his head and nuzzles my cheek with his nose. “The important things are out in the open.”
He smells citrusy and earthy, calm scents I’m not used to associating with him.
“Is she ready for a 69 train?” I palm his firm buttocks, pulling him closer. “Doggy deluxe? Double penetration?”
“Jesus.”
“Jesus can find his own threesome. Where are we at on ours?”
His sharp exhale of laughter warms my lips. Then he lifts his head, sobering.
“We haven’t talked about the future.” He brushes my hair out of my eyes. “But she supports this thing between you and me.”
“This thing?” I grind my erection against his, holding us tightly together with my hands on his ass.
“Yeah. This…” His breath falters. “And more.”
I tug him down, and he comes willingly, giving me all his weight. My arms hook around him, and his mouth falls upon mine.
He kisses me slowly. Not hungry or rough. This is patient Jag, honest and devoted. He’s here. He’s staying, and for once, nothing is on fire, and no one is hunting Dove.
I kiss him back, taking my time, letting the low voltage curl through my toes and gather between our fused hips. Our heads tilt to deepen the connection, not chasing anything.
My lips move with unspoken questions, and every answer he gives pulls me closer, his tongue licking mine and his body grinding with promise.
We both sense her at the same time and ease apart, our gazes swinging toward the bathroom.
Dove lingers in the doorway, wrapped in a towel, clutching a small bottle of something. Wet hair clings to her bare shoulders in blue ribbons, dripping water down her collarbones and over her…
“Is that a hickey?” I squint at her beauty mark.
“Thank me later.” Jag lifts, sliding to my side and making room for her. “Come here, Little Bird.”
“I’d rather watch.” She pads across the room and sets a bottle of lube beside us.
Her shoulders droop, posture soft with fatigue that runs deeper than physical exertion. Her warm-honey eyes fixate on us, not sad or frightened. But heavy. Weighed down by ugly truths and rewritten memories.
She looks emotionally exhausted and off-balance, holding the knot of the towel against her like it’s the only thing keeping her upright.
“Hey.” I rise on an elbow. “We should sleep.”
Her head snaps as if I startled her. She shakes it, small but firm, stepping closer.
“Please, don’t stop.” She glances between us. “I want to see you two together. As an outsider.”
“Dove.” Jag sets his jaw. “You’re not—”
“That’s all I can handle right now. We talked about this.”
I understand what she’s asking.
She’s been angry with Jag for seventeen years.
Even though he has now begged for forgiveness and laid every ugly truth at her feet, there are still miles between what they were and what they want to be.
She’s not going to leap from guardian and ward, brother and sister, and enemies with history, straight into lovers and call it healed.
Jag’s already there. He crossed that line years ago in his head and heart. But Dove hasn’t. Not yet. She needs room to move at her own pace, to choose him without feeling shoved or cornered by time or expectation.
But she doesn’t want to be shut out or pushed to the sidelines while her insides are rearranging. She wants to witness stability in our fragile threesome and experience the pleasure of watching us fuck instead of being inside the storm of it. She wants participation without the pressure.
Jag gets it. He looks at me, and our gazes tangle, refusing to separate. His dick thickens against my hip, and I curl my hand around it, giving him a teasing stroke.
“Remove your clothes.” He smacks my thigh and climbs off the bed.
Grabbing a chair, he sets it close, right beside me. Then he turns to Dove.
“One request.” He rests a hand over hers on the towel. “Take this off. Let us look at you while you’re looking at us.”
She nods, staring up at him with so much trust in her eyes. He earned that, and I’m stupidly happy for him.
He pulls the towel free, lets it fall from her body, and spreads it over the seat of the chair.
She stands there naked, unguarded, and so fucking arresting that my heart seizes. Jag lets himself look, too, hungrily, brazenly, cock straining his jeans, and a groan vibrating in his chest.
He’s seen her naked more times than I have, but always through a camera lens. This must feel surreal to him. To both of them.
Taking her hand, he guides her to the chair and positions her on the towel as if to protect her from invisible dirt.
While he does that, I shed my clothes and leave them where they fall, settling back on the bed with my hands braced behind me.
My pulse thrashes in my ears, and blood pounds in my saluting dick. I don’t know how the mechanics of this will work or how I’ll respond. I just know that I trust him.
He pulls off his clothes, revealing a physique carved in bold, vascular lines. Broad shoulders, shredded torso, washboard stomach, and a long, thick cock, all strength and endurance, built for stamina.
“Trust me?” He snags the bottle of lube and squirts it onto his palm.
“Yeah. Fully.”
He kneels on the bed, grips my dick with his lubed hand, and collars my throat with the other. Then he holds me there, staring into my eyes and jerking me with ruthless strokes.
Within seconds, my stomach clenches, and my balls tighten with an overpowering need to come. He edges me right up to the cusp and stops.
I open my mouth to complain and shut it when I see his expression.
Slowly, he releases me, drags his pinkie along mine, and hooks our fingers together. Then he looks at Dove as if asking permission.
She sits with her knees bent against her chest, her features creasing, half-anger, half-ache, one-hundred-percent beautiful as she glares at the tiny connection between our fingers.
“Dove, what’s wrong?” Jag watches her closely. “Use your words.”
“I’m thinking about our cardboard forts, when it was just you and me, when that…” She nods at our linked pinkies. “That was mine. I claimed that.” Her voice cracks. “Why are you sharing it with him?”
The room falls still.
“It’s still yours.” He twitches his finger against mine.
“So is this.” I touch the scar under his ribs with my free hand, tracing the familiar edge. “It’s yours.”
Tears hover in her eyes, unshed and confused.
“You don’t want to share him with me?” I lower my hand.
“I do. Of course, I do. It’s not that. It’s just…
The memories were all I had left of him, the only connection I had for so long, and I’ve fiercely guarded every fragment, every piece of Jag that I lost. I know you’re not trying to steal that from me.
My jealousy doesn’t make sense, especially since we’re all naked, and you two are about to have sex.
I don’t want to be territorial or difficult or whatever this is. ”
Jag shifts to go to her.
“Stay.” She lifts a hand. “Please, stay right there.”
He freezes, looking conflicted and torn.
I feel the pull in him, the instinct to fix, to gather her up and make it stop hurting, but he swallows it for her.
“You’re not wrong for guarding that.” I hold her gaze. “You survived on those memories.”
She squeezes her arms tighter around her knees.
“I’m not trying to reach back there and take anything.” I tilt my head. “What I am is here now, with both of you. You don’t have to stop feeling what you’re feeling. You don’t have to be cool or evolved or generous about it. You’re allowed to be messy and protective.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Jag lowers his chin, regarding her from beneath hooded eyes. “Not from you. Not from us. This isn’t a trade, and you will never be replaced.”
“I know.” She pulls a breath through her nose.
“Do you want us to stop?” He nods at our entwined pinkies, our erections, everything implied.
She shakes her head fast. Too fast.
“Do you want to join us?” His voice drops, careful again.
Another head shake.
“Tell us what you want,” I say. “Not what scares you.”
“I want you to keep going.” She rests her chin on her knees. “I need to feel my way through this.”
“Keep going?” Jag flips me over, sets me on my knees, and presses my face into the mattress. “Like this?”
“Yes.” Her eyes lift, searching, wanting, her breath quickening.
“Keep your eyes on us.” With a hand on my nape and the other closing around my cock, he bends over me and starts jerking me again. “Watch us, Dove. See what it is. See what it isn’t.”
“You’re meant to be together.” Desire thickens her voice. “So fucking beautiful. Don’t stop.”
“Holy fuck.” I claw at the bedding, rocking my hips. “Listen to her, Jag. Don’t stop. I need to come.”