29. Ever #3
He takes his time preparing her, fingers slick, patient, checking every sound she makes.
Reva’s breathing turns ragged. Her forehead drops to my shoulder.
I keep one hand at her hip and the other along her jaw, leaning back against the wall to position her and holding her where I can see her face when Shiloh presses closer.
“Words,” he says.
She lifts her head, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “I want it.”
Shiloh presses into her, breaching the tight ring of her ass slowly from behind.
Her mouth opens without sound. I stop breathing with her at the increased sensation.
Every muscle in her body tightens. Her nails bite into my shoulders, and I hold still, buried inside her, letting Shiloh give her what she asked for one careful inch at a time.
“Breathe,” I say.
She drags in air.
“Good.”
Shiloh stills when he is fully inside, his jaw tight, one hand braced at her waist.
Reva is shaking between us.
“Too much?” I ask.
Her eyes snap to mine. “Oh, no.”
Strong answer. Perfect answer. I kiss her.
Then I begin to move.
Slowly at first, lifting her hips as Shiloh holds steady behind her. She breaks against my mouth, a moan turning into a curse. Shiloh follows, finding the counter-rhythm, and the three of us become breath, skin, pressure, and the sounds Reva cannot swallow.
She is everywhere.
On my lap. Around me. Between us. Hands on my shoulders, mouth against mine, back arching when Shiloh’s hand slides up to her throat and holds lightly.
I do not think about the invitation.
I do not think about Isabel Rosario.
I do not think about ballroom exits, signal loss, or how many men I can kill before Nash gets her clear.
I think about Reva alive and shaking, taking pleasure from both of us because she chose it.
Because she asked. Because she trusted us to give her more without taking too much.
My anxiety does not disappear. It narrows into a single command.
Keep her with us.
Shiloh’s voice roughens at her ear. “Look at him.”
Her eyes find mine. Her pupils are blown wide. Her mouth is swollen. Tears gather along her lashes, but not the wrong kind. Her body clenches around me hard enough that I nearly lose the rhythm.
“She’s close,” Shiloh says.
“I know.”
“I’m right here,” she snaps, breathless.
“Then come,” I tell her.
She shakes her head, stubborn even now. I slide my hand between us, find her clit, and press exactly where she needs it.
Her body breaks.
The orgasm hits her hard enough that she nearly folds forward. I catch her with one arm around her back while Shiloh holds her hips, both of us keeping her between us as she shakes through it. Her body pulses around me, around him, dragging a groan out of Shiloh and something harsher out of me.
I last three more thrusts.
Then I bury myself deep and come with my forehead against her throat, hands locked at her hips. Shiloh follows a second later, his breath breaking against the back of her neck, fingers flexing at her waist.
For a while, none of us moves.
Reva trembles between us, boneless and warm, her face tucked against mine. Shiloh kisses her shoulder. I keep my arms around her because letting go feels impossible.
Eventually, she lifts her head. Her eyes are heavy, but clear.
“Better?” she asks.
The same question from the mats. My throat tightens.
“Yes,” I say.
Shiloh laughs softly behind her. “For everyone, I think.”
She huffs, but it has no bite. “Men.”
I kiss the corner of her mouth. “You brought it up.”
“I did.”
“Good.”
That earns me a tired glare.
I ease my hand up her spine. “Still with me?”
She nods.
“Say it.”
Her expression softens in a way that hurts. “I’m here, Ever. I’m not going anywhere. She’s not going to get me.”
I close my eyes for half a second. When I open them, Shiloh is watching me over her shoulder. No joke this time. No grin.
He knows. He always does when it matters.
I look at the hairpin on the bench beside us. Reva follows the movement of my eyes. The gala waits. Mother Superior waits. The room I cannot enter waits.
But Reva is in my arms now, breathing evenly, warm from us, her body loose and safe between two men who will be parked outside that venue ready to tear the city apart if her voice changes the tiniest bit.
I still don’t like the invitation.
Reva reaches for the hairpin, closes her fingers around it, and presses it into my palm.
“I’ll wear the hairpin,” she says.
I look at her.
“I promise.”
I fold my hand around hers and the pin.
“Thank you.”
She makes a face. “Gross. You’re welcome.”
Shiloh kisses the back of her shoulder. “We should probably get dressed before someone comes looking.”
“Nash?” she asks.
“Cal,” I counter.
Her eyes widen. Then she scrambles off my lap so fast Shiloh and I both have to catch her.
“Christ on a cracker.”
Shiloh laughs.
I do too, once. The sound surprises me.
Reva looks at me like she caught it and plans to keep it.
Maybe she can.
Outside, the house remains quiet. The city keeps moving. The gala sits two nights away like a blade under silk.
I pick up the hairpin and set it in the pouch again.
Eyes. Ears. Signal. Backup. Not enough. But closer.
And for now, Reva is laughing while she yanks on her leggings, Shiloh is irritating her on purpose, and my hands have stopped shaking.
For now, I’ll take it as a win.