Chapter 23 #2
Like she wanted to be taken care of.
Like part of her needed to be owned.
Her body melted into the mattress.
My knee slid onto the bed beside her hip as I leaned over her, one hand steadying myself, the other slowly peeling the satin strap down her shoulder.
I didn’t rush. I didn’t speak. I just watched as the fabric slipped—revealing the delicate line of her back, all that soft skin, bare and waiting for my hands.
She didn’t flinch.
Not when I touched her.
Not when I lowered my weight to press a little closer.
Just a soft exhale— the kind you let out when something finally stops hurting.
“That’s it,” I whispered, voice low by her ear. “Just like that, baby. Let me in.”
I started slow—pressing my thumbs into the knots along her spine. The tension was worse than I thought. Weeks of it, maybe more. She’d been holding it all in. Pushing herself through Academy days and lockdown rules and our moods, like it didn’t affect her.
Like she didn’t feel everything.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I said.
But she didn’t.
She just sank deeper, her breath catching as I dragged my palms down the middle of her back, then up again in a smooth, steady rhythm. She was already sighing into the sheets, lashes fluttering, lips parted.
My hands found the base of her spine, then smoothed back up— slow, possessive. I slipped the other strap off her shoulder, letting the top of her satin dress pool around her waist.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” I said, more to myself than to her.
Bare.
Relaxed.
Mine.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the sheets as I worked a little deeper into the muscles at her shoulders. I could feel her shifting under my touch, caught somewhere between wanting to submit and not knowing how to ask.
So I guided her.
“You’re doing so well,” I whispered. “Letting me take care of you.”
And I meant it.
Every damn word.
This wasn’t about control.
This was about her letting go.
She was ours to calm.
Ours to touch.
And watching her body melt under my hands— watching her surrender to it— was a kind of high I hadn’t known I needed.
She lay on her stomach now, face turned to the side, hair swept back so I could get to the base of her neck. My thumbs worked carefully down her spine, easing the tension I’d felt earlier when she was on the phone. That fucking phone call.
That voice.
I still wasn’t over it.
But her body… her body was listening to me.
Breathing for me.
Trusting me.
The way her back rose and fell, the way her mouth parted just slightly when I found a tight spot—it did something to me.
Something I didn’t want to name yet.
That’s when I heard the door open.
Bastion.
His gaze went to her immediately. Always did.
She didn’t lift her head. Didn’t even flinch. She knew it was him. Knew we were both here now.
And still—she didn’t move. Didn’t stiffen .
That settled something deep in my chest.
The way she was accepting us. The way she didn’t question what we did to her the other night. Didn’t look at us like we were different now.
Bastion didn’t say a word. Just crossed the room and sank down beside her, his hand going straight to her hair.
His fingers threaded through it in that soft, absent rhythm he always used when he needed to steady himself— possessive , but gentle.
Like touching her was something he didn’t take for granted.
And the way she let him…
Didn’t pull away. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t look at us like monsters ?—
It undid something in me.
She exhaled, sinking deeper into the mattress.
And that told me everything .
“She slept curled up again,” I muttered to him. “Left shoulder’s compensating. Bet you anything her jaw’s tight too.”
Bastion hummed, still combing her hair, now dragging his fingertips gently along her scalp.
“You want me to get the oil?”
“She’ll fall asleep if you do.”
He smirked. “Maybe that’s the point.”
The corner of my mouth lifted.
We could’ve kept talking. Planning. Plotting.
But instead, we stayed quiet.
Both of us focused on her.
She was stretched out between us like she belonged there.
My hands working her back.
Bastion’s soothing touches running across forehead.
She didn’t speak and didn’t need to.
Her body said everything .
The way she softened into the sheets. The way her hips stopped holding tension and gave in to our rhythm.
Because she was safe here.
With us.
The psychotic Crow twins.
I almost smirked. Even after everything she’d heard—every whispered threat, every truth wrapped in blood.
She still felt safe.
And even if she didn’t say it— her body did.
Her body knew it was ours to care for.
Ours to worship. Ours to protect.
I dragged my thumb up the curve of her spine again, slow and sure.
“Still hurts?”
She gave the tiniest nod. Just breathed out and whispered, “ A little. ”
“We’ll fix that, our angel,” Bastion said, brushing her temple with the back of his hand.
My hands moved lower.
I wasn’t rushing.
I could do this for hours.
Because touching her like this wasn’t about sex.
It was about reverence. Devotion.
About reminding her we could be soft , too.
That we could hold her as fiercely as we would fuck her.
And we would.
Every goddamn time.