Chapter 30 Bellamy
BELLAMY
Rafe leans against the doorframe, one shoulder higher than the other, his body a study in practiced carelessness.
The ice in his tumbler shifts with a soft clink as he tilts it, amber liquid catching the light.
A lock of dark hair falls across his forehead when he dips his chin, gaze sliding from my bare legs to my face with unhurried precision.
His pupils have swallowed nearly all the color in his eyes, leaving them darker than his brother's—drawing me in despite myself.
“Rafe,” I say, my voice catching on the single syllable. My lips curve upward without my permission, and a warm flutter ripples through my belly—the same feeling I get when I'm about to do something I shouldn't. I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling too widely.
Gage's fingers flex against my thigh, digging five distinct points of pressure that send heat spiraling upward.
His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the stubble as his eyes darken to midnight.
The hand not gripping my leg slides possessively around my waist, thumb brushing the sensitive skin just above the towel.
His eyes lock with mine first, then drift to my mouth, lingering there before sliding down to the hollow of my throat where my pulse hammers. One corner of his mouth hitches upward, the dimple appearing in his right cheek as he takes a deliberate sip, his throat working as he swallows.
Water droplets cling to his hair, one sliding down his temple to disappear beneath the collar of his shirt. My gaze drifts to the fabric stretched across his shoulder, searching for the telltale bulge of bandages beneath.
“Swimming with a gunshot wound?” I click my tongue against my teeth. “That’s a terrible idea, you know.”
He tilts his head, one corner of his mouth lifting in that way that makes his scar catch the light. When he speaks, the words scrape low and rough against my ears, vibrating down my spine like fingers trailing over each vertebra. “You worried about me, baby?”
Gage's fingers find my chin, the pad of his thumb pressing just beneath my lower lip. My head turns toward him as if magnetized. His eyes never leave mine as his grip tightens just enough to leave the ghost of pressure against my skin, a silent command that sends heat spiraling down my spine.
“Fuck off, Rafe,” Gage says, voice dropping an octave, never taking his eyes off mine. The air between us thickens as his thumb traces a small arc along my jawline.
The sound of ice cubes clinking against glass grows louder as Rafe crosses the threshold. His low laughter vibrates through the room, each step bringing him closer until his shadow falls across the table between us, stretching long and dark against the polished wood.
Gage's jaw tightens against my skin, his stubble scraping a delicious path across my skin as he pretends Rafe isn't there. His breath comes hot and damp against my pulse point, teeth grazing the sensitive spot beneath my ear.
I arch backward, palms sliding wider on the cool table surface, wrists straining as my head falls back far enough to catch Rafe's dark gaze watching us.
Gage's jaw locks, a muscle twitching beneath stubbled skin as he stares at his brother.
Rafe just lifts one eyebrow, that familiar scar catching the light as his mouth curves into a slow, deliberate smile.
The air between them crackles with something intoxicating and dangerous.
Gage's fingers flex against my thigh, digging deeper, while Rafe's gaze never wavers, never blinks—like a predator who knows exactly how long to wait.
Gage's breath ghosts over my skin, but I can't focus on it. My eyes keep drifting across the table where Rafe stands watching us. Heat crawls up my spine that has nothing to do with the man currently touching me.
My fingers twitch against the table, seeking purchase on the smooth surface as if preparing to push away or pull closer—I'm not sure which.
Rafe's lips part with a soft exhale, the sound caught somewhere between annoyance and anticipation.
The corner of his mouth twitches once, twice, then breaks into a smile that transforms his face—all teeth and dark promise.
His tumbler makes a hollow clink against the polished wood as he sets it down, ice cubes shifting and settling in the amber liquid.
Rafe's tongue clicks against the roof of his mouth, the sound sharp in the charged silence. “C'mon brother. We both know that's not how she likes it.”
Rafe moves before I can decide how to react.
His hands hook behind my elbows, fingers pressing into the sensitive skin there as he tugs.
The table's polished surface slides cool beneath my thighs as he pulls me from Gage's grasp.
My body glides rather than stumbles, and just as my head would hit wood, his palm cradles my skull, fingers splayed wide against my hair.
The world spins—ceiling blurring, towel loosening—until I'm flat on my back, staring up at Rafe's face, his body now positioned between my knees.
My heart hammers inside my chest hard enough that I’m positive he can hear it. Excitement bubbles inside of me, and I drag my tongue across my lips, tasting my own anticipation. The space between us crackles with electricity, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
“Hi, baby.” His gaze devours every inch of my face with such raw hunger that heat pools low in my belly, a silent promise of pleasure edged with something deliciously threatening.
A distant voice whispers I should pull away, return to Gage. Choose.
But it drowns beneath a thundering certainty that I don’t have to. My body understands what my mind is just beginning to grasp: I don’t have to choose.
The thought spreads through me like wildfire.
“Hi, Rafe,” I whisper back, feeling myself grow slick at just the idea of having both of them together.
Rafe steps between my knees, his hips pressing against the table edge.
His palm slides up my throat, fingers splaying across my skin like he's measuring my pulse.
The warmth of his touch sends a current down my spine, and my eyelids grow heavy, fluttering at half-mast. My thighs tense, fighting the instinct to clamp around him.
A heartbeat passes where I can't breathe.
His eyes flick to Gage—deliberate, taunting—as the corner of his mouth curls upward, revealing the edge of his teeth.
Then his focus returns to me, pupils dilating until there's barely any color left, and he leans down, claiming my mouth with his.
His mouth is a fever against mine, stealing my breath, my thoughts, my self-control.
Every nerve ending ignites as his tongue slides against mine—confident, demanding, knowing.
The room spins away until there's nothing but the pressure of his lips, the heat of his body between my thighs, and the small, desperate sound I can't stop from escaping my throat.
His fingers tighten, not enough to hurt but enough to guide, drawing me down until my hips meet his at the edge of the table.
My legs move on their own, wrapping around his waist, heels digging lightly into his back as I pull him closer.
Rafe lets it happen. The permission in that—silent and deliberate—sends a thrill skittering down my spine.
His left hand slides down, palming the outside of my thigh, encouraging the squeeze, the contact.
My stomach flips when I feel the unmistakable hardness of him through our clothes, the awareness blooming low and urgent, heat pooling low.
Rafe Calloway kisses me like the world is ending, and I’m his last meal.
We break apart only because we need air.
His breath comes hot and ragged against my lips, matching the wild rhythm in my chest. His thumb traces the thrumming pulse beneath my jaw, lingering there as if counting each beat.
Behind half-lidded eyes, something shifts in his expression—a calculation, a decision forming.
The corner of his mouth twitches upward, not quite a smile.
My gaze drops to the scar there, silvery in the dim light.
Then I remember Gage was across the table, watching us. The reminder should sting with guilt, but instead, my fingers tighten in Rafe's shirt, pulling rather than pushing away. I don’t even remember grabbing his shirt.
The line I've crossed feels solid beneath my feet, unmovable now that I'm on this side of it.
Behind me, Gage hasn't moved. His knuckles have gone white where they press into the table, veins standing out along his forearms. A muscle jumps in his jaw as his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow bursts.
When our eyes meet, his pupils dilate so rapidly that the green of his iris nearly disappears, and the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lower lip.
Then familiar hands—rougher, broader—seize me from behind.
The world tilts as I'm lifted, spun, my back hitting the wall.
The impact knocks the air from my lungs, the shock of it pulling a breathless laugh from me as Gage's eyes lock with mine for half a heartbeat before his mouth claims mine, hot and demanding.
My legs instinctively wrap around his waist, ankles crossing at the small of his back.
I twist my fingers into his hair, pulling until the strands go taut between my knuckles.
His answering groan vibrates against my lips, the sound sending electricity down my spine.
His right hand grips my thigh, fingers digging into flesh, while his left slides up my ribcage, his thumb tracing the curve underneath my breast, leaving fire in its wake.
When we part, my lungs burn for air. The room tilts and sways, my fingers gripping Gage’s shoulders to stay upright.
He slowly lowers me to the ground, and my gaze darts between them.
Gage's possessive stance, Rafe's predatory stillness.
Their eyes locked in silent combat with me as the battlefield.
My thighs press together, betraying the heat still pooling there.
Gage lifts one eyebrow in challenge. His jaw tightens as he tilts his head toward me. “You mean like that?”
The words hang in the air like smoke after a match strike.
Gage's throat bobs as he swallows. Rafe's fingers twitch at his sides. My pulse thrums against my wrist where I've pressed my palm flat against the wall for balance.
Rafe's lips peel back from his teeth, one corner of his mouth hitching higher than the other, the scar there catching the light. “I've got a few notes,” he says, his voice a low scrape that makes something twist in my belly.
Three heartbeats pass. Four. Five. The kitchen clock ticks somewhere behind us, marking seconds that stretch like taffy. My nipples tighten beneath my bikini, and when I inhale, the air feels too thick to fill my lungs properly.
“I’m going to go get some air,” I murmur, stepping between the two of them and slipping from the room.