Chapter 44
LAINE
Iwake up to hands, and my first coherent thought is who forgot to turn off the octopus?
That doesn't make sense. Sleep-brain. Give me a second.
Warmth. Pressure. Fingers tracing slow patterns across my hip. I'm not sure whose hand it is, and my sleep-addled brain decides this is a problem for future Laine.
The room is dark—not pitch black, there's moonlight doing its thing through the curtains—and Blake's face is about three inches from mine. His eyes are half-open, watching me.
Creepy? Probably should be creepy. It's not.
God, I love this face. Even half-asleep, even with that permanent crease between his eyebrows that never quite goes away, even with stubble scratching against the pillow.
All those rough edges I used to think meant he was broken beyond repair—turns out they're just part of who he is.
Part of what makes him Blake. The guy who notices when I'm cold before I do, who fixes things without being asked, who carries so much guilt he can barely stand up straight some days but still manages to be the most decent person I know.
After I kissed him, I used to lie awake in my own bed, thinking about what it would be like to wake up next to him. Now I don't have to choose between him and Reid, don't have to pick sides or leave someone out in the cold.
Blake's watching me like he's memorizing my face, and maybe he is. Because I find myself looking at both of them the same way.
"Hey," he whispers.
"Hey." My voice sounds like I gargled gravel. Sexy. "What time is it?"
"Late. Early. Somewhere in between."
"Helpful."
Behind me, Reid shifts. His arm tightens around my waist, and his breath is warm against the back of my neck. Still asleep, maybe. Or doing that thing where he's technically awake but refusing to admit it.
"Did I wake you?" Blake asks.
"No. Maybe. I don't know." I'm still trying to get my brain online. "Why are you awake?"
"Slept. Woke up." His thumb is tracing circles on my hip. Slow. Absent. I don't think he knows he's doing it. "Kept thinking about you being here. In this bed."
Oh.
"I'm here," I say, because it's true and I can't think of anything smarter.
"Yeah." His voice goes soft. Almost wondering. "You are."
He kisses me. Soft, barely there—a question more than anything.
And I should probably care about morning breath, or middle of the night breath, or the fact that I definitely drooled on my pillow, but I don't. I lean into it, slide my hand up to his jaw, let it turn into something slower and deeper and—
Behind me, Reid stirs. His arm tightens, pulling me back against his chest, and I feel the exact moment he wakes up properly. His breathing changes. His body tenses. His lips find that spot where my neck meets my shoulder.
"Starting without me?" Low and rumbly against my skin.
"You were asleep," Blake says against my mouth.
"I'm not now."
Reid's hand slides under the hem of my shirt. Just resting there, palm flat against my stomach, and I feel that touch everywhere.
Okay. So we're doing this. At— I glance at the clock on the nightstand—2:47 in the morning. Sure. Why not.
"This okay?" Reid asks.
"Yes." The word comes out way more breathless than I intended. Get it together, Laine. "This is—yeah. Yes." This is so okay. More than okay. This is the okayest thing ever.
Blake pulls back to look at me. Checking. Making sure. And I love him for it, but also—
"We can just sleep," he says. "If you want."
"Blake."
"We don't have to—"
"Blake." I put my hand on his chest. His heart is pounding.
"I want this. I've been thinking about this…
about the three of us together for-freaking-ever!
" Ever since that night on the couch, I've wanted this again.
Okay, might not the whole time. There was time in between where navigating the three of us was a little overwhelming.
Trying to be the best girlfriend ever to two men isn't easy.
It's a lot to balance. So I guess I'm glad we didn't dive into this too fast. Because I love both my guys, and the one on one time I get to spend with them. But this, God, I want this too.
Something shifts in his expression. "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Okay."
He kisses me again, and this time there's nothing tentative about it. His hand slides into my hair, tilts my head back, and oh, that's more like it. Behind me, Reid's fingers are tracing up my ribcage—slow, deliberate, taking his time like we have all the time in the world.
I've been with them separately. I know what they sound like, what they feel like, what makes each of them come apart.
But this—both at once—is different.
It's not just more sensation. It's—
It's a lot. It's so much. How do people do this without short-circuiting?
Reid tugs at my shirt. "Off."
"Bossy."
"You like it."
He's not wrong. I sit up and pull the shirt over my head, and for a moment I'm just kneeling there between them in the moonlight, bare from the waist up, and they're both looking at me.
I should feel self-conscious. In the past, with other men, I had a running mental catalog of everything wrong with my body, complete with annotations.
But the way they're looking at me right now doesn't leave room for that.
It never does. They're too focused on me, and really do love me exactly the way I am. I don't doubt that for even a second.
But still, having both of them focused solely on me is a lot.
Okay. You can stare. I'll allow it. But if this gets weird, I'm putting the shirt back on.
"God, Laine." Blake's voice is rough.
My face heats. Still not used to that. Might never be.
"Less staring," I say. "More touching."
Blake laughs—actually laughs, surprised and real—and pulls me down against him. Then we're kissing again and his hands are everywhere and Reid is pressed against my back, his mouth on my neck, and I'm—
Overstimulated. Is that a word? That's a word. I'm that.
"Too many clothes," I manage. "Both of you." I want bare skin
"Demanding," Reid says.
"You like it."
There's a scramble to pull off their shorts, and at one point someone's elbow—Reid's, I think—catches Blake in the ribs.
"Ow. Fuck."
"Sorry—"
"Watch your goddamn elbows—"
"You watch your—"
"Oh my god." I'm laughing, I can't help it. "This is a king and a half bed. How are we still hitting each other?"
"It's a talent," Reid says, finally getting his shorts off without committing further assault.
And then we're all bare and tangled and the laughter dies down into something else. Something warmer. Quieter.
This is ridiculous. How did this become my life?
I love it. I love every stupid second of it.
"Okay." Reid props himself up on one elbow, looking down at me. His hair is a disaster. His eyes are dark. He's smiling. "How do you want us?"
The question sends a jolt straight through me.
How do I want them?
I want to stop thinking. I want to feel both of you at once. I want to know what it's like to be the center of something..
"Like this," I say. "Both of you. Touching me."
Blake makes a sound. Reid's smile sharpens.
"We can do that," Reid says.
They move together—not choreographed, but close. Like they've thought about this. Like they've maybe talked about it when I wasn't around.
Oh. That's... actually really hot.
Blake's hand slides down my stomach. Lower. And I gasp against his mouth because—.
"Oh my God."
"Good? Or bad?"
"Good, Blake, obviously—"
His fingers trace my inner thigh. Teasing. Not touching where I want him.
"Blake."
"Hmm?"
"Don't be an asshole."
"I'm not being an asshole. I'm taking my time."
"Well, stop."
Blake huffs a laugh against my collarbone. "Always so bossy."
"Yep," Reid says. "It's one of my favorite things about her."
They're talking about me like I'm not here, and I should be annoyed, but Reid finally touches me properly and I stop caring about anything except—
"Oh."
"There she goes," Reid murmurs.
"Shut up."
"Make me."
I grab his face and kiss him, hard, and he laughs into my mouth. Blake's fingers join Reid's—or maybe replace them, I can't tell anymore—and I'm caught between them, drowning in the best way.
Don't think. Don't analyze. Just feel.
For once, my brain listens.
One of them does something clever with his hand and I arch off the mattress, breaking the kiss to gasp out something that might be his name or might be profanity. Blake catches my mouth, swallows the sound, and I'm shaking apart between them.
The first orgasm rolls through me like a wave—unexpected, almost too fast—and I'm gasping through it while they hold me steady.
"Jesus," I manage when I can breathe again. "That was—"
"That was one," Reid says, and his voice has gone dark in a way that makes my stomach flip. "We're not done."
Oh. Oh no. I mean yes. I mean…I don't even know what I mean.
Blake shifts, moving down my body, and his mouth follows the path his hands traced earlier. Collarbone. The curve of my breast. Lower. Reid props himself up beside me, one hand stroking my hair back from my face, watching.
"You're so fucking beautiful like this," Reid says. "You know that?"
"I'm a mess."
"Yeah." He grins. "Our beautiful mess."
I want to argue, but Blake's mouth finds my hip bone and I lose my train of thought entirely. He's taking his time—kissing, tasting, learning—and Reid is just watching, and the combination is—
"Blake." My voice doesn't sound like mine. "Please."
He looks up at me, and even in the dim light I can see the question in his eyes. I nod, and he dips his head lower, and—
"Fuck."
Reid laughs softly. "Whatever the fuck you're doing to her, keep doing it. She's used an actual swear word."
"Shut—oh—shut up—"
Blake's mouth is on me and Reid's hand is in my hair and I can't—I can't think—I can't do anything except feel. Blake is thorough, methodical, determined, and every time I get close he backs off just enough to keep me on the edge.
"Blake, I swear to god—"
"Let him work," Reid murmurs against my ear. "He's good at this."