32. Ryder
32
RYDER
The security room is small but well-equipped, the camera feeds displaying every angle of our property. Brick’s fingers move swiftly over the keyboard, pulling up the guest room feed. I should feel guilty for this invasion of privacy, but the sound of my name on her lips has burned away any pretense of nobility.
The monitor flickers to life, and the three of us go still.
Rowan lies on the bed, covers kicked aside, wearing nothing but a thin tank top that’s ridden up to expose her stomach. One hand moves between her thighs, the other clutching the pillow beside her head. Her back arches slightly, her rhythm steady but building.
“Damn,” Maddox breathes, his voice barely audible.
None of us moves to turn off the feed. None of us looks away. We’re transfixed by the sight of her pleasuring herself in our guest room, unaware of her audience—or perhaps acutely aware, given the way she whispers our names.
“Ryder,” she moans, her fingers moving faster. “Please.”
Hearing my name in that desperate tone sends heat flooding through me, my cock hardening painfully against my sweatpants. I grip the edge of the desk, knuckles whitening with the effort of restraining myself.
She shifts on the bed, her tank top sliding higher, exposing the underside of her breasts. Her movements grow more frantic, her breathing audible even through the camera’s mediocre audio. Then she gasps out Brick’s name, her body tensing, trembling on the edge of release.
Beside me, Brick inhales sharply. His jaw is clenched so tight I can see a muscle jumping beneath his skin. Maddox makes a strangled sound, his eyes never leaving the screen.
“All of you,” she whimpers, her voice breaking as she comes, her body arching off the bed. “Need all of you.”
The words steal the breath from my lungs. Each name she moaned, each plea she uttered—they weren’t just fantasy. They were confessions. She wants all of us.
The realization settles over the room like a blanket of certainty. My brothers’ reactions mirror my own—want, need, possession—these emotions are visible in the rigid set of their shoulders, the tight clench of their fists, and the heat in their eyes.
On screen, Rowan’s body relaxes gradually, her breathing slowing as she comes down from her climax. She turns onto her side, curling into herself, one hand resting on the empty space beside her as if reaching for someone who isn’t there.
Brick reaches over and shuts off the monitor, plunging the room into relative darkness. For several heartbeats, none of us speaks. The only sound is our slightly elevated breathing.
“She wants all of us,” Maddox finally says, stating the obvious but somehow making it real by voicing it.
Brick nods, running a hand over his face. “Chase was right.”
The weight of what we’ve witnessed, what it means for us moving forward, settles over the room. This isn’t just about sex anymore. It’s not just physical attraction or forbidden desire. It’s something deeper, more complex—a connection that defies conventional understanding.
“We talk to her in the morning,” Brick says, his voice rough. “All of us together.”
We nod in agreement, the decision made without debate. Whatever happens next, we’re in this together.
We head back to our separate rooms, though I doubt any of us will find sleep easily after what we’ve seen. The image of Rowan coming undone, crying out our names, is burned into my memory—fuel for dreams that will haunt me for the foreseeable future.
My bedroom feels emptier than usual, and the silence is more oppressive. I strip off my sweatpants and lie on my bed, staring at the ceiling. My cock throbs with unrelieved tension, demanding the attention I’m reluctant to give.
But the memory of her voice calling my name won’t fade. The sight of her fingers working between her thighs replays behind my closed eyelids. Eventually, I give in to the inevitable, wrapping my hand around my length with a hiss of relief.
It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
I roll to my side, reaching for the drawer in my nightstand. There, tucked in the back corner, is the black lace I took from her apartment all those weeks ago. I’ve kept it, a secret token of desire I couldn’t admit to my brothers.
The fabric is soft against my skin as I wrap it around my cock, imagining it’s her—her hand, her mouth, her body gripping me tight. I stroke slowly at first, savoring the fantasy, building the pressure deliberately.
Rowan spread beneath me, her eyes dark with desire as I push inside her.
Rowan on her knees, taking me into her mouth with eager hunger.
Rowan between me and my brothers, surrounded by our hands, our bodies, completely and utterly ours.
The image hits me hard—so vivid, so real, it feels like she’s right here in front of me.
My grip tightens around the lace, and I stroke harder, faster now, the memory of her pleas building in my mind.
The thought of her screaming our names in unison as we ruin her makes my heart race. I see her in the middle of us, trembling and completely overwhelmed, her body arched, desperate for every touch, every inch.
I imagine filling her throat, her mouth wrapping around my cock as I lose control. My brothers taking the same from her—each of us in turn, until she’s nothing but a broken mess of moans, her body trembling under the weight of our demand.
The fantasy is almost too much.
But I need it. I need to feel her, to have her just like that. Surrounded by us.
I grit my teeth, moving faster now, feeling the pressure building inside me.
The sound of her moaning for us—each of us, simultaneously, her body pressing back against us, giving in to the pleasure. She wants us all. She needs us all. I can feel it.
The sensation of her tight warmth, the thought of her completely at our mercy, floods me with a primal need. My hand moves faster as the image of Rowan—all of her, all of us, wrapped together—drives me to the edge, my pulse pounding in my ears.
I close my eyes, imagining her panting beneath me, my brothers pushing into her on either side, each of us feeling the raw, untamed need to take her completely—to make her ours in every sense.
The pressure snaps.
I come with a low, guttural groan, my release pouring out of me, hot and overwhelming as I grip the lace even tighter. Her name is a whisper on my lips, the sound of it hanging heavy in the air.
For several minutes afterward, I lie there panting, waiting for guilt or shame to surface. Instead, I feel only certainty. However unconventional, however complicated, this is right. She belongs with us. All of us.