Chapter 36
Chapter Thirty-Six
Vesper
Callaway’s voice melts over me like something forbidden.
“Make it good.”
And God help me, I want them to.
I want them both.
Monty’s fingers are still deep inside me—curled just right, stroking that place that makes my vision blur. His thumb drags in slow, dizzying circles over my clit, patient but cruel, and I can’t think past the feeling. Past the stretch, the fullness, the slick sound of him working me open.
Then Cally’s mouth is on me again—leaving bruises on my neck, teeth grazing just enough to make me cry out—and I don’t know where to lean, who to hold onto, because I’m surrounded. Caged in by their hands and mouths and heat, and all I can do is take it.
I should stop this.
We should talk.
There’s so much we haven’t said, things that can’t be undone once we cross this line.
Sex is the one thing that broke us, and right now I should be the voice of reason, but I can’t. I need this so much. I want this. The physical release, the closeness. Kissing Monty after so many years is almost heaven, and then it’s Cally’s mouth that finds mine.
He’s hungry, so hungry for me, for this. I feel it, everything.
I want them like I want air. Like I want this child I didn’t plan for but can’t imagine letting go. I want Cally’s filthy mouth and Monty’s ruined groans and both of their bodies pushing me apart until there’s nothing left of me but want.
“Fuck, please—”
The word tears out of me when Cally breaks the kiss, my hips jerking forward as Monty presses deeper inside me, his thumb circling faster, more sure. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”
I’m shaking. I know it. I can’t hide it.
Cally groans against my skin, low and wrecked, his mouth trailing down to my shoulder.
His teeth scrape the skin there and the sensation shoots straight through me, hot and dizzying.
When he looks up, his eyes are blown wide with need—and something softer, something cracked open that makes my heart stumble even as my body races ahead.
“You’re shaking,” he whispers, almost reverent. “You’re so close.”
His hand slides lower, fingers brushing between my legs, joining Monty’s. I gasp when Cally touches my clit, the two of them working me together—one inside me, one right where I need it most—and it’s too much and not enough all at once.
“Oh my God—”
Cally presses in closer, his voice rough with want. “You feel that?” Then he glances at Monty, a crooked smile breaking through the heat. “You’re so hard, big guy. You should be licking our girl while I take care of you.”
The words almost tip me over the edge.
I whimper, my whole body tensing, pleasure spiraling so fast I can barely breathe—I want his tongue, his mouth. But then, everything stops.
Monty stills.
The room freezes around us like time itself decided to wait.
My hands fly to his wrist, gripping tight, desperate to keep him there, to keep myself grounded. I don’t want to float away. I don’t want this to disappear.
And Monty—God, Monty—he’s silent. Watching me. Fingers still deep inside me, unmoving, his gaze dark and searching, like he’s standing at the edge of something he’s terrified to cross.
“You want his mouth?” I ask softly, because this matters. For him. For Cally. For whatever we’re trying to become.
He exhales slowly, eyes flicking to Callaway. “No. I don’t think either of us is there yet.” His voice is firm but not cold. “It’s something we need to work through before I take that step. If you’re okay with that.”
Callaway nods without hesitation. “I told you last night, big guy. I’ll respect your boundaries.” His eyes drop to me, dark and hungry. “Now, let’s make her come.”
Something in me loosens at that. The trust. The care wrapped inside the want.
Monty moves again.
Slow at first—fingers curling, thumb pressing harder, more insistent—and I let myself feel it. Let myself stay right here in this moment where both of them want me, where I don’t have to choose, where I don’t have to be afraid yet.
I think about losing them—about how easy it would be to fuck this up, how love always feels like it comes with an expiration date.
But my body doesn’t care about tomorrow.
My body wants this.
Monty’s eyes lock onto mine as his thumb works me without mercy. “Come for us,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “Let us see how you fall apart.”
That does it.
I shatter.
Pleasure crashes through me—hot, sudden, overwhelming—and I cry out, my body locking tight around Monty’s fingers as Cally’s mouth finds mine again, licking, sucking like he can taste my release. My hips jerk uncontrollably, my breath gone, my mind blank.
There’s nothing else.
No past.
No future.
No fear.
Just me—held between the two men I wasn’t supposed to love like this. The two men who feel like home and danger all at once.
And I know we should stop.
I know we should talk.
But right now?
All I can feel is wanted.
All I can feel is chosen.
All I can feel is craved.
And for this moment, that’s enough.
I’m still floating, shattered like a supernova, my body pulsing with the last waves of it. Monty’s fingers are deep inside me when I finally come undone, my breath breaking apart as everything crashes at once.
He stays with me through it. Doesn’t rush. Doesn’t pull away.
When my body begins to soften, when the tremors fade into something gentler, he eases his hand out slowly, inch by inch, like he knows exactly how sensitive I still am.
His fingers trail along me as they withdraw, slick and warm, then his palm settles between my thighs, not touching where I’m too tender—just holding me there, grounding me.
He leans in close, mouth brushing my ear.
“Fuck, Ves,” he murmurs, voice low and full. “You were incredible. So open. So beautiful for us.”
The words sink into me deeper than his fingers ever did.
His hand keeps moving—up my thigh, over my hip, along my stomach—slow strokes meant to soothe, to remind me I’m not falling alone. His thumb traces lazy lines over my skin, never asking for more, just offering presence.
They’re still touching me. Soft now. Slow. Like they’re writing something into my skin with each pass of their fingers. Something that says you’re here, you’re safe, you were perfect.
And somehow, I believe it.
Monty’s in front, holding me close, breath slowing against my collarbones. His arms wrap around my waist, hands broad and warm, still a little slick from where he’d touched me so deeply it felt like prayer.
Callaway’s behind me, bent over slightly, mouth brushing my shoulder one last time like he doesn’t want to leave me. His lips part to taste, just one more flick of tongue, one more quiet kiss that makes me shiver even though the orgasm has already passed.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs against me. “You should’ve seen yourself, sunshine. You came so fucking hard for us.”
I let out a shaky laugh that turns into something else. Something deeper. I blink fast, but one tear escapes anyway.
Monty’s thumb catches it. “Hey,” he whispers. “You okay?”
I nod. My throat is too full to speak.
I don’t know how to explain this feeling—this ache, this warmth, this small but growing thing in my chest that says maybe you can have this. Maybe this time it doesn’t have to break.
“I don’t want to move,” I mumble into Monty’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to. Not yet.” Cally lifts my chin and kisses me—soft, lingering. “You did so good for us, baby. We’ll take care of you.”
He stands and stretches, muscles flexing in a way that makes me want to touch him again. Then he walks out of the living room with nothing but a wink over his shoulder and a mutter of, “I’m getting the bath ready. Monty’s bathroom. The big tub.”
I smile into Monty’s neck.
“It sounds like he believes that tub is sacred,” I say.
“It is,” Monty replies quietly. “And he’s not wrong. You deserve sacred.”
That almost breaks me.
A few minutes later, Callaway calls out, “It’s ready, lovebirds. Bring our queen.”
Monty lifts me into his arms without hesitation—like I don’t make his muscles twitch, like I’m not flushed and worn and still trembling a little. He carries me through the apartment, past the hallway and into the warm, jasmine-scented haze of the bathroom.
And it’s—God, it’s beautiful.
The tub is already full, steam curling off the surface, salts melting into swirls of pink and white. A towel hangs from the warmer. Music plays softly—some mellow acoustic thing Callaway swears helps balance the nervous system.
“Okay,” he says, grinning, “goddess mode engaged.”
They undress me gently, together. Callaway kissing my shoulders as Monty trails his hands down my spine. My breath catches when their fingertips brush each other over my hips—both of them touching me like I’m precious and theirs. Like we made it here on purpose.
Monty steps in first, pulling me with him, settling behind me. His legs cradle mine as I ease into the water. Callaway joins in front, straddling the edge of the tub, leaning over to brush his lips over my knee, my thigh, my mouth.
They wash me. Hands reverent. Slow. Loving. Callaway pours warm water over my chest and belly while Monty lathers my arms. Their touches overlap. So do their kisses.
I want to cry again, and I’m not even sure why.
Maybe it’s because I didn’t think I’d survive this year.
Maybe it’s because this—this moment, this bath, this impossible love—feels like more than my heart can hold.
“You’re thinking again,” Monty murmurs behind me, fingers brushing my temple. “Tell us.”
I exhale. “I think . . . I want to be selfish.”
Callaway stills. “Good.”
I blink. “What?”
“I like when you want things. Say it. Say it out loud. What do you want, Ves?”
“I want this,” I whisper. “I want you. Both of you. I want to feel loved and fucked and chosen.”
“You are.” Monty’s voice is low. Final.
“You did so good for us,” Callaway says again, brushing his thumb over my lips. “You’re ours. And I’m so fucking proud of you.”
My breath stutters.
His eyes drop to my breasts again, now glistening above the water. “You look wrecked, baby. Soft and open and so fucking pretty like this.”
“Cally—”
“I’m not gonna do anything,” he promises. “Not now. But don’t think for a second I’m not thinking about putting you on your knees later and showing you exactly how proud I am.”
Monty hums. “We can take turns.”
I whimper. “But what about you two?”
They laugh—soft and sinful—and Cally presses a kiss to my wet shoulder.
“We’ll talk,” he murmurs. “All the stuff we haven’t said yet. We’ll figure out what this looks like—how we move through the world like this. But right now? It’s all about you.”
“You just have to let us take care of you,” Monty adds, nuzzling the back of my neck.
I let my eyes close, water lapping gently around us, their touches still roaming, still affectionate. Still . . . hungry. But not demanding.
And for the first time in forever, I let myself fall into the feeling.
Wanted.
Held.
Safe.
Not because everything is fixed.
But because they’re here, and I hope that they won’t walk away. Not today, or ever. I want this to be our always and forever.