Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SADIE
“Are you sure?”
Wesley’s voice is low and molten, the kind of sound that slides under my skin and rewires the air around us. His thumb traces along my jaw, slow enough to make my pulse stumble.
We’re back at his spot, hidden between the hills and wildflowers that catch the dying light. The sunset spills over everything in a honeyed haze, soft and forgiving. He looks carved from the light itself, like the world built this moment just to hold him here.
The blooms sway around us, grazing against my legs like they’re in on our secret.
Wesley’s eyes hold mine, dark and searching, and for a breath, it feels like he’s asking something wordless—something that would change everything.
I can’t breathe until he moves.
When he does, it’s careful. Devotional. My hands find his chest, feeling the steady thud beneath my fingers as they dig into the fabric of his shirt. That rhythm grounds me and destroys me all at once.
I want this. I want him. I want to stop running from what’s been burning in my chest since the day I first looked at him. Even then, I knew wanting him was a terrible idea. But the thought of stopping, or waiting any longer, feels impossible.
His lips brush mine—barely there, more breath than touch—and the world folds inward. The kiss deepens, slow and careful, like we’re learning the language of each other one syllable at a time. His hands trace the curve of my spine, his touch reverent.
It’s too much and not enough.
His fingers thread through my hair, tugging gently, tilting my head back just far enough for me to see it—the flicker in his eyes, equal parts need and restraint. “Sadie…” he breathes, like my name is a warning and a prayer all at once.
“I’m sure,” I whisper. And I mean it.
Finally, his lips meet mine again, harder now, and everything narrows to the taste of him—sun, salt, and the faintest hint of illicit desire I pretend isn’t there. Our lips part and meet again and again, a soft push and pull that sets my stomach spinning.
My body arcs toward his, instinctive, magnetic, urgent. His fingers slip under my shirt, the scrape of calloused skin setting every nerve on fire. I gasp into his mouth, and he smiles against the sound, like he’s been waiting for it.
He eases me down onto the blanket beneath us, his weight braced above mine. The grass rustles and wildflowers nod around us, conspiratorial. We shouldn’t be doing this, but every inch of me is screaming yes.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs against my skin as his fingers hook beneath the hem of my top, his knuckles gliding up my ribs as he slips it over my head.
“Yours,” I breathe, pressing my body flush to his, needing every inch of contact.
His mouth finds mine again, harder now, teeth occasionally grazing, tongue tracing along my skin. My fingers wander over him, seeking reassurance, craving him, but he catches my wrists, holding me just hard enough to intensify the ache.
“I want to feel you,” I whisper, voice trembling, almost pleading. But he doesn’t let me. “Wesley,” I breathe.
He hums in response, his lips finding my throat, the hollow just beneath my jaw. Each kiss is a question, and I answer in the soft, desperate sounds that slip between my breaths.
His kiss lingers, teasing as he makes a path down me—like he’s mapping me, learning me, marking me. His mouth trails a little lower and my hands clutch at his hair, tugging as he sinks right to where I’ve been aching for him.
He slowly slides my underwear down, not breaking eye contact, pressing soft kisses on my inner thigh before his mouth claims me. My head falls back, lifting toward the sky, a soft, desperate sound slipping free as if he’s pulling it from my very core.
I glance down at him, caught in the sun’s glow, and notice the light in his hair—so close to his brother’s.
I blink and a flicker of unease sparks, but it’s fleeting, desire smothering it before it can fully form.
His mouth moves over me and my body tips toward him instinctively, thoughts dissolving into sensation.
My breath hitches, chest rising and falling in uneven waves. A burning heat coils inside me, tight and insistent, and I want to stop time—to sink into this, to let the world vanish until only this moment exists.
I try to think, to hold onto something solid, but everything he does scatters me—his hands on my breasts, warm and sure, a feather-soft touch like he’s absorbing my very being; his mouth drawing me higher, deeper, until it feels like he’s everywhere at once, inside every breath, every tremor.
How does he do that?
My head tips back on instinct, and a quiet, helpless sound escapes before I can stop it. It’s a surrender I didn’t know I was ready to give. It’s almost too good, too much.
“I’m—oh my God.” The words leave me on a whimper.
“Tell us what you need, Princess.” Wesley hums against me, low, insistent, relentless in the way he claims me.
My body answers him on its own, every nerve lit, every sense ablaze. I can’t form a single coherent thought as his hand finds me again, his touch syncing with his mouth in a way that steals the strength from my limbs.
“Wesley,” I breathe, and the word is a shiver, a surrender. A promise.
Then a voice murmurs against my chest, soft and teasing, brushing my skin like a caress.
“Aww, how come he gets all the credit?”
My eyes snap open. The voice isn’t Wesley’s. It slides against my skin like silk, teasing, familiar.
Confusion tangles with longing and something more—something dangerous—and I struggle to lift myself onto my elbows.
They’re both there—Wesley lying with his face buried between my thighs, devotion written in every movement of his mouth. Emmett beside me, a slow, teasing smile as he drags his fingers up my ribs before pressing his mouth to mine.
It should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. It feels inevitable. Like the truth has finally stepped into the sun.
Emmett’s tongue swipes across my lips and I part for him, completely intoxicated.
My heartbeat stutters. Every inch of me is alive, confusion tangled with want, guilt folding into something vulnerable and unsound.
Wesley doesn’t stop—his hands anchor me, steady, certain—while Emmett’s mouth finds my collarbone, tracing where the other left off. I’m trembling under the onslaught—every touch, every kiss, every brush of fingers perfectly aligned, devastating in their harmony.
My body arches, caught between them, a dizzying mix of surrender and disbelief.
The world tilts with a burst of light as a tide crashes over me. I am nothing but the pounding of my pulse—louder, harder, consuming.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Sadie.” Emmett’s voice is distant, dreamlike, even though he’s right there. “Open your eyes,” he whispers.
I obey.
The blanket, the sweet scent of wildflowers, the Morrow brothers—all vanish.
My room is quiet. The morning sun filters through the curtains. I’m alone, sweaty, tangled in my sheets.
It was all a dream.
The pounding continues—but this time from the other side of the door. Groaning, I drag my hands down my face and roll to my side. The clock on my nightstand stares back at me: 5:30 a.m. Ugh.
“Sadie, wake up!” Emmett’s voice carries through the door, rough with sleep, unmistakably real.
My pulse trips.
“I’m up,” I call back, willing every fiber of my being to sound casual.
No way. There is absolutely no way I can face him right now. Not after what he—what they did to me in that dream.
There’s a long pause. I can hear the wood creak beneath his boots as he shifts on his feet outside my door.
“You okay? Sounded like you were crying.”
I sit up, pulling my pillow over my face and screaming into it before throwing it onto the floor. Perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“I’m fine,” I manage, but my voice cracks. “I’ll be out in a minute.”
If there’s a God, now would be a really good time to smite me.
Heat blooms under my skin, spreading from my chest to the tips of my ears.
I had a dream. A filthy, pulse-pounding dream about a threesome with both of them. With brothers—and now one of them is asking if I’m okay.
He heard me.
Silence stretches for a second before his footsteps finally fade down the hall. I collapse back into the blankets, completely mortified.
When I finally drag myself out of bed, I twist my hair into a messy top knot, staring at my reflection in the mirror. My skin is sun-kissed from weeks of being outside, a new constellation of freckles across my nose.
I should be thinking about the horses and training Iris and the workday ahead. Instead, my brain keeps replaying hands—their hands—caressing my skin.
Mornings here are freezing, so I pull on a hoodie and the camel Carhartt coat Emmett’s been letting me borrow. It swallows me whole, still carrying his warm, woodsy scent, and for one dizzy second, I see him again—grinning up at me, the way he had in my dream before he kissed me.
Today is going to be a very long day.
Breakfast is the usual spread—eggs, toast, sausage, fresh fruit, and a leaning stack of pancakes in the center of the old kitchen table. The sticky-sweet scent of maple syrup fills the air, mixing with the warmth of a fresh pot of roasted coffee.
Across from me, silverware clatters as Heath and the boys waste no time digging in, like it’s an ordinary day. Like I didn’t open my eyes less than an hour ago with my pulse in my throat and the ghosts of two sets of hands on my body.
I keep my eyes pinned to my plate. My fork scrapes softly as I nudge a single berry in pointless circles, pretending I’m not hyperaware of the heat pressed against my skin from either side of the table.
If I look at either of them, they’ll know.
I don’t know how—telepathy, brotherly intuition, a cosmic joke? —but somehow, they will.
“Is that okay, Sadie?” Heath’s voice slips through the fog in my brain.