Chapter 37
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Eddie
They’re still under me—Barret trembling between us, Cleo flushed and spent, eyes glassy with everything we just poured into her.
And, fuck, I love them.
Barret lets out a soft sound, more exhale than voice, his forehead resting against her shoulder.
He’s gone pliant in the best way, boneless and blissed out, body still twitching in the aftermath.
Cleo’s fingers are in his hair, stroking slowly, her other hand trailing lazy circles over his back.
Her smile is soft and a little dazed. She looks like home.
No, she’s our home.
I ease out of Barret slowly, whispering a low, “Shhh, I’ve got you,” when he gasps at the stretch giving way. He clenches instinctively, his breath catching in his throat, and I kiss the back of his neck, grounding him.
“Just me, baby. You’re okay.”
He relaxes with a small sound—half whimper, half trust—and I hold him for another second before slipping from the bed.
The room is dim and quiet now, filled with the soft rhythm of their breathing, the faint hum of the city beyond the windows, and the echo of what we just shared still hanging thick in the air.
I head into the bathroom, my steps quiet against the tile.
The towel I left earlier is right where I put it—folded, soft, ready.
I grab it, then run warm water over two washcloths.
The steam rises slowly, comforting. My fingers tighten on the edge of the sink as I wait for the cloths to soak through.
They deserve care. Warmth. Every quiet, steady second after.
They let me in. They gave me everything tonight—Barret with his body open and trembling, Cleo offering herself with that soft smile that always unravels me.
And I won’t let either of them feel like they were just used and left in the mess.
I wring out the cloths just enough to keep the heat and return to the bed.
Barret lifts his head slightly when I begin to clean him. I cradle one cheek in my palm, pressing a kiss just behind his ear as I gently wipe between his thighs, my other hand bracing low on his stomach.
“You’re perfect,” I murmur. “You know that?”
He lets out a low breath, nearly a sob. His fingers find my forearm, squeezing like he’s holding on to more than just me—like he’s holding on to the truth in my words.
I lean closer, kissing the corner of his mouth, then his jaw, then lower, along the curve of his throat. His pulse is quick under my lips. He tilts toward me, eyes fluttering closed, and I feel the tremor in his chest.
“I meant it,” I whisper against his skin. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”
His voice breaks on a shaky exhale. “I don’t deserve this.”
I hush him with another kiss, slow and deep, lingering until he melts into it, until he believes me the only way he knows how—by surrendering to it. My thumb brushes along his ribs, grounding him as I press my forehead to his.
“You deserve more than I can ever give,” I tell him, breathing the words into the space between us. “But I’ll spend every day trying. I love you.”
His eyes shine, raw and open, and I hold him there for another heartbeat, letting him see everything I don’t always say out loud.
Only then do I pull back, smoothing damp hair from his face before turning to her.
Cleo watches me with that look she gets when she’s trying not to cry—chin tilted up, eyes shimmering, mouth soft with love. I clean her just as gently, careful not to overstimulate, murmuring quiet words the whole time. Her hand catches mine halfway through and holds it to her chest.
“I love you,” she says simply.
“I know.” I smile and lean down, kissing her belly, her sternum, her lips. “I love you more.”
Barret makes a sleepy, stubborn sound. “Impossible.”
I laugh. “Then we’ll have to test that theory.”
They’re both soft now, loose and sated, lying against the pillows like a tangle of limbs and breath.
Cleo shifts first, rolling onto her side, and her hand drifts across Barret’s chest. She traces slow, lazy circles over his skin, nails grazing just enough to make him sigh.
He turns into her touch immediately, like he needs it to breathe, forehead resting against hers.
She smiles faintly, brushing her thumb along the curve of his jaw.
He catches her fingers and brings them to his lips, kissing them in thanks, in promise.
I sit back on my heels, watching them. This is what I wanted to see—the two of them not just spent, but connected. Touching because they want to, not because I told them to. My throat tightens.
I lean forward, running my palm over both of them at once, my hand spanning Barret’s stomach and Cleo’s hip. “Touch each other,” I whisper. “Just like this.”
They do. Cleo’s hand slides higher over his chest. Barret’s arm curls around her waist, holding her closer.
“I want you to always touch each other when I’m not here,” I say, my voice thick, almost breaking. “When I am too. But . . . I need to know you’ll take care of each other.”
Barret lifts her wrist and presses a slow kiss to the inside of it. “We do,” he murmurs.
“We will,” she adds, her voice sleep-soft, eyes still on him.
I stroke my thumb along Barret’s ribs, then down the back of Cleo’s thigh. “Good,” I murmur, letting the word settle over them. “That’s what I want. Right there.”
My throat tightens. I can’t stay above them any longer—I need to be inside the warmth they’ve created, tangled up in them.
I ease into the bed between them, careful not to break their hold on each other. Barret shifts immediately, pressing into my side, his leg hooking over mine like it belongs there. Cleo sighs and curls into my chest, her breath brushing warm against my skin.
I wrap my arms around both of them, drawing them in until there’s no space left between us. Barret’s hand rests on my stomach, Cleo’s fingers trail across my chest, and I feel their weight settle, their bodies molding against me as though they’ve been waiting for this exact moment.
This.
This is everything I never thought I could have. Not just their bodies, but their trust. Not just their desire, but their love. The quiet after, where no one has to speak but everything is said in the way we hold on.
I kiss the top of Cleo’s head. I press my cheek to Barret’s hair. And I let myself breathe—deep, full, unguarded—because for the first time, I believe it’s real.
I hold them closer, feeling Barret’s weight melt into me, his leg tangled with mine. Cleo’s breath steadies against my chest, warm and even, her hand splayed over my heart like she’s keeping it there for herself.
For a while, I just breathe them in. The salt of sweat still clinging to their skin, the faint sweetness of Cleo’s shampoo, the warmth of Barret pressed tight against my side. Every inhale draws them deeper into me, every exhale sinks me further into the peace I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Cleo stirs first, murmuring something low against my chest—half words, half dreams. I kiss her hair, whispering, “Sleep, princess. I’ve got you.” Her body softens completely, her fingers twitching once before she drifts off.
Barret shifts next, his arm sliding across my waist, his lips brushing my collarbone in a barely-there kiss. “Don’t let go,” he mumbles, voice wrecked with exhaustion.
“Never,” I promise, tightening my arm around him. He exhales against my skin, the sound heavy with trust, and within moments his breathing deepens, steady and slow.
They’re asleep—both of them—wrapped around me like I’m something worth holding onto. And maybe, just maybe, I believe it tonight.
My eyes grow heavy, their warmth pulling me under. The last thing I feel is Cleo’s heartbeat against my chest, Barret’s breath at my neck, and the quiet certainty that this—us—is forever.
I relax, finally, and fall asleep between them.