Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Cleo
I wake slowly. Sunlight spills across my skin, gentle and warm. The sheets hold the heat of the night, the air is still, and for the first time in what feels like forever, I have no desire to move because I’m not alone.
Barret is curled into my front, his head tucked against my neck, his breath warm where it ghosts across my collarbone.
One of his hands is tangled in my hair like he fell asleep holding on.
Behind me, Eddie is a solid line of heat, his chest pressed to my back, his arm draped heavy around both of us.
His breathing brushes against the shell of my ear in slow, even waves, his thigh hooked over mine.
We’re tangled in every possible way, and yet I’ve never felt more at peace.
I shift just slightly, my fingertips brushing across Barret’s shoulder, tracing the slope of muscle there. He stirs but doesn’t wake, just burrows closer, like he’s searching for me even in his sleep. Eddie’s arm tightens around us instinctively, pulling us closer into his hold.
I smile against Barret’s hair, memories of last night rushing through me all at once—the sound of Eddie’s voice, the way Barret trembled, the way I gave myself over completely and felt them both give back.
It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t even just love.
It was everything—what home is meant to feel like.
I let my hand drift lower, brushing over Barret’s chest, down to where Eddie’s arm cages us in. My thumb strokes his skin absently, and I feel him stir behind me, his lips brushing the top of my shoulder.
“Mm,” he hums, voice rough with sleep. “Good morning, princess.”
My chest aches at the sound. “Morning.”
Barret mumbles something unintelligible, squeezing me tighter before going still again. I laugh quietly, brushing the hair off his forehead. “He’s not waking up any time soon.”
“Let him sleep,” Eddie murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the back of my head. His voice is quieter now, gentler. “We wore him out.”
I bite my lip, warmth spreading through me at the memory. “We wore each other out.”
Eddie chuckles, low and sleepy, his hand finding mine where it rests on Barret’s chest. He threads our fingers together and squeezes.
And that’s when it crashes over me, sudden and overwhelming: this is ours. Messy, imperfect, intense—and still, it feels like the truest thing I’ve ever known.
I press my face into Barret’s hair, inhale the faint mix of sweat and soap, and let myself feel it. The security. The softness. The possibility.
Behind me, Eddie shifts, his lips brushing the curve of my shoulder. His voice is low, roughened by sleep, but there’s an edge there too—uncertainty he can’t quite hide.
“You okay, princess?” he whispers. “You don’t . . . regret any of it, do you? Fuck—I should’ve asked sooner. I should’ve checked if I went too far.”
The words crack something in me. He sounds almost raw, like all that control he carries in bed has slipped away in the light of morning, leaving only the man who cares too much.
I twist slightly in his arms, just enough to see his face. His eyes are shadowed with worry, his mouth tight like he’s bracing for an answer he doesn’t want.
My hand finds his cheek. “Eddie . . .” I shake my head, gentle but certain. “I don’t have any regrets. Not one. I would’ve told you if I wasn’t ready. Last night was—” My throat closes for a second, emotion pressing hard against it. “It was more than I ever dreamed of.”
His chest rises on a shaky breath, relief flashing across his face. He covers my hand with his, holding it there, grounding himself in the touch.
“Good,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into my palm. “Because if I ever hurt you, Cleo, I don’t think I could live with it.”
Barret stirs then, shifting against me with a low sigh, his arm tightening protectively around my waist even in sleep. Eddie glances at him, then back at me, and something in his gaze softens—like the three of us together finally makes sense in his bones.
Barret stirs again, blinking against the morning light, his face tucked into my chest before he finally lifts his head. His hair sticks up in every direction, his voice hoarse with sleep.
“What are you two whispering about?”
“Nothing,” I tease, smoothing his hair back. “Go back to sleep.”
He hums, eyes half-shut, but Eddie chuckles behind me. “Nothing, huh? She was just telling me she doesn’t regret a thing.”
Barret’s gaze sharpens at that, clear even through the haze of sleep. He studies me for a long beat, like he needs to be sure, and I nod. “Not one regret,” I say softly. “Only that we didn’t get here sooner.”
He exhales, the tension leaving his shoulders, and then he flops back down, his head landing against my chest again. “Good. Because I don’t plan on letting either of you go.”
Eddie’s arm tightens around both of us, his lips brushing the top of my head. “Then it’s settled. No one sleeps by themselves again.”
I laugh, the sound breaking the heaviness in the room. Eddie groans against my shoulder, dragging me closer. “Five more minutes. Let me hold my people before I have to deal with everyone else.”
“You’re the one who invited the Wilders, Dex, and Alec to be in the house,” Barret says, his voice still scratchy with sleep, but his tone carries that hint of I told you so.
Eddie sighs dramatically, his lips brushing the back of my neck. “Mistakes were made.”
Barret snorts. “No fucking kidding.”
I shake my head, caught between amusement and affection as I press a kiss into Barret’s messy hair. “You two are impossible.”
“Impossible,” Eddie echoes, his hand sliding over my hip to rest on Barret’s waist, pulling us all closer. “But we’re yours.”
Barret hums, content, but his stomach growls loud enough to make us all laugh.
“Fine,” Eddie mutters, finally rolling onto his back. “Food. But don’t think I’m letting either of you out of my bed tonight.”
Barret’s stomach growls again, louder this time, and Eddie smirks like he’s been waiting for it. “There it is. My proof you can’t live without me—I keep you fed.”
“You keep me irritated,” Barret fires back, though the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. He nuzzles into my neck again, stubborn in his refusal to move.
“Admit it,” Eddie says, pinching his hip lightly. “You’d starve without me.”
Barret huffs. “Maybe. Or maybe I’d just eat Cleo’s leftovers.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Don’t drag me into this. I’m not your excuse to keep bickering.”
“You love it,” Eddie murmurs, his voice low and smug against my skin.
And he’s right. I do.
I could stay here all day, wrapped up between them, listening to their teasing like it’s the most natural rhythm in the world. I want this to be the first of many mornings. I want it to be routine—the laughter, the warmth, the feel of their bodies pressed against mine, no space left between us.
But even as the thought warms me, another coils at the back of my mind, colder, heavier.
This can’t just be about stolen mornings and soft touches. Not yet. Not while Dorian Thoreou still hovers over everything like a storm we can’t ignore.
I tighten my arm around Barret and glance back at Eddie, memorizing the rare ease on his face. Because I know soon—too soon—we’ll have to face everything that’s coming.
And I can only hope this is strong enough to hold when that storm breaks.