Prologue #3
Matthew kneels beside me, now stripped to his boxers. His body has transformed during their training. It's harder, more defined. "We can slow down."
"No," I breathe. "I've waited long enough."
Trenton's uniform joins Matthew's on the floor. They position themselves on either side of me, a cocoon of warmth and strength. Matthew's lips trace my collarbone while Trenton's hands explore the curve of my waist, my hips.
"Tell us what you want," Matthew whispers against my skin.
"Everything," I answer. "I want everything."
Their touches are reverent at first, careful, as if I might shatter. But I don't want careful. Not tonight. I arch into their hands, silently begging for more.
Trenton understands first. His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging gently to expose my throat to his mouth. The slight edge of pain mixed with pleasure makes me gasp.
"Like that?" he asks, voice rough.
"Yes," I manage.
Matthew watches, eyes darkening before he claims my mouth. His kiss is different from Trenton's, playful where Trenton is intense, teasing where Trenton demands. Together, they're overwhelming.
My bra disappears, then my underwear. Exposed between them, a current of heat, not shame, washes over me. Their gazes are reverent, their hands gentle, and I feel anchored, not adrift.
"We need to be careful," Matthew says, reaching for protection in his bag. Always responsible.
Trenton nods, but his eyes never leave my body. "Still sure?"
"I've been sure since I was sixteen," I tell him. "I'm yours. Both of yours."
What follows is tentative at first, a question asked and answered, then another. Their hands learn what makes me sigh, what makes me moan. I explore them in return. The hard planes of muscle, the scars both new and old.
Matthew goes first, gentle despite his obvious need. The initial pain fades quickly into a fullness, a rightness that makes tears spring to my eyes.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, freezing.
"No," I whisper. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
He moves slowly at first, his forehead pressed against mine, breathing my air. Trenton watches, one hand trailing patterns across my skin, the other stroking himself.
When Matthew finishes, trembling against me, he kisses my forehead before rolling to my side.
His gaze meets Trenton's over me, a silent transfer of care.
Then Trenton is there, taking his place.
Where Matthew was gentle, Trenton is consuming, claiming me with a possessiveness that feels like coming home.
"Mine," he growls against my ear. "Ours."
"Yours," I agree, clinging to his shoulders as he moves.
Matthew kisses away the tears that escape, whispering encouragement. Between them, I come apart completely, their names the only words I have left.
Afterward, we lie tangled together, a mess of limbs and sweat-dampened skin. Matthew plays with my hair while Trenton's hand rests possessively on my hip.
"Worth the wait?" Matthew asks, a hint of his old cockiness returning.
I laugh softly. "What do you think?"
Trenton kisses my shoulder. "That was just the beginning."
"Promise?" I ask.
"Promise," they say together.
Sleep claims Matthew first. I watch his face relax, years younger in repose. Trenton stays awake, vigilant even now.
"What are you thinking?" I whisper.
His dark eyes meet mine. "That I'd kill anyone who tried to take you from us."
The words should terrify me. Instead, they make me feel safe. Protected. Loved.
"No one could," I assure him, touching his face. "I'm yours. Always have been."
He catches my hand, kissing my palm. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow won't last long enough."
He's right. Morning comes too quickly, sunlight streaming through cheap hotel curtains. I wake sandwiched between them, Matthew's arm thrown across my waist, Trenton's chest warm against my back.
For a moment, I just breathe them in, the scent of hotel soap and their skin. I focus on the solid weight of them on either side of me, trying to burn the feeling into my memory for the lonely months ahead.
Matthew stirs first, greeting me with a sleepy smile and wandering hands. Trenton wakes instantly, fully alert in seconds, a soldier's habit.
"Morning," I murmur, stretching between them.
"Sore?" Matthew asks, concern creasing his brow.
"A little. Worth it."
Trenton checks the time. "We have six hours before we need to meet everyone for dinner."
Six hours. Then dinner. Then one more night. Then goodbye again.
"Then we shouldn't waste a minute," I decide, pushing aside thoughts of our inevitable separation.
Matthew grins, already reaching for me. "I like how you think."
We spend the day learning each other's bodies. Talking about the future. Making promises we intend to keep. By the time we dress for dinner, my legs are shaky, my lips swollen, my body marked by their possession.
In the elevator, Trenton adjusts the collar of my dress to hide a particularly vivid mark. "Your father will kill me."
"Worth it," I say, echoing my words from this morning.
Matthew laughs, squeezing my hand. "Definitely worth it."
At dinner, our families pretend not to notice how we've changed. How the three of us lean into each other's space. How Trenton's hand rarely leaves my leg under the table. How Matthew's eyes linger on my mouth when I speak.
Dad clears his throat during dessert. He glances at my mom, who gives him a small, almost imperceptible nod. "Morgan," he says, "your mother and I thought you might want to stay another day. We can drive back without you."
My heart stops. "Really?"
Mom reaches across and squeezes my hand, her eyes full of understanding. "The boys ship out Monday. You should have every minute."
I hug her tightly, whispering "Thank you" against her hair.
That night is slower, sweeter than the first. We take our time, memorizing each touch, each sound, each whispered promise. I try not to think about tomorrow. About goodbyes.
In the dark, Matthew confesses against my skin, "I'm scared of what we're heading into."
Trenton, usually so stoic, admits, "Me too."
I hold them both. "Come back to me. That's all I ask."
"Always," they vow.
Morning brings reality crashing back. We pack without speaking, the weight of separation already pressing down on us. Their duffel bags by the door look like tombstones.
At the base, I force myself to smile. To be strong for them. For their families who are watching us say goodbye.
"I love you," I tell them both, no longer caring who hears. "Come home safe."
Matthew kisses me like he's drowning and I'm air. "I love you too. Always have."
Trenton's kiss is briefer but no less intense. "You're ours," he says simply. "We'll come back for what's ours."
I watch them walk away, shoulders straight, heads high. Soldiers now, not just my boys.
"They'll be okay," Trenton's dad, Torch, says beside me, his arm around my shoulders.
I nod, touching the pendants at my throat. "They have to be."