Chapter 38 - Tessa
TESSA
Two Years Later
“Nova, put the cat down. The cat doesn’t want to be a parachute.”
My voice echoes through the high ceilings of the Westlake living room, but the two-year-old standing on the back of the sofa ignores me completely. She has Asher’s focus and my stubbornness, a combination that’s terrifying to behold.
“Flying,” Nova declares, holding the very patient, very fluffy ragdoll cat we adopted last year above her head.
“Atlas, help me,” I plead, looking at her twin brother.
Atlas is sitting on the floor, surrounded by wooden blocks. He looks up. He has Ethan’s dark hair and Owen’s mischievous grin. He considers the situation, looks at his sister, looks at the cat, and then knocks his tower over with a primal yell.
“Crash!” Atlas screams.
“Chaos,” a deep voice says from the doorway. “Complete system entropy.”
I turn to see Asher walking in. He’s wearing his work slacks but abandoned the dress shirt for a t-shirt currently covered in what looks like pureed carrots. He walks over to the sofa, scoops Nova and the cat into his arms with one efficient motion, and sets them safely on the floor.
“Parachute deployment failed,” Asher informs his daughter seriously. “Gravity is a constant, Nova. We respect physics in this house.”
“Physics!” Nova chirps, running off to tackle her brother.
“I’m outnumbered,” I say, leaning back against the kitchen island, clutching my lukewarm coffee. “They’re organizing, Ash. I saw them whispering by the toy chest earlier. I think they’re planning a coup.”
“We have the superior height advantage,” Ethan says, walking in from the mudroom.
He looks rugged, wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair windblown from playing outside with the dogs.
He wraps his arms around me from behind, resting his chin on my shoulder.
“And we control the snack supply. We’re safe. ”
“For now,” Owen adds, sliding into the room in his socks, holding a tray of cut-up fruit. “But Atlas just figured out how to unlock the iPad. I give it a week before he hacks the Pentagon.”
“He gets that from Asher,” I laugh, leaning into Ethan’s warmth.
I look around the room.
It’s a disaster area. There are toys everywhere. The expensive rug is stained with juice. There’s a fortress made of couch cushions blocking the hallway. It’s messy, loud, and chaotic.
And it’s perfect.
“Daddy!” Atlas yells, spotting Owen.
“Monster attack!” Owen roars, dropping the fruit tray safely on the counter and diving onto the rug.
The twins swarm him. Ethan laughs, the sound rumbling against my back. Asher watches them with a soft smile, calculating the trajectory of the flying stuffed animals to ensure no one loses an eye.
“They’re happy,” I whisper.
“They’re loved,” Ethan corrects me, kissing my neck. “Go get ready.”
“Ready?” I turn in his arms. “For what?”
“Date night,” Ethan says. “The nanny is coming in twenty minutes. Harper is meeting us for drinks, but then… Harper is leaving.”
He raises an eyebrow. The implication is clear.
“But I’m tired,” I groan, though a heavy spark of interest flares in my chest. “I have pureed carrots in my hair.”
“You have twenty minutes to shower,” Ethan says, swatting my butt. “Go. We’ll handle the bedtime routine. Operation Shutdown commences now.”
I look at the boys. Owen is currently being used as a jungle gym. Asher is negotiating a treaty with Nova regarding the blocks. Ethan is looking at me with a heat that hasn’t faded a single degree in two years.
“Okay,” I smile. “Operation Shutdown.”
I run upstairs.
The shower washes away the day—the sticky fingers, the play-doh, the exhaustion. I stand under the hot water, letting it pound against my muscles.
I step out and towel off. I walk into the massive walk-in closet. It’s filled with sensible clothes—blazers for work, yoga pants for mom-life.
But in the back, in a drawer the twins can’t reach, is the other collection.
I open it. Silk. Lace. Straps. The things reminding me that before I was a mom, I was a woman who brought three powerful men to their knees.
I pull out two sets.
One is crimson red. Sheer lace, crotchless panties, and a bra that barely covers my nipples. The other is black. Leather details, strappy, wicked.
I hold them up. I bite my lip.
I grab my phone and open the group chat.
[SYSTEM OVERRIDE]
Me: Red or Black? Which one guarantees I get laid tonight?
I hit send.
I wait.
Three seconds later, the dots appear.
Ethan: Yes.
Owen: Both. Wear one, bring the other.
Asher: Red increases heart rate by 12%. Black suggests submission. The variable depends on the desired outcome. Come downstairs.
I smile.
I choose the Red.
I slip it on. The silk feels cool against my skin. I pull a sheer silk robe over it, leaving it open just enough to tease. I leave my hair damp, wild. I dab perfume behind my ears—the scent they love. Jasmine and dark honey.
I walk out of the bedroom. The house is quiet now. The twins are asleep. The nanny is in the guest wing monitoring the cameras.
I walk down the grand staircase. The lights are dimmed.
They’re waiting for me in the library.
It’s a masculine room—dark wood, leather furniture, walls lined with books. A fire is crackling in the hearth, casting long, dancing shadows.
Ethan’s in the wingback chair, a glass of whiskey in his hand.
He’s changed out of his jeans into dark slacks and a crisp white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar.
Asher’s standing by the fireplace, leaning his arm on the mantel, wearing gray trousers and a fitted black t-shirt hugging his chest. Owen’s sitting on the leather sofa, legs spread, elbows on his knees. He’s watching the door.
When I walk in, three pairs of eyes lock onto me.
The dynamic in the room shifts instantly. The casual posture vanishes, replaced by pure, heavy focus.
“Red,” Ethan says, his voice a low rumble. He sets his glass down. “Good choice.”
“Show us,” Owen says.
I walk into the room. The silk robe flutters as I move, giving them flashes of the crimson lace and the pale skin of my thighs.
I stop in the center of the rug.
“The twins?” I ask.
“They’re out cold,” Asher says, his voice thick with need. “We have the whole night.”
“And what are we going to do with it?” I ask, letting the robe slide off my shoulders. It pools on the floor.
Owen groans, his eyes tracking the lace barely covering my breasts. “God, Tess. You get more beautiful every year. It’s not fair.”
“Come here,” Ethan commands, his tone stripping away any hesitation.
I walk to him. He reaches out, grabs my hips, and drags me tight against his thighs. He looks up at me, his eyes tracking every inch of exposed skin.
“You asked which one guarantees you get laid,” Ethan murmurs, running his hands up my bare thighs, his thumbs digging into the soft flesh. “The answer is anything. Or nothing. You walk into a room, Tessa, and we’re hard.”
“Prove it,” I challenge him.
Asher moves first.
“Tactical approach,” Asher says, coming up behind me.
I feel his chest press against my back. His arms wrap around me, crossing over my chest, his hands cupping my breasts over the red lace. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, inhaling deeply.
“You smell like trouble,” Asher whispers against my skin. “My favorite variable.”
“Asher,” I gasp, leaning back into him.
Ethan leans forward. He takes one of my nipples into his mouth through the lace.
The sensation is sharp and immediate. The wet heat of his mouth, the scrape of the lace, the solid wall of Asher behind me. My knees buckle.
“Easy,” Owen says. He’s suddenly there, kneeling on the floor beside me. He runs his hands up my legs, slipping his fingers under the elastic of the crotchless panties. “We’ve got you.”
I’m surrounded.
Ethan at my front, worshipping my chest. Asher at my back, his hands roaming, his thick, heavy cock pressing hard into the cleft of my ass. Owen kneeling between my thighs, his fingers sliding deep into my dripping pussy, his thumb circling my swollen clit.
“Ethan,” I gasp, my spine arching off his chest. “Don’t just look at it.”
“You’ll get us,” Ethan growls, pulling back to look at me. His lips are wet. “Every inch.”
He stands up. He grips my hips and lifts me. Asher supports me from behind. They move me to the large mahogany desk in the center of the room, sweeping the papers aside.
Ethan lays me back on the cool wood. He steps forward, wrapping his large hands around my wrists and pinning them flat against the desk above my head. His grip is iron.
“Watch,” Ethan commands.
He releases my wrists and steps back, unbuckling his belt and shoving his trousers down. His thick cock springs free from his boxers, jutting out hard and dripping with pre-cum.
Owen steps between my legs. He doesn’t undress. He just stares at me.
“Fucking perfect,” Owen whispers. “Ready for us.”
He lowers his head.
When his hot, flat tongue drags directly over my sensitive clit, I scream.
It’s precise and devastating. Owen knows exactly how I like it—broad strokes, firm pressure. He feasts on my cunt. I arch my back, my heels digging into the edge of the desk.
“That’s it,” Asher says, moving to my head. He leans down and kisses me upside down, his tongue mimicking what Owen is doing below.
It’s sensory overload. Owen is devouring my pussy. Asher is claiming my mouth.
Owen pulls back from between my legs, leaving me shivering and cold from the loss of his heat. He trades places with Asher, taking my mouth in a deep, bruising kiss.
“She’s prepped,” Owen says against my lips, his voice wrecked.
Ethan steps in. He aligns the blunt head of his cock with my dripping entrance, grips my hips, drags me right to the edge of the desk, and buries his thick shaft deep inside my wet cunt with one brutal thrust.
“Oh god!” I scream against Owen’s mouth.
He fills me completely. It’s been two years, but he still feels bigger than life.
“Mine,” Ethan grinds out, thrusting deep. “My wife.”
He sets a punishing pace. The desk rocks against the floor. I’m pinned by his weight, grounded by Owen’s kiss, and completely at their mercy.
But Asher isn’t done.
“Room for one more?” Asher asks.
“Always,” Ethan grunts, pulling back just enough to make space.
Asher steps in right beside Ethan, wedging himself into the narrow gap at the edge of the desk. He grabs my left thigh, hoisting my leg over his shoulder to open me wider.
“Tessa,” Asher growls, rubbing his slick, spit-covered fingers over my tight back ring. “I’m taking your ass. Relax.”
He pushes his thick cock against my puckered entrance and drives in.
It’s a tight, impossible squeeze. I feel stretched to my physical limit. Ethan stops thrusting to let me adjust. Asher pushes slowly, inch by inch, sliding into my ass until they’re both buried deep inside me.
“Full,” I sob, my nails biting into Owen’s shoulders. “So full.”
“Look at her,” Owen whispers, stroking my hair. “She’s taking both of them.”
“Yeah,” Ethan groans, the veins in his neck popping. “She was made for this.”
They begin to move.
It shouldn’t work. The physics shouldn’t make sense. But we’re the Unit. We find a rhythm. Ethan thrusts into my pussy, Asher retreats from my ass. Asher thrusts into my ass, Ethan retreats from my pussy. A relentless, pounding piston engine of pure friction.
Ethan’s cock stretches me to the breaking point while Asher pumps relentlessly in my ass. The wet, slapping sound of their hips driving into my flesh fills the library. I am entirely impaled, stretched wide open by both of them.
“I love you,” Owen whispers, seeing the tears in my eyes. “I love you, Tess.”
“Owen,” I beg. “Help me.”
Owen drags his mouth from my lips, his hands shifting to grip my hips, his thumbs pressing hard into my pelvic bones to anchor me against the driving force of his brothers.
That brutal grounding is the trigger.
The climax hits me like a freight train, entirely internal and devastating. My spine bows off the desk. My body clamps down on Ethan and Asher, milking their cocks violently as I scream into the quiet room.
“Fuck!” Ethan roars.
“Tessa!” Asher shouts.
They lose control. The rhythm breaks, turning into a frantic, brutal surge. I feel Ethan pour into my pussy as Asher spills hot cum deep into my ass a second later.
We collapse.
Asher pulls out first, staggering back, breathing hard. Ethan stays for a moment longer, resting his weight on me, his face buried in my neck.
Then he pulls away.
I’m shaking. My legs won’t work.
Owen’s there instantly. He wraps the silk robe around me, lifts me off the desk, and carries me to the leather sofa. He sits down, pulling me into his lap.
Ethan and Asher fix their clothes and walk over, sitting on either side of us.
We’re a pile of limbs. A tangle of heavy breathing.
Ethan reaches out and strokes my cheek. “You okay?”
“I think I died,” I whisper. “And went to heaven.”
“We aimed for a 5/5 intensity rating,” Asher says, pushing his glasses up his nose, though his hand is trembling. “I believe we achieved it.”
I laugh, leaning my head on Owen’s shoulder. “You achieved it.”
I look at them.
Ethan, watching me with fierce, protective pride. Asher, looking at me like I’m the only equation that matters. Owen, holding me like I’m precious.
“Red was the right choice,” Owen murmurs, kissing my temple.
“The text,” I remember suddenly. “Red or Black.”
“Next time,” Ethan says, his hand resting on my knee. “Wear the black.”
“Next time?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
“Tomorrow,” Ethan promises. “And the day after. And the day after that.”
“Forever,” Asher corrects him.
“Forever,” Owen agrees.
I smile, closing my eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the steady heartbeats of my husbands.
“Red or Black,” I whisper into the quiet room.