Chapter 7
Josie
Logan doesn’t let go of my hand when we reach the top of the stairs.
The hallway light spills over scuffed floorboards that have been sanded and refinished more than once. A photograph hangs slightly crooked on the wall—two boys in muddy football uniforms, grinning wide and missing teeth. The frame isn’t expensive. The glass has a tiny crack in one corner.
I stop in front of it longer than I mean to.
In my old house, every picture had been leveled with a measuring tool. Perfect spacing. Perfect symmetry. The family portraits looked like they belonged in a magazine instead of on a wall.
Here, someone hammered a nail in and hung what mattered.
My chest tightens.
No one ever asked me what mattered.
The wood beneath my socks-clad feet creaks softly as I shift my weight. Not damaged. Just used. I picture boots coming in from rain. Mud tracked through the entryway. A dog shaking off water near the door.
My mother used to complain about the scuffs in our hallway when I was growing up. Said a house that looked lived in meant you weren’t trying hard enough.
Richard agreed.
I press my palm flat against the wall, feeling the faint unevenness beneath the paint.
This house doesn’t apologize for being lived in.
I don’t think I ever learned how not to do that.
My pulse flutters harder the closer we get to the last door on the left.
Logan nudges it open with his shoulder. The bedroom is large but not grand.
A wide bed with a thick wooden frame anchors the space.
Navy sheets pulled tight. A worn leather chair in the corner with a folded blanket over the arm.
Books stacked unevenly on the nightstand beside a lamp that looks like it’s been here longer than either of them.
The scent hits me before I can prepare for it. Cotton, wood, something unmistakably male.
My lungs expand deeper than they have all day. My skin prickles along my arms. I shift my weight and feel the quiet throb low in my belly that has nothing to do with fear.
This room has a warm, welcoming feeling and is nothing like the cold space of my previous marriage and ostentatious home.
It’s intimate.
And the bed is simply huge.
I picture myself in it. Not just with Logan but with Asher as well. At the same time.
My heart rate kicks up a nudge before it sinks. I couldn’t entertain one man my age in the bedroom, what the hell makes me think about sleeping with two men at least a decade younger than me?
“What was that thought?” Logan’s voice brushes my ear like a lover’s caress.
My pussy clenches with the intimacy. “Nothing.”
His palm settles at my waist. With another man, that hold might have felt like a cage.
In Logan’s arms, it feels like a wall at my back. His forearm rests low at my waist, firm enough that I know he could keep me there if he wanted to.
He doesn’t.
The space to leave is still there. I can feel it.
I don’t take it.
Instead, I lean into him. My shoulder settles against his chest. My hips shift closer without conscious thought.
His fingers flex in response, then tighten just enough to acknowledge the choice. He shifts closer until my back brushes his chest. Warm. Hard lines against my shoulder blades. My body melts into the broad span of him, and I revel in the way I fit into the curve of his frame.
When Logan starts to move toward the bed, I let him lead me like we’re dancing. He helps me lower myself onto the mattress, so I’m sitting with my legs dangling off the side. “Josie.”
My name isn’t a question. I know he wants his answer.
I exhale through my nose. “I was thinking this is a very big bed.”
“True.” A soft sound leaves him. It isn’t laughter, exactly. Something warm unfurls low in my belly, and my nipples pebble and press against my bra.
At the doorway, footsteps make the floorboards creak.
The air changes before Asher takes up space beside his brother.
Shoulder to shoulder, they stand in front of me, and I think there’s a noticeable bulge in Logan’s pants that the excellent tailoring can’t really hide.
Surrounded by these brothers, I relax even more.
And I’m done questioning my own desires. I want them… both of them.
“She thinks she’s not enough.” Logan turns to his brother.
I spin half around. “I did not?—”
Asher sits on the left side of me before I can finish. The mattress dips. My body shifts with it, instinctively bracing, then settling between them.
Asher takes my hand in his and massages my cold fingers.
Logan crouches in front of me, forearms resting on his thighs. His gaze lifts slowly, taking me in, until his eyes rest on my face. “Not enough, how?”
“I’m older.”
Logan doesn’t move away. Asher’s hand stays warm around mine. But something in the room stills.
“You could have anyone,” I press on, because once it starts, it doesn’t stop. “You’re both successful. Attractive. Confident. Women probably fall over themselves for you.”
Logan’s brow lifts slightly.
“Younger women,” I emphasize, heat creeping up my cheeks. “Smarter. More gorgeous. Women who haven’t…” I gesture vaguely at myself with my free hand. “Lived so much already.”
Asher’s fingers flex, but instead of letting go, he tightens his hold.
Logan studies me for a long moment. “You think younger means better?” He cocks his head.
“It usually does.”
“For men who want someone impressed by them,” he replies.
I blink.
Logan’s hand slides up and down my calf. My pulse jumps. “We don’t want impressed,” he continues. “We want grounded.”
Asher shifts closer behind me. His mouth brushes my temple before he speaks. “Younger women are still figuring out who they are,” he murmurs. “You already know.”
I huff a soft breath. “I don’t feel like I do.”
Logan’s hand moves with a sensual glide, and it’s hard to focus on our conversation. “We like character.”
Heat flashes through me. I try to pull back, but Asher tightens his fingers just enough to keep me anchored.
“We like hips that know how to hold,” Logan adds as he rakes my body with his gaze before he lets his eyes roam up again. His expression is… appreciative. “A body that has lived. Knows how to live.”
My breath catches on a laugh. “That’s not flattering.”
“It’s honest.” Asher moves our joined hands to rest on his upper leg. “There’s something incredibly appealing about a woman who’s been through hell and still cares,” he says quietly. “Still fights. Still hopes.”
“You think experience makes you less,” Logan continues. “We think it makes you more.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
“You’re compassionate,” Asher says near my ear. “You build things. You nurture things. You’ve survived things.”
Logan’s thumb circles the bone in my ankle. Somehow, there’s a physical connection between that spot and my clit, because I swear it feels like he touched me way more intimately. What is it with these brothers?
“And you’re beautiful.”
“Hardly.” I swallow. “I’m not twenty-five.”
“Good,” Logan replies immediately.
Asher’s soft laugh warms my skin. “We don’t like twenty-five.”
I look between them, searching for teasing. I don’t find it.
“You think we want someone to shape,” Logan says. “We want someone who already has shape.”
Asher pulls my hand against his belly. Possessive in a way that makes my stomach tighten. “We don’t mind a few creases,” he adds. His lips ghost along the side of my neck. “We mind vanity. We mind emptiness.”
I glance down at him. “You’re saying that now.”
Asher’s fingers slide under my chin and lift my face gently. His gaze is direct, unwavering. “We’re not trying to convince you,” he says softly. “We’re telling you what we see.”
Logan’s hand clenches around my calf. “And we don’t choose lightly,” he murmurs. “We want you.”
My heart pounds hard enough that I feel it in my throat.
“And if you think you’re not enough.” Asher’s voice is low and certain against my ear, “we’ll spend as long as it takes to prove you wrong.”
My breath shudders out.
This isn’t flattery.
They look decisive.
And that terrifies me almost as much as it turns me on.
My hands twist in Asher’s hold. “You’re both… you.” I huff out a breath. “Confident. Certain. Wealthy.”
Asher’s thumb traces a slow circle in the palm of my hand. The good kind of goosebumps erupt on my skin. “And you’re not?”
“Not wealthy.”
“But you aren’t poor either.”
“No, not poor.”
Logan slides his hand up my calf and settles it behind my knee. I swear he just found another erogenous zone I knew nothing about before. “Baby, we don’t care. We have enough money, whether you have your own or not, either is fine.”
I close my eyes, enjoying their touch more than I probably should, and try to focus on the conversation. “I’m certainly not confident and certain.”
“Confident enough to start a business.”
Business. Ha! It’s almost like I can hear my ex sneer. I don’t speak, but shrug.
“Come on, Josie.” Asher nudges me with his shoulder.
“That’s different.”
“How?”
I look at Logan instead of answering. His hand slides from my knee up my thighs to where they press into the mattress. His fingers spread, settling there.
“That’s business,” I say. “This is…” I gesture helplessly between us.
“What?” Logan prompts.
“I don’t know. I don’t know.” The second time I say the words, my voice cracks. My throat tightens.
Asher grips my chin and turns my head, so I’m looking right into his eyes.
“If this is something you don’t want, just tell us no.
We will listen. If we start this, you just have to say ‘no’ or ‘stop’ and we will.
But baby—” he guides my hand to his crotch, and I can feel his rock-hard erection through the fabric of his trousers— “don’t think for a moment we don’t want you. ”
Idly, I stroke the length of him through his pants. He braces himself on the bed and lets his head fall back.
And I’m done second-guessing.
I don’t expect this to last. I don’t even expect them to be back for a second round, but I’m going to allow myself the pleasure of having sex with Logan and Asher Ashford.
Asher
I feel the shift in her before I hear the words.