CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
BELONGING
Elise
I’m still catching my breath when Jordie says, “Okay, my turn,” like we’re taking numbers at a deli counter.
Grant’s collapsed beside me on the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes, chest heaving. He looks wrecked in the best way—hair a mess, lips swollen, that perpetual tension finally smoothed from his shoulders.
“Give her a minute,” Wyatt says. He’s sitting in Grant’s desk chair, still fully clothed, watching us with dark eyes that make my stomach flip despite the fact that I just came so hard I saw stars.
“I’m fine.” My voice comes out rougher than intended. “Better than fine.”
Grant’s arm moves slightly. One ice-blue eye peeks out at me. “You sure?”
“Stop being so—” I search for the word. “Chivalrous. It’s weird.”
That gets a smile out of him. Small but real. “Can’t help it. Two and a half years of Catholic guilt doesn’t disappear just because I finally got inside you.”
“Catholic guilt?” Jordie’s already stripping off his shirt. “Is that what we’re calling blue balls now?”
“Shut up, Dickson.”
But there’s no heat in it. Grant’s hand finds mine, threading our fingers together, and the casual intimacy of it makes my chest tight.
Jordie’s down to his boxer briefs now, and the tent in them is—yeah. He’s been patient. More patient than I would’ve been watching Grant take me apart.
“Come here,” I tell him.
He’s on the bed in half a second, kissing me with that golden retriever enthusiasm that should be annoying but isn’t. A girl could fall in love with Jordie Dickson very easily.
His hands are everywhere—my waist, my hips, sliding up to cup my breast.
“How do you want me?” I ask against his mouth.
He pulls back, eyes dark. “On your hands and knees.” His voice drops lower. “Want to fuck you from behind—” He glances at Wyatt. “We good?”
Wyatt nods once. “Yeah.”
I shift onto all fours, very aware of how exposed I am like this. Grant’s still beside me on the bed, propped up on one elbow now, watching with possessive eyes.
Jordie’s behind me, hands smoothing over my ass, my hips. “You’re so—” He stops. Laughs. “I was gonna say beautiful but that feels inadequate right now.”
“Try perfect,” Grant offers. His hand finds my hair, smoothing it back from my face. “She’s perfect.”
Heat floods my cheeks. I’m not used to this—being praised like this, looked at like this.
Wyatt stands, starts unbuttoning his jeans with methodical fingers. “You okay with this?” he asks me.
“With what?”
“All of us. At once.” He’s down to boxer briefs now, and the outline of him is—yeah. I remember how thick he is. “It’s a lot.”
“I can handle a lot.”
His mouth quirks. Almost a smile. “I know you can.”
He moves to the head of the bed, settles in front of me. Close enough that I could lean forward and—
“Is this okay?” I ask. Because consent goes both ways and I need to know he wants this as much as I do.
“Elise.” His hand cups my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. “I’ve been thinking about your mouth for weeks. So yeah. This is very okay.”
Behind me, Jordie’s rolling on a condom. The sound makes everything real, makes my heart rate kick up.
Grant’s still petting my hair, his other hand trailing down my spine. “You’re safe,” he murmurs. “We’ve got you. All of us.”
Then Jordie’s thumb is tracing my asshole, and he’s pushing inside my pussy and I’m gasping because he’s long, huge. And filthy in the best way.
He hits different angles than Grant, and the stretch is—
“Breathe,” Jordie says roughly. “Just breathe, baby.”
I do. And he slides deeper, until he’s fully seated, until we’re both making sounds that should probably be embarrassing.
“Fuck,” I manage. “Jordie—”
“Her pussy’s so tight,” he grits out to Grant, who makes a low noise of agreement.
Jordie begins to move. Slow at first, letting me adjust, then deeper. Finding a rhythm that has me rocking forward on my hands.
Wyatt’s watching my face. “Can I—”
“Yes.”
He hooks his thumbs in his waistband, pushes down, and—God. He’s just as thick as I remember. Flushed dark at the tip, already leaking.
I lean forward, take him in my mouth, and the groan he makes goes straight between my legs.
Behind me, Jordie’s picking up speed. “That’s it. Take him. You look so good like this.”
I work Wyatt with my tongue and hand, taking him as deep as I can while Jordie drives into me from behind. The dual sensations are overwhelming—fullness and taste and the sounds all three of them are making.
Grant’s hand tightens in my hair. Not pulling, just grounding. “So perfect,” he’s saying. “Look at you. Taking both of them so well.”
Wyatt’s hips start moving, careful shallow thrusts, and I hollow my cheeks, take him deeper.
“Elise—” His voice is wrecked. “If you keep doing that I’m gonna—”
I do it again. Deliberately. Because I want him to lose control.
Behind me, Jordie’s rhythm is getting erratic. “Close. I’m close. Where do you want me to—”
“Inside,” I gasp around Wyatt. “Want to feel it.”
That does it. Jordie’s driving into me harder now, chasing his release, and the force pushes me forward onto Wyatt.
“Sorry—” I start, but Wyatt’s hand cups my face.
“Don’t be sorry. You’re—this is—” He can’t seem to finish sentences.
Grant’s watching all of us with dark, satisfied eyes. “You’re doing so good,” he tells me. “Making them feel so good.”
The praise makes something warm bloom in my chest. I double my efforts on Wyatt, wanting to make him fall apart the way I am.
Thirty seconds later, I come in a hot gush all over Jordie, my pussy spasaming.
“Yes baby. Fuck,” he groans. “This pussy’s gonna—fuck—kill me.”
Jordie comes first, groaning as his hands bruise my hips. The feeling of him pulsing inside me, the sounds he’s making—it’s almost enough to push me over again.
Then Wyatt’s warning me—”Gonna come, Elise, you need to—”
I don’t pull off. Just take him deeper and swallow when he spills, his whole body going rigid, my name on his lips.
When I finally release him, I’m shaking. Boneless. Completely wrecked.
Jordie pulls out carefully, disposes of the condom. Wyatt’s already grabbing tissues, cleaning me up with gentle hands.
And Grant’s still there, petting my hair, looking at me like I hung the moon.
“You okay?” he asks softly.
“I’m—” I search for words. “Yeah. Really okay.”
He pulls me down beside him, arranges me against his chest. Jordie and Wyatt settle on my other side, a tangle of limbs and satisfied exhaustion.
“That was—” Jordie starts.
“Intense,” Wyatt finishes.
“Hot as hell,” Grant adds.
I’m too tired to respond. Just let myself sink into the warmth of all three of them, the steady rhythm of Grant’s heartbeat under my ear.
“So,” Jordie says after a minute. “We doing this? Like, officially?”
“Doing what?” But I know what he means.
“This. Us. All of us.” He props himself up on one elbow. “Because I’m all in. Have been since you verbally destroyed me that first week.”
“Same,” Wyatt says quietly. “Don’t know how this works but—I want to figure it out.”
Grant’s hand finds mine again. Squeezes. “I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”
Three pairs of eyes on me. Waiting.
I should probably think about this. Consider the logistics. Worry about what happens when they’re all in different cities next year.
But right now, wrapped up in all of them, I can’t bring myself to care about logistics.
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re doing this.”
Jordie grins. “Thank God. Because I was not prepared to share you with the general population.”
“Possessive much?”
“You have met us, right?” Grant’s voice is dry but his arm tightens around me. “We’re all possessive. You’re just gonna have to deal with it.”
“I think I can manage.”
Wyatt’s already half asleep, his breathing evening out. Jordie’s playing with a strand of my hair, humming something under his breath.
And Grant—Grant’s looking at me like I’m the answer to a question he’s been asking for two and a half years.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just—” He stops. Starts again. “I’m glad you transferred here. Even if I was an asshole about it.”
“You were a massive asshole about it.”
“I know.” He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m working on it.”
“Work faster.”
That gets a real laugh out of him. The sound fills something in my chest I didn’t know was empty.
We lie there in comfortable silence until Jordie pipes up: “So who’s cleaning these sheets? Because I’m not doing laundry tomorrow.”
“Rock paper scissors,” Wyatt mumbles, half asleep.
“You’re all children,” I mutter.
But I’m smiling. And for the first time since I arrived at Crestmont, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.