Chapter Thirty—Liam
Nobody moves for a long time after Riley sets the phone down.
Andrew is the first one off the couch, not because he has somewhere to go, just because sitting still isn't something he knows how to do when the walls are closing in. Ethan closes his book. I watch the city below like it might have something useful to say.
Riley keeps flipping her phone over in her hands like the screen might change if she moves it enough times. I do what I always do when things get heavy. I suggest we move to the bedroom. Just to be close.
She looks up at me, eyes tired but soft, and gives a small nod. “Yeah. I don't want to be alone right now.”
She lets me pull her up from the couch, her fingers threading through mine like she needs the anchor.
In the bedroom she climbs onto the big bed without being asked, curling onto her stomach in nothing but one of my old T-shirts.
The fabric rides up her thighs and she doesn't bother fixing it.
She just wants to be held. Touched. Reminded that we're solid even when everything else feels like it's tilting.
I kneel beside her first.
“Relax,” I tell her.
She lets out a shaky breath. “Easy for you to say.”
Ethan takes her feet first, his thumbs pressing firm, slow circles into her arches and then gliding up her calves in long, soothing strokes.
I start at her shoulders, my hands big and rough from years that had nothing to do with gentle, but I keep my touch light, thumbs working slow circles into the deep knots.
Andrew settles on her other side, his palm sliding down her spine in long, steady strokes.
She sighs into the mattress, the sound soft and unguarded, her body loosening under our hands.
The longer we touch her, the more she melts.
Hips shifting, breath deepening, a quiet hum in her throat.
When my hands move over the curve of her ass, she arches just enough to tell me the comfort has shifted into something hotter.
Andrew pauses beside me, hand resting against her hip.
“You sure?” he says, voice steady.
Riley nods into the mattress, breath catching. “Yes.”
Ethan's fingers tighten slightly on her calf before sliding higher, not pulling away, just grounding her.
The tension moves through all of us at once. The moment before touch.
Nobody rushes it.
Andrew looks at me first, then Ethan, one of those silent conversations that only works because we've spent too many years reading each other without words. Riley feels it too. I can tell by the way her breathing changes beneath our hands.
She’s waiting. Not nervous exactly. Aware. Of all of us.
My thumb drifts along the curve of her shoulder while Ethan keeps tracing circles against the back of her leg, grounding her without crowding her. Andrew stays still for one extra second, watching her carefully like he’s giving her every chance to change her mind.
She doesn’t.
Instead she presses back into us slightly, seeking more contact instead of less, and something possessive tightens in my chest at the trust in that movement alone.
Andrew drags his fingertips down the curve of her spine, teasing, testing, before letting them slide between her thighs.
She gasps when his fingers slip inside her, slick and ready.
I watch the way her back bows, the way her lips part against her arm.
The trust in every small movement hits me low and deep.
I settle behind her, guiding myself into place, dragging the head of my cock along her without entering. She whimpers at the contact, small and desperate.
“Easy,” I say. “We've got time.”
I push in slow, inch by inch, until I'm buried deep.
The heat of her closes around me and my vision blurs for a second.
Riley makes this small broken sound that nearly undoes me on the spot.
Her hand twists in the sheets while Andrew whispers something near her ear that I can't fully hear, only feel in the way her body reacts to it instantly.
The room narrows until it’s just her breathing, the press of Ethan’s hand steady against her leg, Andrew keeping her balanced at the edge of overwhelm, all of us moving together without needing to think about it.
She’s surrounded by us completely, and instead of pulling away from the intensity of it, she sinks further into the mattress like she finally trusts herself to let go.
I stay there, letting her adjust, feeling every flutter and squeeze as Andrew keeps circling her clit in steady time with my shallow thrusts.
Ethan's hand moves from her calf to rest warm and steady on the back of her thigh, anchoring her while she arches beautifully for us, her sounds growing louder and rawer.
My hand slides to her stomach without thinking.
Not pressing. Just resting there, feeling the faint warmth of her skin and everything it now holds.
I stopped pretending weeks ago that this was just about keeping things steady.
It stopped being situational a long time ago. That's on me for not saying it sooner.
Her orgasm comes on sudden and hard, pulsing around me with a cry that goes straight down my spine.
Riley’s whole body tightens beneath us. Her back arches, her breathing turning uneven as the pleasure overwhelms her hard enough to make her legs shake.
I ride her through it, drawing it out until her legs tremble.
Andrew steadies her through it immediately, one hand firm against her hip while Ethan says her name softly like he’s trying to bring her back down gently instead of letting her fall.
I stay with her through every pulse, every trembling breath, overwhelmed by the realization that none of this feels temporary anymore.
Then I pull out and Andrew takes my place while I move to her side, kissing her through the aftershocks. Ethan takes her nipple into his mouth, sucking hard while he strokes himself, his free hand still resting on her thigh.
When the last wave finally fades, she collapses between us, limp and glowing.
I pull the sheet up over her. Andrew tucks himself against her back, one arm sliding around her waist like he can't stand even an inch of distance. Ethan brushes her hair off her face and presses one last kiss to her forehead.
She sighs when the fabric settles around her shoulders, turning toward Andrew's chest on instinct.
I stay where I am, watching the rise and fall of her back until her breathing evens out. My hand rests there longer than it needs to, counting breaths the way I used to count seconds before something went sideways overseas. A habit I never really broke.
The quiet doesn't feel peaceful. It feels temporary. Like the stillness before impact.
My phone vibrates on the nightstand. I reach for it without moving too much. The screen lights up.
Connor: Need to pick something up in my office. 5 minutes out but Sarah is waiting in the car so I can only stay for a few minutes.
My stomach drops. The kind that locks your body into position before your brain finishes processing the threat.
I stare at the words until they blur.
Three days just became right fucking now.