Page 114 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Wes disappears. He returns a few minutes later, carrying Honey’s casserole, sweet tea, and two fried pies dusted in cinnamon sugar. He sits on the vanity chair and lifts a forkful of chicken and rice.

“Open.”

“I can feed myself.”

“You can. Right now, your hands are shaking.”

I open my mouth.

The casserole is warm and full of comfort. Wes feeds me while Roman rubs slow circles on my ankles beneath the water. They don’t ask me to be brave. They give my body smaller tasks instead. Chew. Swallow. Breathe.

By the time the bowl is empty, exhaustion weighs more than panic.

Roman drains the bath and wraps me in a towel. He sits me on the edge of my ancient clawfoot tub, squeezes water from my hair, and works a comb through the tangles. Wes crouches beside me and rubs lotion into my chilled feet, as if caring for them deserves his full concentration. His purr fills the bathroom with the slow steady beat of comfort.

Roman slides one arm beneath my knees and carries me to the bedroom.

“I have legs.”

“I remain a devoted admirer of them.”

I give in without more protest and press my nose against his chest so I can breathe him in.

My nest has spread across the mattress in quilts, borrowed shirts, Roman’s sweater, and the green blanket from the linen cupboard. He places me in the center and arranges pillows around my hips and shoulders.

Wes bends to kiss my forehead. “I need to finish the report.”

“Come back.”

His eyes darken. “Always when you ask.”

Roman strips to his briefs and climbs into the nest. He cups my face and kisses me slowly until my breathing matches his. “What do you need?” he asks.

“You.”

His thumb traces my lower lip. “How?”

“Make love to me.”

The words change his expression.

He removes the towel and looks at me as if I’m precious. His mouth moves over my breasts, my ribs, and the soft curve of my stomach. Cardamom replaces the chemical sweetness lodged in my memory.

When he settles between my thighs, I tug him upward. “Inside me.”

His gaze searches mine. “You’re certain?”

“Yes. I need to feel you.”

He pushes his briefs down. His cock is hard and flushed, precum shining at the tip. He rubs through my slick, coating himself before pressing inside. The stretch of him is warm and familiar. Roman lowers over me and rests his forehead against mine.

“I chose you before the bundle,” I whisper.

“Yes.” His eyes close for a breath. Then he moves. “And I’ll choose you again and again.”

Roman makes love with patient attention, his hips rolling deep while his hand slides beneath my ass to tilt me into every stroke. His mouth stays against mine.

“You take me so well,” he murmurs against my lips, “like you were made to fit me.”