Page 99 of The Case of the Missing Love Stone

Scarlet Sage

Iwake to cedar, warm spice, and the quiet certainty that I put both men exactly where I wanted them.

Morning presses pale through my bedroom curtains. Rain has softened to a slow drip from the eaves. My cheek is tucked against Roman’s chest, Wes’s arm lies heavy across my waist, and one of my legs has worked itself between theirs beneath the quilt.

The bed is crowded. And last night was the best I have slept in years.

Roman’s chin rests against the top of my head. His dark-blond hair falls across his forehead, and his hand is curled loosely beside my face. Wes is warm along my back, his breath moving against my hair with the steady rhythm of an alpha who finally allowed himself to sleep.

Their scents have settled into the blankets so that my room smells like all three of us now. My omega settles deeper into the warmth, pleased by what I built while no one was watching. I could pretend the arrangement happened accidentally, blame exhaustion, the narrow mattress, or a migrating blanket.

But the truth is that I asked them to stay. I pulled them into my bed. Sometime during the night, I gathered their shirts and both quilts around us, because having their scents close made it easier to breathe. The admission leaves me exposed but not ashamed.

A low purr hums in my chest.

Wes’s arm tightens in answer.

Roman opens one hazel eye. “Good morning.”

“Debatable.”

His mouth curves. “You’re purring.”

“I’m comfortable. Try not to become unbearable about it.”

Behind me, Wes’s voice is rough with sleep. “Too late.”

I smile before I can stop myself.

Roman strokes one finger along my temple. “You stole my blanket.”

“It improved the arrangement.”

“You also stole Wes’s shirt.”

The black fabric is tucked beneath my cheek, soft from wear and saturated with cedar. “I’m holding it for evidence.”

Wes shifts closer, the hard line of his body settling along my back. “Evidence of what?”

“That you own clothing in colors besides black.”

“It’s black.”

“Then the investigation remains open.”

His mouth brushes the back of my shoulder through the thin sleep shirt.

Warmth moves down my spine.

Roman watches my face with sleepy amusement. “Thinking loudly again?”

“I’m remembering.”

The humor softens around the truth. My body remembers last night, how Roman was inside me first and then Wes afterward. Hands, mouths, praise, and the steady way they held me when pleasure stripped away every defense I had left, I chose those too. The knowledge settles low and warm.

Roman’s hand slides from the pillow to my hip, and his palm rests over the curve beneath my sleep shirt. Wes’s fingers spread across my stomach. Held between them, I let my body loosen. No one has to coax me into wanting this morning. I turn my face toward Roman and kiss him.

It starts soft and unhurried, carrying the comfortable intimacy of waking beside someone whose mouth I know. His thumb strokes my hip while I deepen the kiss.