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BRYNN

I’m so fuzzy after coming so many times that I’m only vaguely aware of the three of them taking care of me. I can feel their hands on me, and someone must have gone to get a wash cloth because there’s something warm and damp running over my skin at one point.

I’m so oversensitive and overstimulated that it burns along my nerves, but it only lasts for a while. I can hear their deep voices as they talk to each other, and gradually the high of it all starts to fade and I start to come back to myself.

All three of them are right here with me, watching me.

Callan smooths hair back from my face, looking into my eyes. “You with us?”

I swallow hard, trying to remember how to talk now that my brain is coming back online. “Yeah,” I manage to rasp out. “I’m here.”

Tate grins. “How do you feel?”

“Wrecked.”

They all laugh at that.

“But you’re okay?” Ares presses.

I nod. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m so good. I promise.”

“Okay, good.”

That seems to be the thing they need to be able to relax as well. They settle into the bed with me, making themselves comfortable. After a few more minutes, I remember that we’re supposed to be going somewhere and that this little diversion has added a couple of hours to our travel time already.

I struggle to push myself up onto my elbows on arms that are still shaky from pleasure. “We should probably head out, right? Get back on the road?”

Ares shakes his head. “We’re close enough now that a couple more hours won’t hurt anything. We’re not in any hurry.”

Something about that makes me feel warm inside. None of them seem like they’re in a rush to get out the door and back into the car, and I like that. I like spending the aftermath of such mind-blowing sex with them and that they seem content to just relax for a while.

“Okay then.” I give in and flop back down, closing my eyes. With them so close to me, surrounded by their warmth, it’s not like I want to move much anyway.

“So,” Tate says after a beat. “How did you like living out that scene from the book?”

I open one eye to look at him. “I liked it, but I think I’m going to have to think through all of the ramifications of whatever scene I pick next.” I’ve never done edging like that before, and I wasn’t really prepared for how frustrating it was going to be, too caught up in the fantasy to think it through.

Tate smirks. “We took it easy on you this time. Next time we won’t be so nice.”

I scoff at the idea that this was ‘nice’ by any means, but I can’t hide the shiver that runs down my spine with anticipation.

Tate just laughs, and it’s a nice sound to doze off to.

I don’t know how much time passes before I open my eyes again. The light has shifted through the curtains a little, and Ares and Tate are asleep. Callan is pressed up against me, his head resting in one hand, propped up, while the other doodles idly on my arm again.

“Hi,” I murmur, careful to keep my voice down.

“Hey,” he whispers back, a little smile quirking the corner of his lips.

I tilt my head to see what he’s drawing, but from this angle, I can only make out flowers and vines, not much else. He keeps his eyes on his work, intent and full of concentration even for something like this.

“Can I ask you something?” I say.

Callan glances at me. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“How did you get into tattooing? It’s obvious it means a lot to you, and I remember what you said about doing an apprenticeship before. But was it something you always wanted to do?”

He’s quiet for long enough that I wonder if I’ve stepped into something he doesn’t want to talk about. But then he starts talking while he draws. “I had a pretty shit childhood,” he says. “Grew up in foster care, and I never really stayed in any one house for very long. It was like… as soon as I got comfortable, I’d have to leave again, and that sucked. Sometimes families got tired of me. Sometimes they just wanted to play at being a family, and as soon as the realities of what that meant kicked in, they didn’t want any part of it anymore. Then there were times when I was so glad they wanted to be done with me that I walked out the door and never looked back. Point is, I never really had a home or a family. Or anything to hold on to that was mine. Art was basically the only thing I had that was stable. It was my refuge.”