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I kiss her thigh. Rhys strokes her hair. Callum releases her wrists and wraps both arms around her. This part matters as much as the orgasm. The stopping. The listening. The certainty that no fantasy matters more than the person inside it. Sloane looks down at me.

“You didn’t ask permission to make me scream that loudly.”

“I’m a rebel.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“You love me.”

Her expression softens.

“I fucking do.”

The words still hit me like the first time. I rise. Sloane catches my face and kisses me. She tastes herself on my tongue. Callum growls behind her. She breaks the kiss and looks over her shoulder.

“Jealous?”

“No.”

Liar. Sloane grabs his shirt and pulls him down for a kiss. Rhys watches them while removing his sweater. I watch Rhys. We are brothers, not lovers. But there is something intimate about knowing exactly what another man looks like when the woman you both love chooses him too. Rhys catches me looking.

“What?”

“You smiled.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

Sloane pulls away from Callum.

“Can everyone stop pretending they don’t have feelings? It’s exhausting.”

“No,” all three of us answer.

She rolls her eyes. Then she reaches for the waistband of my jeans.

“My turn.”

Every thought in my head vanishes.

“Merry Christmas to me.”

SLOANE

They place me in the center of the bed. Exactly where I belong. Rhys sits against the headboard on my right. Dante kneels on my left. Callum stands at the foot of the mattress, still fully dressed except for the flannel shirt I pulled open during our kiss.

His chest rises heavily. The crow tattoo above his heart seems to watch me. I point toward him.

“Clothes off.”

Callum obeys. Good boy. Slowly. Boots. Shirt. Belt. Jeans. Nothing beneath, but that beautiful delicious cock. Dante whistles.

“Show-off.”

Callum looks at him.

“You were free to remove yours.”