Dave did. And when their eyes locked, Stone pushed in—slow, deep, relentless until he was buried to the hilt.
Dave’s groan ripped through the air, his nails clawing red down Stone’s back. “Fuck.”
Stone froze, every muscle shaking with the need to move. Dave didn’t hesitate—he lifted his hips and snarled, “Move.”
Stone did. Long, driving thrusts that made Dave arch and curse, made the bed slam against the wall. Sweat slicked their skin, their mouths colliding in rough kisses, breath and groans tangling.
When Dave’s legs locked tighter around his hips, dragging him deeper, Stone knew Dave wasn’t just the man he loved. He was the reason he’d survived this long.
Stone drove harder, faster, the rhythm brutal, unstoppable. Dave met him stroke for stroke, body unyielding, his voice breaking into guttural sounds that pushed Stone closer.
“Stone—” Dave rasped, the single word splintering him apart. His cock pulsed, spilling hot between them as he shuddered hard.
The sight, the sound, the man undone beneath him—it dragged Stone over the edge. He buried himself deep and let go, panting into Dave’s mouth as release tore through him, fierce and consuming.
He stayed there, locked inside, trembling with the force of it, the world stripped down to this—Dave’s heat, Dave’s heartbeat, Dave’s breath under his own.
Strong as hell. Always demanding.
And everything he had ever wanted.
The house smelled of coffee and sea air when Dave stepped into the dining room. Morning fog pressed heavily against the windows, Pacific gray bleeding into the glass, and the winter bite carried even through the old wood and stone of the estate.
Most of the team was already gathered at the long table. Sparrow hunched over a scatter of papers, fork idle on his plate. Black ate with precise, methodical movements, eyes sharp even when he didn’t seem to be looking. Rip leaned back in his chair, boots crossed at the ankles, spinning some story loud enough to make Boston laugh. Law sat across from them, amused, while Sage was half-listening, half-eating, his focus split between the noise and his plate.
For a moment, Dave just stood in the doorway, taking it in—controlled noise, familiar weight. A family, if he allowed himself the word. Then he crossed the room and took a seat at the table.
Stone followed a beat later, brushing past him, his arm brushing Dave’s shoulder before he slid into the chair beside him.
Not across the table. Not apart. Close enough that Dave could feel the heat of him even through the chill.
The room shifted in small ways—Rip’s grin edging sly, Sparrow’s quick glance before he ducked back to his notes, Law’s shrewd eyes catching it all with a knowing smirk—but no one said a word. They didn’t need to.
An unexpected heat spread through him. Just being near Stone felt… different. Oh, he’d always been attracted to Stone—but after last night, that attraction felt supercharged, like it crackled in the air between them. So much so that he’d had to adjust himself more than once.
Last night had been incredible, and he was kicking himself for waiting so damn long. He’d never felt that kind of connection with another human being—physical, emotional, absolute.
Stone leaned back, one arm draped casually across the back of Dave’s chair, and Dave swore he could feel the heat of it through his shirt. When Stone started trading barbs with Rip and Winter, the table broke out in laughter, but for the life of him, Dave didn’t hear a word.
Cookie set a fresh cup of coffee in front of him, and Dave wrapped his hands around it like an anchor. Control—that was what he prided himself on. Always had.
“You okay?” Stone murmured, his breath warm against Dave’s ear.
Dave turned, caught those smoke-colored eyes, and smiled slowly. “I am.”
“Me too.” Stone’s fingers brushed the hair at his nape, and just like that, the room leveled out again.
A few of the kitchen staff came in with plates for both of them, and for the first time in years, Dave realized he was starving—for food, sure, but more than that, for the quiet peace of this.
Of him.
The table hummed with quiet chaos—steam, clatter, the warm scent of butter and spice. Dave managed to finish half his plate, which said plenty; he seldom ate breakfast. Setting his fork down, he glanced around the table at his men. Without Clinton’s constant interruptions, the mornings felt easier. Quieter. Almost normal.
And Clinton was one issue he needed to address, but he didn’t need to do it now. For once, he let himself relax and enjoy the easy rhythm of his team around him.
Several minutes passed as Stone downed eggs, bacon, and potatoes, and ate like he hadn’t seen food in a week.
“You gonna finish that?” Stone asked after a while, nodding toward Dave’s unfinished omelet.
