We didn’t even make it to a bedroom this time. We ended up right here on the cushions, stripping her out of her dress the second she stepped inside.
“Missed you today,” Knox rumbles from the other end of the sofa. He’s sitting forward, elbows on his knees, looking at her like she’s a Michelin-star meal he just plated.
She laughs, a breathy, exhausted sound. “Yeah? I have the bruises to prove it.”
She lifts her arm, pointing to a dark mark on her hipbone. I lean over, pressing a kiss to the bruise. My mark.
Eli wipes his forehead with the back of his arm, his glasses sitting askew on his nose. He looks wrecked, happy, and totally drained. “I can’t believe we skipped dinner for sex.”
“I worked on those pork ribs for four hours,” Knox says, though he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds smug.
“I’m worth it,” Amber murmurs, stretching her toes.
I poke her side. “Don’t get cocky, Sunshine.”
She swats at my hand, grinning up at me. The sight hits me in the chest.
The domestic feel of this moment—lounging around, post-sex, completely at ease with each other. It settles into my bones.
“Up,” I say, standing up and offering her a hand. “You need real food.”
She takes my hand, letting me haul her to her feet. I grab my shirt from where it landed on the floor earlier, shaking it out. I pull it over her head. The white cotton swallows her, falling halfway to her knees.
I love seeing her like this. Wearing my clothes, smelling like us. It’s a primal thing, a deep thrum of satisfaction in my gut. It marks her as mine, even if just for tonight.
She smooths the fabric over her hips, looking down at herself. “Cozy.”
“Let’s feed you.”
We pull on our boxers before walking to the kitchen.
“It smells good in here,” she observes, hopping up onto one of the stools at the island.
“We were working,” Knox says, moving to the stove. “I kept everything warm.”
He starts pulling containers from the warming drawers. Platters of ribs, roasted vegetables, potatoes.
“Cleanup first,” I say, nodding at the remnants of our... earlier activities on the counter. We were messy. There’s no point pretending otherwise.
We work as a team. I wipe down the surfaces while Knox plates the food. Eli finds plates and silverware. Amber tries to help, grabbing a rag, but I take it from her gently.
“Sit,” I tell her. “You’re the guest tonight. And the reason we skipped dinner.”
She pouts but hops back onto the stool. We move around each other with ease. It’s not just the three of us anymore; the space has adjusted to fit her.
The dynamic shifts to accommodate her presence, and it feels seamless.
We settle around the island with our plates. The ribs are falling-off-the-bone tender, the glaze perfect. Amber takes a bite and moans, her eyes rolling back.
“Okay, I get why you worked four hours on these,” she says, sauce on her chin. “These are insane.”
“Eat,” Knox commands, though he looks pleased.
We eat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of silverware and the jazz music Eli put on earlier. Then Amber sets her fork down, looking nervous.
“So, Maisie’s debate,” she starts, twisting her hands in her lap. “It got rescheduled. It’s next week.”
“That’s great,” Eli says immediately. “She was so bummed about the snow.”
