“Let me help too,” he says softly, fingers brushing over my stomach, then lower.
Tate grins against my neck. “Then do it, golden boy.”
Carter kisses me again while Tate fucks me harder with his fingers, thumb teasing tight circles until my knees buckle.
“Tate —Carter—” My voice breaks. “I-I can’t—”
“Yes, you can,” Carter whispers, his thumb finding my clit too now, gentle and sure, while Tate groans into my shoulder.
“Come for us,” he rasps. “Right here, right now, against the fucking wall.”
The world snaps white.
My mouth falls open as I collapse forward into Carter’s chest as the orgasm crashes through me, as Tate doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down until I’m sobbing into Carter’s neck from the overload.
After a long, shuddering exhale, I step back from the spray, letting the last of the warm water cling to my skin. Steam curls around us, fogging the glass and hanging heavy in the air.
Tate grabs one of his shirts and slips it over me, letting it drape comfortably. Carter moves ahead to the living room, grabbing a couple of blankets. “Movie night on the couch?” he calls back.
I pause at the bathroom doorway for a moment, catching my breath and letting the heat from the shower settle into me. The world slows just a little while they set up the living room. When I finally follow, the couch is piled with blankets, and the soft glow of the TV fills the room.
Carter hands me the popcorn with a grin. “We’re gonna fall asleep in the next twenty minutes.”
“Good.” settling between them. “Maybe I’ll dream about shutting down my chat with a flamethrower.”
Tate grins. “Hot.”
I’m curled between them on the couch, Carter has one arm around my waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles into my hip. Tate’s legs are stretched out beside me, a blanket tossed over his lap, one of his hands resting behind my neck, occasionally brushing his knuckles along the nape of my neck like he can’t not be touching me.
Carter shifts slightly and lets out the gentlest sigh, like he’s the most content he’s ever been.
The movie flickers blue light across the room and Tate’s voice cuts through the softness low and not meant for Carter. “You gonna tell me what they said to you?”
I shake my head, eyes fixed on the screen. “Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
I glance sideways. He’s watching me the way he watches corners in a high-stakes map like I’m the only point of danger worth defending.
“I don’t want to give them space in my head,” I admit.
“Then give them to me,” he says. “I’ll hold the names.” His hand squeezes mine under the blanket. The volume of the movie dips for a quiet scene, and I realize my eyes have started to slip shut, lulled by their warmth, the steady sound of their breathing, the way I feel right now held and whole and safe.
Tate shifts beside me and lets out a low groan. “Alright. I’m tapped out.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“No offense,” he says, voice flat but teasing, “but two six-foot-tall dudes on a couch with you? Not exactly my idea of a restful night.”
Carter yawns and raises a brow. “So you’re finally admitting you don’t like cuddling me?”
Tate glances at Carter, a brief smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ll cuddle Haven,” he says, voice flat, “but you? Not unless someone’s paying me.”
I laugh softly, tugging the blanket tighter around my shoulders. Carter shakes his head at him, “You’ll cave eventually,” he says, and I can see Tate’s smirk falter just a fraction.
“Not a chance,” he mutters, pushing off the couch. He stretches, muscles flexing under his shirt, and starts down towards the bathroom.
Carter and I exchange a quiet look, a little smile passing between us. “Goodnight, menace,” he calls after him.
