I am quiet. They wait.
"I want that," I say, finally. Small. Real. "I want to come back."
Zero's hand finds the hem of my hoodie and slides under it. Splays warm against my hipbone, over the bruise his brother left there.
"Baby." He leans in. His mouth at my ear. The bond between his sternum and mine going hot and bright. "Listen to me."
"...mm."
"I am going to fuck you in every single room of that house."
I choke on the wine.
"Zero—"
"Every room. The bedroom. The dining room. The kitchen counter. Richard and Margot’s room. Especially their room."
"Oh my god—" My cock twitches and swells with blood.
"I'm going to make you scream loud enough that all the neighbors will complain. I'm going to fuck you on the rug in the living room until you have rug burns. I'm going to bend you over the kitchen island where you—"
"And where, exactly," Bane says, mild, conversational, to no one in particular, "do I fit into this scheme of yours."
"Hm?"
"Specifically, Zero. Walk me through the schedule. You're claiming the whole house. I'd like to know which afternoons I get."
Zero, into my throat, doesn't even open his eyes. "Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Fine. And alternate Saturdays. I'm being generous."
"I am hisbondmate, you absolute—"
"We'reallhis bondmates, Bane, that's the whole problem. There's a queue."
"There is not a queue."
"There's a queue."
Atlas, behind me, dry: "It's not a queue. It's a calendar."
"Excuse me?" I whirl around.
"I'll send it around. Color-coded."
"Atlas—"
"He needs sleep, Bane. He needs to eat. He cannot be having sex with three of us simultaneously every day for the rest of his life. There has to be a system," Atlas nips at my throat and I shiver.
Zero is shaking with quiet laughter against the other side of my throat. Bane has propped himself up on an elbow to argue better. I am being conferenced over, and the absurd domestic logistics of it—a calendar, color-coded, Tuesdays and Thursdays—has me laughing so hard I am crying again. Wine spills down the side of my chin. Atlas wipes it with his thumb.
"Okay," I get out. "Okay, no. No. I am not on a calendar."
"You're definitely on a calendar, baby."
"...what if I want input."
