Julian paused, his hands on my waist, his eyes searching mine. He held still until I nodded, and only then did his grip tighten.
I leaned my head back against Rowan's shoulder. "I've spent so long being owned by a dead man. I just want to belong to people who are breathing."
Rowan's grip tightened, before he slowly started undressing me. Each piece of clothing removed felt like a decision. When we were finally bare to one another, I felt held.
Rowan guided me down onto the bed, his movements practiced and dominant, but there was a softness in his eyes that he only ever showed in the dark. He pinned my wrists above my head with one hand, his grip a firm reminder of who was in charge.
"He doesn't touch you here," Rowan growled. "He doesn't touch you anywhere. You're ours now. Do you understand?"
"Yes," I gasped. "Yours."
Julian was between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs, his touch possessive but fundamentally gentle. He looked up at me, and the melancholy in his eyes was replaced by a fierce, focused intent. He leaned forward, his mouth finding the sensitive skin of my inner thigh, and the sensation was so sharp I nearly cried out. He was learning me the way he learned a new piece of music, methodical and reverent, while Theo moved to my side, his hands exploring my chest, his mouth finding my neck.
The heat was overwhelming. Rowan's cock was thick and hard against my hip. I looked down and saw Julian reaching for the lube on the nightstand. He slicked his fingers and pushed two of them inside me, stretching me open with that same deliberate patience that made my vision blur. My cock lay heavy and leaking against my stomach, and every slow thrust of his fingers sent sparks up my spine.
"Look at me, Oleander," Theo whispered, his hand cupping my cheek. "Don't close your eyes. Don't go back to the dark. Stay here with us."
Rowan shifted, settling between my legs as Julian moved to make room, his hands on my hips to guide me. Rowan didn't wait. He pushed inside me, one slow, thick inch at a time, stretching me until I felt like I might split open. I cried out his name, the sound muffled by Theo's mouth as he kissed me.
"Fuck, you're so tight," Rowan groaned, holding himself still for a second. "So fucking good for us."
He began to move, a slow, punishing rhythm. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, my nails raking down his back. Julian was right there. He lowered his head and took my cock into his mouth, his tongue working in rhythm withRowan's thrusts. The dual sensation was overwhelming—Rowan filling me deep while Julian sucked me with focused, reverent strokes. My whole body shook between them.
Theo was everywhere at once, his hands on my chest, his mouth on my shoulders, murmuring quiet praise against my skin. "That's it, Oleander. Take him. Take all of us."
Rowan's thrusts grew faster, harder, his hands fisting in my hair to keep me looking at him. I could see the sweat dripping off his brow, the primal hunger in his green eyes.
"Julian," I choked out, reaching for him even as his mouth stayed on me. "Please."
Julian didn't stop. He just reached up and laced his fingers with mine, the only steady thing as everything else started to dissolve. He squeezed my hand tight as Rowan drove into me and his own mouth worked me relentlessly.
The climax hit me all at once, a violent shudder that started deep in my gut and radiated outward. My ass clenched hard around Rowan's cock as I came down Julian's throat. Rowan let out a guttural sound and followed right after, his body locking up as he came deep inside me, pulse after pulse. I was shaking, raw, caught between all three of them.
Rowan collapsed against me. Julian and Theo moved in close, their arms wrapping around us, a tangle of limbs and damp skin. For a few minutes, there was only the sound of our collective breathing.
"Well," Theo murmured. "That happened."
We lay there for a long time, tangled in the sheets. I watched the way the light played across Julian's shoulders, the way Rowan's hand rested on my hip. Theo was tracing slow circles on my arm with his fingertip, his eyes half-closed, his usual restless energy finally still.
Julian's head was on my chest. I could feel his breathing slow and steady against my skin, and his hand was still holding mine.He hadn't let go since the moment I'd reached for him. I looked down at our interlaced fingers and thought about how long I'd waited for him to cross that line, and how, when he finally did, it hadn't felt like crossing anything at all. It had felt like arriving.
Rowan shifted behind me, pulling the blanket up over the four of us with one arm. It was a small, domestic gesture that made my throat tight. He tucked it around Theo's shoulder, then settled back against the pillow, his chest warm against my spine.
The apartment was quiet with the silence of four people breathing in the same room, choosing to be exactly where they were.
I closed my eyes. The melody was still there, faint and persistent in the back of my mind, but it was quieter tonight than it had been in weeks. It couldn't compete with the sound of Julian's heartbeat against my ribs, or the low, steady rhythm of Rowan's breathing, or the soft click of Theo's camera as he reached over, picked it up off the nightstand, and took one photo of the four of us in the tangled sheets.
"For the record," Theo said, setting it back down.
twenty-two
OLEANDER
The light in the living room was too harsh, cutting through the haze of the last hour, stripping away the warmth we'd built until there was nothing left but the four of us and the silence. I stood by the window because I didn't know how to sit. My skin felt too tight for my body.
Julian was on the sofa, his hands pressed so hard between his knees I thought he might break his own fingers. Theo sat across from him, clutching his camera like a shield, though he hadn't taken a single shot since the temperature in the bedroom dropped. We were all dressed now, the fabric of our clothes feeling like an insult against skin that had been so open moments ago.
I looked at Rowan. He was standing near the door, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't looking at me. He was looking at the floor, his eyes fixed on a point only he could see. He was prepared, which was worse than angry.
