The dress goes. Matthew's shirt follows. Trenton's belt hits the floor with a thud that tightens deep in my stomach.
Skin. Finally skin.
Trenton's mouth finds my breast and I gasp, my fingers curling into his hair. The sensation is almost too much, too sharp, too real after so long.
"Missed you," I manage. "Missed this."
Matthew's lips trace a slow path down my stomach, his stubble dragging a trail of sensation across my skin. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes.
"Easy," he murmurs, his hands moving with slowness. "We've got all night." His voice is steady, but his hands aren't. A slight tremor is in his fingers when he grips my hip. He's holding back. He always holds back, right until he doesn't.
I watch him. Watch them both. The way they move around each other, around me. No hesitation, no collision. Just this choreography that belongs to the three of us and no one else.
"I need you." I'm past waiting. Past patience. "Now."
Something passes between them. That look, the wordless fluency they've always had with each other. Then they're moving, repositioning, Matthew's mouth coming back to mine while Trenton settles behind me, his breath warm against the back of my neck.
Matthew holds my face in both hands. His eyes are open, watching me, and the love in them is so direct it almost hurts.
When Trenton enters me, we both cry out.
Matthew's gaze holds mine. His hand drops between his own legs, giving us this moment, but his eyes never leave my face.
Then he joins us.
The pleasure doesn't build so much as it collapses inward then outward then inward again, each time taking more of me with it. I'm clinging to Matthew's shoulders, Trenton's arm locked around my waist, and somewhere in the middle of it all I realize I'm crying.
Not from sadness. Not from pain.
Just too much. Too much feeling with nowhere left to put it.
When the release finally tears through me, I hear my own voice, ragged and broken, and then theirs joining it.
Afterward, I can't stop touching them.
I trace the new scar on Matthew's shoulder, the one he'd kept carefully angled away from the camera during every call. My fingers follow the ridge of it, pale against his tanned skin.
"Tell me," I whisper.
He catches my hand. Brings it to his mouth. "Not tonight."
I look at him.
"Tonight is just us," he says. Quiet. Final.
Trenton's fingers skim my waist from behind, light enough to raise goosebumps. "You're perfect," he murmurs.
I laugh. It comes out a little wrecked. "I'm a mess."
"You're our mess." Matthew presses his lips to my temple. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
Trenton is already moving, already lifting me again.
"Shower," he says. Not a question.
The bathroom fills with steam. The glass enclosure is large enough for three, a detail we'd insisted on. Matthew catches my eye as I step inside, and a shared smile passes between us. He remembers, too.
I'm laughing again now, softly, as Trenton sets me down under the spray.
