"You chose well," he continues, his voice low and steady. "Those boys would die for you. I see it in how they look at you. How they move when you're near."
I feel tears welling again. "I love them."
"I know." He puts his arm around my shoulders, a rare display of affection. "And they love you. That's all that matters."
Later, as we prepare to leave, Mom presses Tupperware containers of food into our hands while Dad loads a case of his home-brewed beer into Trenton's truck.
"For the new house," he explains. "Housewarming gift."
"Thank you, sir," Trenton says, and I hear the genuine respect in his voice.
"Isaac," Dad corrects. "You're family now. No more 'sir.'"
The words hang in the air between them, and in the quiet that follows.
As we drive away, Matthew's hand in mine, Trenton's arm stretched across the back of the seat behind us. I feel a sense of completion that's been missing for too long. All the pieces are finally in place: our home, our family, our future.
"Your dad," Matthew says, his thumb tracing circles on my palm. "He's different."
I smile, watching the familiar streets of my childhood pass by. "He loves you both. Always has, deep down."
"He threatened to bury me in the backyard once," Trenton recalls, a hint of amusement in his voice.
"But he's been checking on our house for years," I remind him. "Making sure it was maintained while you were gone. Helping Mom organize care packages to send you."
Matthew looks at me in surprise. "Your dad sent those packages?"
"Every month," I confirm. "He just didn't want credit for it."
A new understanding of my father settles over me. It recalibrates the memories. The stern warnings weren't rejection, but a test; the loaded glances weren't disapproval, but a silent measure of the men I'd chosen. He wasn't pushing them away, he was making sure they were worthy.
And they were. They are.
Trenton turns onto our driveway, the lights of our house welcoming us back.
The door closes, shutting out the world. In the sudden quiet of our home, Trenton turns me to face him, his eyes dark with an emotion too deep for words. He traces my jaw before his mouth finds mine, a kiss that's both a promise and a desperate claim. Matthew's hands slide around my waist, pulling me tight against him.
"Finally," I whisper against Trenton's lips. "Just us."
That one word is all it takes. Trenton's kiss deepens as he backs me toward the dining room. The edge of the table catches me behind the knees, and before I can react, Matthew lifts me onto the polished wood surface.
"Right here," he growls, his eyes dark with need. "Right now."
Hands tear at my clothes, Trenton working at unclasping my bra while Matthew strips my jeans down my legs. I help them, desperate to feel the press and weight of them against me, the realness of it, after six long months of nothing.
"Look at you," Trenton murmurs, his voice rough as he takes in my bare breasts. "Still perfect."
I moan as he takes one nipple into his mouth, the wet heat of his tongue sending lightning through my body. Matthew settles between my legs, his hands sliding up my thighs.
"Christ, Morgan," he whispers, his breath hot against my inner thigh. "You're soaked."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on me, tongue finding my center with devastating precision. I cry out, my hands fisting in his hair as pleasure crashes through me.
Trenton moves lower, his lips replacing Matthew's, giving him room to worship my breasts. The sensation of two mouths on me, working in perfect tandem, pushes me toward the edge faster than I thought possible.
"Please," I beg, not even sure what I'm asking for. "Don't stop."
They don't. They take turns with Matthew's tongue circling my clit while Trenton licks deeper, then switching places. I'm writhing on the table, my hips chasing their mouths, overwhelmed by sensation.
