"And tomorrow," Trenton adds, already working on the zipper at my back.
My dress pools at my feet, and their eyes darken as they take me in black lace chosen specifically for this moment.
"Beautiful," Matthew breathes.
Trenton says nothing, but his expression speaks volumes as he lifts me then carries me to the bed. Matthew follows, already shedding layers of his uniform.
The mattress dips beneath our combined weight. I tremble, not from fear but the sheer, crushing reality of a moment I've only ever allowed myself to imagine.
"You're shaking," Trenton murmurs, his calloused palm sliding along my bare shoulder.
"I'm just…" Words fail me. How do I explain that this feels like standing at the edge of a cliff? Beautiful. Terrifying. Inevitable.
Matthew kneels beside me, now stripped to his boxers. His body has transformed during their training. It's harder, more defined. "We can slow down."
"No," I breathe. "I've waited long enough."
Trenton's uniform joins Matthew's on the floor. They position themselves on either side of me, a cocoon of warmth and strength. Matthew's lips trace my collarbone while Trenton's hands explore the curve of my waist, my hips.
"Tell us what you want," Matthew whispers against my skin.
"Everything," I answer. "I want everything."
Their touches are reverent at first, careful, as if I might shatter. But I don't want careful. Not tonight. I arch into their hands, silently begging for more.
Trenton understands first. His fingers tangle in my hair, tugging gently to expose my throat to his mouth. The slight edge of pain mixed with pleasure makes me gasp.
"Like that?" he asks, voice rough.
"Yes," I manage.
Matthew watches, eyes darkening before he claims my mouth. His kiss is different from Trenton's, playful where Trenton is intense, teasing where Trenton demands. Together, they're overwhelming.
My bra disappears, then my underwear. Exposed between them, a current of heat, not shame, washes over me. Their gazes are reverent, their hands gentle, and I feel anchored, not adrift.
"We need to be careful," Matthew says, reaching for protection in his bag. Always responsible.
Trenton nods, but his eyes never leave my body. "Still sure?"
"I've been sure since I was sixteen," I tell him. "I'm yours. Both of yours."
What follows is tentative at first, a question asked and answered, then another. Their hands learn what makes me sigh, what makes me moan. I explore them in return. The hard planes of muscle, the scars both new and old.
Matthew goes first, gentle despite his obvious need. The initial pain fades quickly into a fullness, a rightness that makes tears spring to my eyes.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks, freezing.
"No," I whisper. "It's perfect. You're perfect."
He moves slowly at first, his forehead pressed against mine, breathing my air. Trenton watches, one hand trailing patterns across my skin, the other stroking himself.
When Matthew finishes, trembling against me, he kisses my forehead before rolling to my side. His gaze meets Trenton's over me, a silent transfer of care. Then Trenton is there, taking his place. Where Matthew was gentle, Trenton is consuming, claiming me with a possessiveness that feels like coming home.
"Mine," he growls against my ear. "Ours."
"Yours," I agree, clinging to his shoulders as he moves.
Matthew kisses away the tears that escape, whispering encouragement. Between them, I come apart completely, their names the only words I have left.
