Page 37 of Filled

“Mm.” He bumps me again. “Maybe. Maybe also I’m jealous he got there first in her head and I wanted him to know I got there first in her mouth.”

“Cruz.”

“What. You wanted me to lie?” he asks.

I do look at him then. Blue eyes, crinkled. Cut on his lip. Smug bastard.

In the cage, Dakota lands a leg kick and Brady curses softly and grins.

Cruz’s hand drops between us, the back of his fingers brushing the side of my knee. The lightest touch. Nobody could see it from outside.

“Dante.”

“Don’t,” I warn.

“I’m not asking you not to be mad. Be mad. But don’t go quiet on me.”

I let my knee press into his hand. Just a fraction. Enough.

“Round,” he calls. “Switch. Dakota with me. Brady with Dante.”

Dakota wipes her face with the inside of her elbow and walks over to Cruz. She doesn’t touch him. She doesn’t have to. The whole cage feels his hand on her waist before it gets there.

Brady comes to me. Dark hair sticking up at the front, blue eyes too bright. He’s still flushed from sparring her and there’s a question etched in his expression that he hasn’t worked out how to ask yet.

“Light,” I say. “Hands only. I’m tired of you boys breaking each other today.”

He huffs a laugh. Touches gloves.

We move.

Brady’s faster than I am. He always has been. But I’ve got reach and patience and he keeps glancing past my shoulder every time Cruz shifts behind me on the other half of the mat. I clip him twice for it. The third time I just stop.

“Stay with me, Williams.”

“Sorry.”

“You wanna watch them, watch them after the round.”

He nods. “Sorry. Sorry. Go.”

We go.

Behind me I hear the low rumble of Cruz’s voice. And under it, Dakota’s quick breath, the slap of her shin on his guard, the smallfuckshe lets out when he gets inside on her.

We finish three rounds. We’re all soaked.

Dakota peels her gloves off and sits down on the bottom step with her legs out in front of her and her head tipped back, throat long, ponytail slightly swaying down between her shoulder blades. Cruz is leaning against the cage on the other side, towel round his neck, watching her like he wants to put his teeth on her clavicle. Brady’s on the floor between us, knees up, elbows resting on them, looking at the pair of them like he can’t decide which one to fall for first.

I sit down next to him. Close enough our shoulders bump.

He doesn’t move away.

“You okay?” Dakota says, eyes still closed. Head still tipped back.

I take a second to realize she’s talking to me.

“Yeah,” I say.