Page 391 of Rogue Riders Duet

Luc doesn’t even pretend to deny it. “I wanna see how long you last with your cock in her chatte and your ass full of Mason.”

Finn groans dramatically. “Hard pass on the dick in the ass, thanks.” He kisses my shoulder softly, and I melt back against his chest, still catching my breath, limbs loose and trembling.

Luc pulls out of me with a groan, probably because Mason did the same to him, and the loss makes me whimper in protest, despite how satisfied I am.

“Coward.” Luc flops down on the mattress beside us with all the grace of a dying man. “I didn’t know I liked it either until I tried.”

Finn lifts his head and glares. “Having a full gang bang on top of me as a straight man is anything but being a coward.”

I can’t help but laugh again, rolling off him with a hiss, only to curl into his side, pressing a lazy kiss to his lips. “You’re so brave.”

Luc scoffs into the sheets. “Yeah, Greer. Carrying this team on your old-man back. We salute you.”

“Delacroix,” Finn growls in warning, but he’s grinning.

“What? Gonna punish me, coach?” Luc teases.

Finn grunts. “No. I’d make Payne do it.”

Mason pauses on his way to the bathroom and glances over his shoulder. “I’m getting something to clean them up. Then I’ll consider it.”

I lie there between them, every nerve in my body still humming, my heart finally quiet. Their voices keep drifting, Finn’s growl, Luc’s smug deflection, the sound of the bathroom door squeaking, normal, beautiful, and chaotic.

The perfect kind of noise.

Luc and I share a glance, and I swear his soft smile says he heard my thought and agrees with me.

“Anything can be a dream if it’s small enough.”

His words from months ago drift into the dizziness of my brain.

I didn’t understand it then, but I do now.

I don’t have to chase the whole sky.

I can just lie here, wrapped in heat, laughter, and love, and know this little dream is real.

And safe.

And entirely mine.

EPILOGUE PART TWO

ONE AND A HALF YEARS LATER

Hiccup.

Fuck.

A chuckle follows the sound my traitorous diaphragm just made, and my head whips left, my short braid swinging like it wants to throw hands for me.

“What?” Otis asks, already halfway to looking guilty, like I’ve caught him with a hand in the cookie jar. Which, knowing him, wouldn’t be a stretch.

“You laughed,” I accuse.

“No, that was a concerned wheeze.”

“Cool. Thanks. Really feeling the team spirit.”