Page 111 of What We Become

“You’re doing so good, baby girl,” Micah breathes against the back of my neck.

“Our perfect girl,” Eli says.

Full. So full I feel it in my teeth, in my spine, in the parts of my soul I haven’t named yet. We move together in a slow, grinding rhythm, no space left anywhere, Micah’s mouth on the back of my neck, Eli’s hands cradling my face like I’m something sacred and ruined at the same time. It doesn’t take long. It couldn’t. I’m already so far gone that when Micah groans my name against my spine, and Eli whispers, “Come for us, little savage,” I shatter between them, and they follow me down, all three of us shaking apart in the same breath.

When the world comes back online, Milo is sprawled at the foot of the bed, chin propped on his hand, watching us like we’re the season finale of his favorite show.

“Don’t mind me,” he says. “I’m just waiting for the Milo portion of the evening. I’ve brought snacks—well, I haven’t, but I’ve brought enthusiasm, which is calorie-free.”

I laugh, wrecked and breathless, and reach for him. “Get up here.”

He scrambles up the bed, all elbows and grin, and then he’s over me, and the grin softens into something that makes my chest ache. “You have been the best sexing partner, kitten.”

“Thank you, Milo.”

He kisses me slow—uncharacteristically—and when he pushes into me it’s gentle, his forehead pressed to mine.

“You are so beautiful right now,” he admits quietly, like it’s a confession. “I want to memorize this. Your face. Exactly like this. When our world is still safe and perfect. Tomorrow everything gets loud again.”

“Then look at me,” I whisper, wrapping my legs around him. “Just look at me.”

And he does. He moves in me slow and deep, eyes open, never once looking away while the others settle around us—Knox’s hand heavy on my ankle, Micah stroking the hair back from my face, Eli warm at my shoulder, Holden keeping quiet watch from the other side. Milo comes with my name barely a breath against my mouth, and I follow him over softly this time, a long low wave instead of a wrecking one.

For a while, nobody moves. All I can do is hold the emotion tight in my chest, fight the sting behind my eyes, and look at the five men sprawled around me. This is it. No more cabin. No more peace. Tomorrow we go back into the thick of it, and this might be the last moment any of us feels genuinely safe for a long time.

“Come on, wildcat,” Holden says after a while, holding out his hand. “It’s time to get you cleaned up.”

Twenty minutes later, I’m clean, wearing one of Micah’s T-shirts and back in the middle of the bed with all five men folding themselves around me. There are too many limbs to work out who belongs to what, but Knox’s hand covers my stomach, Micah’s breath warms my shoulder, and Eli’s fingers rest over Micah’s wrist. Somewhere near my knees, Milo whispers that Holden is already snoring.

“I’m awake,” Holden mutters.

“Your unconscious piglet impersonation says otherwise.”

Holden catches Milo by the back of the neck and drags him higher until his head lands against Holden’s chest. Milo makes one pleased little sound, then finally goes quiet.

The cabin can’t come home with us, and neither can the peace, but the five men breathing around me can. And until we have Stephen dead, I’m not going anywhere without them again.

TWENTY-FIVE

HOLDEN

“Home sweet WiFi,” Milo says, dropping two bags in the hallway and making a beeline to his laptop on the kitchen counter. He holds it against his chest like a rescued infant. “I missed you, baby.”

“Is he seriously kissing it?” Micah says, carrying grocery bags past me toward the kitchen.

“Don’t judge me,” Milo says into the laptop. “We’ve been apart. This is a reunion.”

“I planned for feelings,” Micah says. “Just maybe not the kissing electronics kind.”

Knox brings up the rear with the duffel and the rolling suitcase and Sage’s pillow that she stole from the cabin because it “smelled right.”

I stand in the foyer and let them move around me. The house smells of disinfectant and plaster dust, with the faint metallic tang of fresh hardware from the security upgrade beneath it. Every surface has been wiped, every corner swept, until there’s nothing left of us in the air.

It doesn’t smell like home.

“Hey, you.” Sage’s arms wrap around my waist as she presses her face and body against my back, holding on like the house might decide to spit us back out if she lets go.

“It’s weird being here,” she says, voice muffled by my shirt.