Page 145 of What We Become

She nods, biting her lip, her body already leaning into mine.

I lean down, my voice low in her ear but loud enough for Knox to hear. “Hey, Knox—want to know if she’s wet for you?”

He pauses mid-lift, another weight plate in his grip, and meets my eyes over her shoulder. A slow, feral grin tugs at his mouth. “Yeah. I do.”

That’s all the invitation I need. I slide my hand down the front of her pants, dipping beneath her panties, and find her soaked, slick heat that makes her gasp and arch against my fingers. She’s dripping down my knuckles before I’ve even moved them.

“She’s fucking drenched,” I report, my voice rough as I circle her clit, feeling her tremble. “All from watching you sweat.”

Knox’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t stop—he carries the plate to the rack and reaches for another, muscles rippling as he resumes the setup. “Take care of her for me, Eli. Make her come hard.”

I don’t hesitate. I work her with deliberate strokes, two fingers sliding inside while my thumb works her clit, fast, because slow would be a kindness and she didn’t ask for one. She moans, gripping my arm for balance, her hips rocking into my hand as Knox keeps going, assembling the rack with focused power, his eyes flicking to us every few seconds like he’s fueling himself on her sounds.

“Fuck, Eli—yes,” she whimpers, her walls clenching around me, and I curl my fingers deeper, hitting that spot that makes her shatter. She comes with a sharp cry, her body shuddering against mine, soaking my hand as the orgasm rips through her. “Knox! Please!”

The moment he hears her beg for him, Knox lets the next plate hit the rubber mat with a thud and strides over, his sweat-slicked chest heaving. He yanks open his fly, freeing his thick cock, already rock-hard and straining. “Open, Fury.”

She drops to her knees instantly, mouth parting eagerly, and takes him in deep, her tongue swirling as she sucks him off with that fierce hunger she reserves for him. I kneel behind her, shifting her position and shoving her pants and panties down over her hips. Then I free myself and thrust into her slick heat from behind in one smooth motion.

She grips Knox’s thighs and moans around him, the vibration making him groan and grip her hair, guiding her rhythm while I pound into her, matching his pace.

We claim her like this, Knox fucking her mouth while I drive into her pussy, the garage echoing with our grunts and her muffled cries. She comes again first, clenching around me so tight it pulls my release, and I spill inside her with a curse. Knox follows seconds later, thrusting deep and coming down her throat, his hand fisting her hair as he growls, “Fury.”

We pull out slowly, helping her up, and she stands between us, flushed and sated, a wicked smile on her lips. “I can just tell this is about to become my favorite room in the house,” she says, voice hoarse.

“Second to Milo’s fuck pit,” I tease, and she laughs.

“Second to the fuck pit.”

Knox chuckles, low and satisfied, tucking himself away before pulling her into a kiss. I watch them, already planning how we’ll break in that heavy bag next—maybe with her bent over it while we take turns.

Later, after we’ve cleaned up and Knox has gone back to the setup, Sage curls against me on the couch again, her head in my lap. The files are still scattered across the coffee table. Waldock on top.

“You think we’ll get Waldock clean?” she asks, tracing patterns on my thigh.

I nod, combing my fingers through her hair. “With you on the team? Absolutely.”

She hums, satisfied, and her eyes drift shut. Within five minutes her breathing changes. Slower. Deeper. The fight leaves her body in stages, her hand going slack against my leg, her mouth softening.

I let her sleep for a while. The house settles around us. Knox finishes in the garage and comes through to the kitchen. I hear him wash his hands, open the fridge, close it. His footsteps pause near the living room door, and I know without looking that he’s watching her sleep in my lap.

“I’ll take her up,” he says.

“I’ve got her.”

Knox doesn’t argue. He goes upstairs. I hear the shower start.

I gather the files one-handed, stacking Ayre and Waldock into one pile with the rest in another. Sage doesn’t stir. Not even when I ease her off my lap and scoop her up, her head lolling against my shoulder, one hand curling into my shirt.

I carry her upstairs. The bedroom is warm from the late afternoon light that’s been pooling in it all day. Knox’s thermal is draped over the foot of the bed. Milo’s laptop is on the nightstand, screen dark. Micah’s book lies spine-up on the dresser, half-read. Evidence of all of us in one room.

I set her on the giant bed. Pull the covers up. She turns onto her side and reaches for her favorite pillow, dragging it against her chest.

“Stay,” she murmurs, half-asleep.

“I’m here.”

“No. Stay in the bed.”