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I smile. “Communion.”

That shuts him up.

Ezra’s hand settles at my waist. “Sure?”

I look at him.

One year later. Still asking. Always asking.

“Yes.”

Malakai takes my hand. Rhett follows and we go inside.

God, I love when their hands are on me.

We don’t make it to a bedroom.

Rhett kicks the living room door shut behind us, and the sound cracks through the darkened house.

The only light comes from the fire Ezra must have built before dinner. It burns low in the hearth, throwing gold across the room and catching on Malakai’s scars, Rhett’s shoulders, the hard line of Ezra’s jaw.

For a moment, nobody moves.

Then Rhett looks at me.

“Communion,” he repeats slowly. “You sure you know what you’re asking for, Keeper?”

I smile.

That word doesn’t frighten me anymore.

Neither does this.

“I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

I grab the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head.

Three sets of eyes follow.

My tank top goes next.

Then my bra.

But when my hands reach for my skirt, Ezra catches my wrist.

“No.”

I look up at him.

His mouth curves slightly.

“You started this.” He releases me. “Now let us.”

Fuck.

Rhett is behind me before I can answer.

His mouth finds my shoulder while his fingers work slowly at my skirt. Malakai steps in front of me, watching as Rhett pushes the fabric down my hips.