Page 163 of Ironwood Ranch Cowboys

Except nobody moves.

Duke’s hand slides up my spine slowly beneath my cardigan. Cody’s thumb traces once against my hip. And the tension that’s been building for weeks finally stops pretending it isn’t alive.

I open my mouth, but I don’t have words, only instinct. I drag Cody down by the collar and kiss him like I’m staking a claim.

He gives it right back, biting, desperate, the tension in his hands not just permission but a plea for more.

Duke is behind me again, bracketing my shoulders with his arms. His breath is hot at my neck. Then he whips me off my feet to carry me inside.

The front steps are a blur. I barely register the throw of the door, the scrape of boots on tile, the fast, silent communication between the three of them. Eyes darting, hands guiding, a choreography born from unspoken agreements and the loudest kind of want.

And I’m not the one outthinking the moment. I’m just in it.

Duke dumps me on the entryway table, sending the jar of pens flying, and just laughs when one shatters on the floor, blue ink running down the leg like blood.

He slaps his palms to the surface at my hips and leans in, mouth open, already greedy. I see his eyes flick up to my face, checking if he’s pushing too far, and I reach up, knot my hands in the hair at his nape, and pull him closer.

My mouth is already bruised, already raw, and the night has barely started.

Cody and Silas flank Duke, their faces set.

Silas’s voice is a low command. “Spread your knees.”

I do, table digging into the backs of my thighs, cardigan already half-off, bra strap slipping from my shoulder.

I should feel caught or on display. Maybe I do, but it’s ignited by their eyes on me, their hands already taking liberties. There’s no pretending I’m not loving this. I tilt my chin up, defiant and wanton all at once.

Cody is the one who palms my jaw first, tipping my face toward his. The kiss is less desperate this time, more like he’s slowing down just to torture us both.

The tip of his tongue traces my bottom lip and I shudder, which makes me want him more, which he registers, of course.

Cody’s mouth shapes a small, self-satisfied sound into my lips, then he slides two fingers into my hair and grips tight. I’m not sure if he’s holding me in place or holding himself back.

Behind me, I can feel Duke’s hands sliding up, catching bare skin under my shirt. The way he hooks his thumb into the waist of my jeans, not hesitating, reminds me exactly who I’m dealing with.

He’s a menace, but he’s my menace, and he’s already tugging fabric down, exposing me to the cold air and the sizzling gazes of everyone in the foyer.

Silas’s hands land heavy on my knees. He spreads them wider, then steps close enough that his thigh presses right between mine, pinning me in place on the table.

I look up at him. His jaw is set, his eyes black in the low light, cheeks flushed with want.

He leans in, his mouth right at my ear, and murmurs, “You take everything, huh, Annie?”

The question is rhetorical. His teeth scrape my lobe, and I shiver, which only encourages the other men in the room.

Duke has my jeans off before I can process, and his hands are all over my thighs, rough and playful, one palm splayed at the back of my knee, bending it even higher, the other cupping under and dragging me closer to the edge of the table.

I’m already slick, already shaking a little with how much I want this, how much I want all of them, right now.

Cody’s the one who notices first; his lips brush my temple, then he looks down and smirks, this pained sound breaking in his throat.

“She’s already wet for it,” he says, and it’s not even meant for me.

Duke laughs, delighted, and then he’s between my legs, his face buried in me, tongue greedy, hands bruising on my hips.

I gasp and try to cover my mouth, but Silas catches my wrist and pins it flat to the table.

“Let them hear you,” he says.