Page 57

"JJ, I swear to God—"

Daddy changed his rhythm, and whatever Sawyer had been about to say dissolved into a low, rough sound he didn't even try to hold back this time. His hand fisted in the sheets beside him, knuckles going white.

"There you go," Daddy murmured, his voice low and warm in the quiet room. "That's it, baby. Let me hear you."

Sawyer's hips lifted off the mattress. Just once, a short movement into Daddy's hand, and then his whole body went tense — shoulders, thighs, jaw — before he came with a rough exhale that sounded like it had been pulled out of him against his will. His hand clenched in the sheets, his chest heaved under my palm, and Daddy held him through every second of it, his other hand coming up to cup Sawyer's jaw.

"Good boy," Daddy said, right against Sawyer's temple.

I couldn't help myself. I never could.

"Your face," I said, my voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Sawyer, your face was — holy shit. You looked like you were trying to solve a quadratic equation while getting a surprise prostate exam."

I felt the rumble of his groan. "JJ, I will end you."

"No you won't," I chirped, patting his chest. "You're all gooey and post-orgasmic. Your threat capacity is currently at, like, a two."

"Shut up," Sawyer said, but there was no heat in it. His breath was still coming hard, his chest rising and falling under my hand, and when he opened his eyes and looked at me, the irritation was already dissolving into something warmer and more tired.

I pressed a kiss to his jaw. He didn't pull away. He never did. "Love you," I whispered.

He exhaled, long and slow, and his hand came up to ruffle my hair.

"Love you too, you little menace."

Across the bed, Mikey was still watching with his green eyes, his composure doing a terrible job of hiding the flush that had spread across his cheekbones. He'd been pressing closer to Daddy's side by degrees, his body curving toward the warmth without seeming to notice he was doing it.

I caught his eye and grinned. He didn't grin back, but the corner of his mouth twitched, and that was enough.

Daddy's hand was still on Sawyer, gentle now, soothing him through the aftershocks.

I settled back against Sawyer's side, my hand still on his chest, and watched Daddy's face. He was looking at Sawyer with that soft expression he got.

That was the thing about Daddy. He held all of us, all the time, in exactly the ways we needed to be held. Even when we were being absolute disasters — which, let's be honest, was most of the time — he held us. I pressed my face into Sawyer's shoulder and breathed him in, and for a minute, I didn't say anything at all.

Daddy's eyes found mine, and everything in the room narrowed to a point.

Just like that. One second I was pressed against Sawyer's shoulder, and the next I was very aware of Daddy looking at me. My mouth went dry. My bottom lip found its way between my teeth, and I bit down without meaning to, and I couldn't look away from his face.

He knew. Of course he knew. He always knew.

"Want your turn, baby?" he asked quietly, holding out his hand.

"Yes, Daddy, please."

I went. My body moved before my brain had time to catch up, sliding across the sheets toward him, and Daddy's hands settled on my hips, turning me and pressing me back against the pillows. The mattress dipped under his weight as he moved over me, and my hands — my stupid, fluttery hands — went to his shoulders and then away, to the sheets, to my own chest, anywhere and nowhere, because I couldn't decide whether to hold on or let go. The indecision made me want to laugh except I couldn't breathe enough to laugh.

Daddy's mouth found my stomach. His beard scraped warm against my skin, and I made an embarrassingly high sound, immediately thinking of Sawyer listening to me — and my hips twitched up off the mattress before I could stop them. Daddy's hand came down on my hip, firm and heavy, holding me steady.

"Stay," he said, and the word went through me like a current.

His mouth moved lower. Every press of his lips against my skin felt like he was taking his time because he had all the time in the world.

Across the bed, I was vaguely aware of Mikey and Sawyer. They'd shifted, Mikey leaning against Sawyer's side now, Sawyer's arm loose around his shoulders, both of them watching, perfectly happy to enjoy the show. There was something proprietary in it, something warm and smug, and under any other circumstances I would have made a comment about it, would have teased them for staring, would have—

Daddy's mouth closed around me, and every thought in my head dissolved at once into a moan, a laugh, my hips jerking against Daddy's hand hard enough that I felt the mattress shift under us. Daddy held me steady, his grip unwavering, and whatever part of my brain was still capable of forming complete sentences shut down entirely.

What came out instead was: