Page 149 of Seizing Control: Part Two

Lily moves her leg in a silent request, so I slide my knee between her thighs. She’s facing her husband, yet I know I am just as connected with her as he is. Dumb as it sounds, I can feel her love. Like it’s a living, breathing entity, an invisible cord that bonds us together. It has linked us since the day she was born, and it will until we exhale for the final time.

“I love you,” my sweet thing whispers. She links our fingers, then pulls the arm that lays loosely over her waist tight. “More than you know.”

“To Neptune and back,” I murmur into her hair. “That’s how much I love you.”

Shoulders shaking, she buries her face into Slash’s neck to hide her mirth. “I should smack Hunter for teaching you that.”

“Do it.” I nuzzle her ear, nipping at her lobe before I quip, “He thinks it’s hilarious.”

“He would.” When Lily drags in a deep breath, I close my eyes, bracing for the same sentiment to be expressed toward her husband. It comes, quicker than expected, as the tension between them makes her humour evaporate in the next instant. “I love you, Slash.”

The mattress sways while my sweet thing snuggles closer to my rival.

Closing my eyes, I block out their interactions.

I’m okay with sharing Lily’s body and her heart with him.

Doesn’t mean I want a front row seat to their union.

“Fuck, baby... I love you more.”

“Impossible.”

Lily’s objection hangs in the air.

Unchallenged.

Silently denied... by us both.

She loves us—different but equal.

But the truth will always be undeniable.

We love her most.

If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be here.

27

LILY

My leaking breasts wake me up before Garrett stirs. It’s a strange feeling, tender with a heaviness that is out of proportion with the extra size of my chest. My boobs feel like they’re about to burst out of my maternity bra, and the ache makes me miss the twins. The urge to get back to them becomes overwhelming. Even though my newborns are getting stronger by the day, they need me with them.

Garrett deserves my attention too.

He’s had months exclusively with me. I missed him every day I spent in hospital, especially those first few days where I couldn’t lift him. I’m being pulled in two directions, and I don’t know how long it’s going to last. Although he’s made a lot of progress, it’s going to take weeks for Ezra to reach his birth weight so he can come home. Tiny as a doll, Asher is still in an enclosed incubator. My daughter still requires oxygen, and her temperature and other vitals are constantly monitored. I haven’t even held her yet, which makes my heart ache with emptiness.

Once more, I’m trapped.

Physically by the sleeping forms of the men I love.

Emotionally, I’m caught between the competing needs of my children.

When the need to express becomes dire, I try to escape the arm that Lazarus has circled around my ribs, only to find myself held tighter. He’s spooning me from behind, with his morning wood pressed against my backside. My husband continues to sleep, aroused like my first love, the hard evidence hard against my thigh as the sharp ridges of his piercings threaten to rip through the thin material of his boxers. Facing me, with the fingers of one hand gripping my t-shirt in a fist and his other arm covering his eyes, he appears haunted. Despite the strain in his features, after months of watching Garrett sleep, it makes me smile to realise that his favourite position mimics his dad’s.

As quickly as my amusement dawns, it dies.

This is a repeat of the scene in the elevator yesterday.

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