Page 126 of Picture Perfect

Chapter fifty-six

Chess

The rhythmic stroke of my fingers through Addy's hair has become a silent language of comfort between us. She's sprawled across my bed, her head resting in the crook of my arm, and I can feel the tension coiled tight in her shoulders. Each thread of her blonde locks slipping through my fingers seems to weave a new promise—a vow that this time, I'll get it right.

"Chess," she whispers, the sound barely audible over the hum of silence that fills the room.

"Yeah?" My voice is equally hushed, a reverent tone for the fragile moment we're sharing.

"Can you... Can you just keep doing that? It feels nice."

"Always, Addy." And I mean it. Because despite every screw-up, every misstep I've taken with her, there's an unspoken pledge lingering between us—a commitment to mend the fragmented trust. She's worthy of more than what life has thrown at her, and damn it, I'm going to prove that to her.

The door creaks open, cutting through the stillness like a knife. Addy goes rigid beneath my touch, so tense I fear she might shatter. Her breath catches, suspended in a moment of dread.

"Shit," I mutter under my breath, as I realize just what she's afraid of, my own muscles locking as I sit up slightly to peer toward the intrusion.

"Who is it?" Her voice trembles, a delicate leaf in a storm.

The door creaks wider, and the shift in the room's energy is almost tangible. I glance up, my eyes locking with a pair of ice blue ones. His presence sends a ripple through the air, one that seems to buzz. Addy stiffens, but I soothe her with a soft kiss atop her head.

"Hey," I say gently, "it's just Dre."

Her breath catches, and she inches up to look at him, those deep green eyes searching his face. For a second, there's a silent conversation that passes between them—one I know I'm not privy to, but I trust nonetheless. Then, slowly, with a vulnerability that tugs at something inside me, she extends her hand toward him. It's a bridge, a quiet invitation across the chasm of her fears.

Dre steps in, closing the distance with a few prowling strides, and there's this smirk playing on his lips that's all mischief and dark promises. "What? You two were going to start without me?" he teases, his voice a low rumble that seems designed to stir something primal within us.

He doesn't wait for an invitation; Dre never does. He curls up behind Addy, spooning her so close she's practically molded to his chest. The way she gasps, barely audible, tells me all I need to know—his hand has found its way beneath her shirt, tracing patterns on skin that's sensitive to every one of his deliberate touches.

"Missed me, didn't you?" Dre's words are a whisper of sin against Addy's ear, and though I can't see his face, I can imagine the wicked grin he's wearing. I can feel it—the way the air shivers around us, heavy with the anticipation of what's to come.

Dre's lips are a gentle brush of warmth against the hollow of Addy's throat, lingering for a heartbeat before gliding down to the curve of her shoulder. His breath is a whisper against her skin, words meant only for her, lost to the tension-filled silence of the room. I watch, a coil of something dark and urgent tightening in my gut as his fingers curl under the hem of her sleep shirt, lifting it with an unhurried grace that belies the ferocity in his ice-blue gaze.

The fabric slides away, leaving her bare, moonlight casting a celestial glow on her skin. It's a moment of raw vulnerability, and yet she stands unflinching between us.

"Fuck," I curse under my breath, the sight of her like this—open, trusting, fierce—sending a jolt of heat straight through me. Dre continues his quiet litany at her ear, a secret string of words that seem to resonate within her, drawing her closer into our shared orbit.

Addy is nestled between us, a blonde vision with her green eyes closed in bliss as Dre's fingers dance lightly over the soft expanse of her stomach. His lips are close to her ear, whispering words that are meant for her alone, secrets that stir a strange blend of jealousy and arousal within me.

"Chess," she murmurs, her voice barely above a sigh. The sound of my name on her lips sends a shiver down my spine, and I shift slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of Dre's face, to decipher what magic he's spinning with his hushed tones.

Her hands suddenly move, gliding like pale ghosts over my skin, tracing the lines of my abs. My heart pounds.

She looks up at me then, and her eyes—a brilliant, piercing green—are wide and questioning, demanding something from me that I'm all too eager to give.

"Addy," I groan, unable to contain the raw edge in my voice. With a surge of boldness fueled by desire, I lean forward, closing the gap between us. My lips find hers in a kiss that's both an answer and a question—do you want this? Do you feel what I feel?

Her response is immediate, her lips parting beneath mine in a silent plea for more. Our mouths move together in a rhythm that's as old as time yet feels brand new with each brush of our lips. The world beyond this bed, beyond the tangle of limbs and whispered confessions, fades into insignificance.

"God, Chess," Dre's voice cuts through the haze of passion, low and rough. "You two are killing me."

I'm still reeling from the intensity of our kiss when I feel Dre's hand shift, his touch leaving a trail of fire as it descends lower. Addy gasps against my mouth, and the sound is nearly my undoing. Her hips press forward, seeking more, and I know exactly what she's found.

"Chess," Dre's voice is thick with lust. “Fuck, you should feel how wet she is for us.”

His words send a jolt through me, and I break away from Addy's lips to catch my breath. My gaze locks with hers, her eyes wide and filled with an intoxicating mix of fear and excitement.

Our gazes lock, the air thick and practically vibrating with unspoken promises. Her eyes are wild with desire; pupils dilated to the extreme until everything else is swallowed by darkness. Dre retracts those glistening fingers from her warm center earning a whimper of protest from our girl.

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