Page 50 of Filthy Rich Single Daddies

"Of course," Cohen replies, his voice a soothing balm to the chaos of my thoughts.

We shuffle back and forth, our arms laden with pieces of my life packed away in cardboard containers. It’s quiet andmethodical, thank fuck. I’m not sure I’m able to form coherent thoughts anymore. Being surrounded by them is a lot, too much, maybe. How am I going to survive living with them through the end of the summer?

"Where do you want the rest of these?" Cohen nods toward the pile that's rapidly outgrowing the confines of my new room.

"Umm..." I glance around, seeking a solution.

"Use the garage for now," Austin's voice cuts through the confusion, steady and sure. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyes hidden behind the veil of dusk. “Anything you don’t need day-to-day can be stored there.”

"Thanks," I say, though it feels inadequate for the sanctuary he’s offering, even if it's just a corner of his garage.

"Let's move them before it gets too dark," Theo suggests, ever the pragmatist beneath his carefree exterior.

I nod, feeling the strain in my muscles as we shift the less essential items into the cavernous space of the garage. Everything has its place, ordered by Austin's unerring sense of structure, yet he's granted me this small pocket of disorder within his world.

"Looks like that's the last of it," Cohen says, wiping his brow with the back of his hand.

"Thank you both, really." My gratitude is genuine, a warmth that spreads through the fatigue.

"Anytime, Skylar." Theo grins, but there's an edge of something else in his gaze—a promise or perhaps a warning.

The cardboard flaps give way beneath my fingers as I peel back the seal of yet another box, the scent of dust and old paper mingling in the air. My hands work methodically, unpackingbooks and trinkets, each item adding to my new space, taking it from a blank slate to something that more closely resembles me.

I try to pretend that Cohen and Theo aren’t lingering, watching, waiting—for what, I don’t know. My skin feels heated and too tight. Their eyes follow my every movement, and I’m nearly ready to combust. It doesn’t help that my dirty, filthy mind has wandered into dangerous territory. I know what both of them look like naked, what they feel like moving inside me, the noises they make when they come.

What if they shared me? What if, instead of this tense, unspoken staring contest, they decided to take what they both clearly want—together?

Heat coils low in my stomach, my mind rocketing at the thought. It’s reckless, ridiculous. And yet, the idea lingers, wrapping around me like a slow, sultry whisper. I shake my head, forcing myself back to reality, but the damage is done.

I can’t unthink it. Can’t unfeel the way my body reacts to the mere possibility.

And worst of all? I don’t know if I want the thought to disappear.

"Need a hand with that?" Theo's voice is smooth, the smile on his face more than obvious in his voice.

"Thanks, but I've got it," I reply without looking up. "Really, you guys should go enjoy your evening. I'll be fine here."

“You’ve got a lot to unpack, Skylar. We don’t mind helping.”

“And I appreciate that, I do. But, it’s been a long couple of days. I’m…I honestly wouldn’t mind the time alone to unpack.”

“Okay.” Cohen's footsteps retreat, his acceptance quiet but clear.

Theo, however, remains—a silent figure lingering on the edge of my periphery. His presence weaves a thread of tension through the calm I am desperately trying to maintain.

"Skylark," he starts, and there's something in the way he says my name, a depth to his voice that resonates with memories long locked away. "I can't tell you how excited I am to have you close."

His words hang in the air, weighted with implications I'm not ready to confront. I stiffen, every muscle coiled tight as I force myself to meet his intense green gaze.

"Being in the same house doesn't change anything, Theo," I say, my tone clipped. The walls around my heart stand firm, impenetrable. "There are still boundaries. This is still casual."

He studies me for a moment, those eyes trying to peel back the layers I've worked so hard to build. But then, with a nod, he concedes, stepping back.

"Of course," he agrees, though the curve of his lips suggests he's not entirely convinced. "Just know that I'm here. Whenever you're ready."

He steps closer, the air between us charged with an undeniable energy. His gaze roams over me like a caress. "Maybe," he murmurs, the corner of his mouth quirking up suggestively. "But I can't wait to be inside you. Do you think you can be quiet for me? We wouldn’t want to wake anyone."

Heat floods my cheeks, and I'm torn between indignation and arousal. It's a game we play—a dance of desire and defiance. "You're incorrigible," I manage, my voice steady despite the quickening of my pulse.

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