Page 95 of Reckless Hearts

Up, over the curve of my thigh. Just under the hem of my shorts.

He’s not touching me, not really. But it’s everything. Every pass leaves me twitching, breath shallow, hips angling ever so slightly toward him. The ache in my core builds with every stroke.

I grab my drink with both hands, hoping no one can see how flushed I am. How hard I’m gripping the glass. How much I’m trembling.

Colt leans back like nothing’s happening, like he’s not slowly unraveling me in front of a crowd. He’s still chatting with the guys across the table, voice smooth and steady as ever.

Maverick notices. He always notices.

His eyes track Colt’s hand beneath the table, then flick up to mine. I’m caught in his stare, dark, unreadable, and I swear I stop breathing. His gaze drops to my parted lips, then lower to where Colt’s hand still rests, stroking slow circles against the inside of my thigh.

Maverick’s jaw flexes… and then he moves.

His hand slides beneath the tabletop and wraps around my other thigh.

A full-body shiver races through me.

His grip is firm, anchoring me in place as his fingers inch higher. My legs are trapped between them now. Colt’s heat on one side, Maverick’s steadiness on the other. I can’t move. Can’t hide. All I can do is sit still and try not to come undone in the middle of a packed bar.

When I shift just slightly, chasing the pressure, their knuckles brush.

Colt’s breath catches, and Maverick’s hand freezes in place.

I watch Colt’s fingers twitch, a faint tremble betraying the tension in his hand. He doesn’t pull away.

A pause. A heartbeat.

Maverick doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe.

Then gently, like he’s afraid to startle him, Maverick slides his finger along the seam between Colt’s.

A silent question left hanging between them.

I don’t dare breathe as I wait for what happens next, my skin tingling beneath their palms and my chest tightening with anticipation.

Kissing is one thing. It’s fire and heat and lust. It can be blamed on the moment, on instinct.

Holding hands is sweet. Caring. Tender.

Maverick’s left himself wide open, vulnerable as the moments tick by. But he doesn’t push or pull away, just keeps running his knuckles over Colt’s, making his intentions clear.

Giving Colt the room and the power to decide what happens next.

Colt stays frozen, caught in the moment, thenslowlyopens his fingers.

Welcoming.

The air catches in my lungs as Maverick threads his fingers between Colt’s.

No teasing. No swagger.

Just quiet, trembling closeness.

It’s somehow more intimate than anything we’ve done.

Maybe I’m drunk. Maybe the alcohol has made me too soft, too open, but I swear the whole world shifts in that moment.

Because I know what it cost them to get here.

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