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Lane collapses down onto the bed beside Aldo. “I don’t think there’s a word that exists for how good I feel.”

“Bathroom?” I ask, reluctant to leave, but aware that I need to clean up.

Lane points to a door I hadn’t noticed. “There.”

“What’s the other door for, then?” I ask as I head to the ensuite.

“Storage,” he says, tucking a hand behind his head as he watches me, his bicep flexing with the movement. “Andthatis hot as hell.”

I frown, realizing he’s looking at where Aldo’s release is starting to track down my inner thigh. “Nope. Not hot.”

Aldo laughs. “I’m going to pretend not to be insulted. And for the record, I’m with Lane. Definitely hot.”

Rolling my eyes, I head into the bathroom and clean up. It’s only when I’m standing naked in front of the mirror, washing my hands, my skin washed out by the fluorescent lights, I realize what we’ve just done. I pause, waiting for regret or shame to flood my system, but it doesn’t come. Being with both Lane and Aldo felt . . . right.

When I step back out of the bathroom, I’m not sure what I’ll find, but I’m pleasantly surprised. Both men have pulled their underwear on and are sitting up on the bed with glasses of wine in their hand, a space in the middle for me.

I pull on my panties and camisole and climb up between them, accepting the glass of wine from Lane.

“If this is how we celebrate a win,” he says, leaning to kiss my cheek. “I’m definitely going to be stepping up our training.”

Aldo groans. “Don’t even think about it.”

I smile into my wine, loving how relaxed it feels, like this is something we do all the time. But is it? Was this a one-time thing? We all enjoyed it, but does that mean it can happen again? I want it to. I really, really want it to.

“You okay, Joy?” Aldo asks, his hand smoothing up and down my thigh. “You’re frowning.”

Lane reaches up and rubs his thumb between my brow in a move so familiar it makes my heart swell. “What’s up JoyJoy?”

A lump forms in my throat at the name he used to call me, and I swallow it down. “I was just thinking about this. About us.”

The men share a look across me and Lane’s hand moves to my other thigh. “Are you having regrets?” he asks.

I shake my head. “Hell no. Are either of you?”

Aldo laughs. “Is it possible to regret the hottest night of my life?”

“So,” Lane squeezes my leg, “what’s wrong?”

My face heats as I debate putting my thoughts out there. My mom always says, ‘if you don’t ask, you don’t get’, so I take a breath and ask. “I want this to happen again.”

The silence that follows is probably only a second or two, but it feels like an eternity before Aldo speaks.

“Like, tonight? Or another time?”

My face burns even hotter and I take a sip of wine. “Another time?”

Lane puts his fingers under my chin and tips my face to his, kissing me softly. “If it involves getting to be with you. To touch you. To taste you. I’ll do anything you want.”

“Same,” Aldo says, pressing a kiss to my shoulder. “I mean. Lane’s okay, too.”

I laugh as Lane flips him the bird, but Aldo just winks and wraps an arm around me as he sips his wine.

“This is nice,” Aldo says after a moment of quiet. “Right?”

I lean my head against his shoulder as Lane laces our fingers together on my other side. “Yeah.”

“Really nice,” Lane says, pressing a kiss to my temple.

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