Page 77 of Claim & Don't Tell

“Since the first day we met,” I confess.

They both stiffen. Austin’s face contorts, like he’s in pain, and Dylan grunts, like I’ve slugged him in the gut. I avert my gaze and swallow. Austin’s grip tightens around my neck, and my eyes swing back to meet his.

Slowly, his focus moves over my face, taking in every inch before finally stopping on my parted lips. My stomach flutters and my heart slams against my rib cage. Dylan uses his arms to secure me to him and peppers kisses over my shoulder, showing such gentleness for someone so strong.

Austin leans toward me and I stop breathing. With every inch he erases, my body trembles with need. He steals the air between us until a soft exhale from his mouth brushes over my skin. Gooseflesh skitters down my spine, and I stare into his eyes, seeing so much and not enough, all at the same time.

“No more hiding,” he whispers before his lips claim mine.

Austin is patient. More in control than anyone I have ever met. His mouth moves against mine until he coaxes me open, until I give in. It doesn’t take long. All they’ve ever had to do was ask, and I’d do whatever they wanted. So when the first question hidden within his kiss—will you let me in?—brushes over me, the answer is yes.

A thousand times, yes.

His tongue caresses mine, and I moan, knees going weak. Dylan is the only reason I don’t melt into a puddle on the floor. One of his hands splays across my lower stomach, pressing me into his hard body. He’s held me before, but this is different. There are no secrets. There’s no hiding.

He’s my alpha, and nothing has ever felt more right than his body against mine or Austin’s lips taking what’s rightfully his.

I grab Austin’s forearm, clinging to it as his hand stays secured around my throat, locking me in his hold. My lungs begin to burn, and we break apart, his forehead resting against mine.

“Fuck,” he whispers, but not with regret. He pulls back, gazing at me with such openness, I see the alpha struggling with control. I see him beat back his desires. I watch him watch me until his fingers loosen on my throat.

“Don’t go,” I whisper.

“You’ll have to kill me to get me to leave now,” he says, no hint of a smirk on his lips.

My heart warms, but he still pulls away. A hard line forms between my eyebrows, but then Dylan grabs my chin, bringing my lips to meet his, and everything makes sense. Austin wasn’t running. He was sharing.

Dylan isn’t controlled. He consumes me like fire, tasting every inch of my mouth, nipping my lips, pressing his hardened length into my ass until my skin is hot and my core aches. Beneath the towel is a pair of the world’s strongest scent-wicking panties. They’re the only reason my scent isn’t choking us all.

His purr vibrates in his chest and against my back. Though the hand on my stomach is blocked by a towel, his fingers inch down, but he stops himself before he goes farther. He rips his lips from mine, trailing his mouth down my neck and over the mark Brady left behind, and I gasp for air, digging my nails into his skin.

I don’t know how to tell him or Austin that this is everything I want but that I can’t handle it. It’s too soon. My nest is a mess. And my heart, while mostly mended, still hurts.

Dylan’s caresses grow softer and his lips slow down, almost like he’s coaxing himself back from losing control. Everywhere his lips land is a brand. Not a physical mark, but a touch I’ll never forget. Finally, his chin rests on my shoulder.

Austin smirks at me, taking in the flush of my cheeks and the way my chest heaves. “What do you need?”

Me?

“I think I need it all. But right now, I can’t.” I shy away, but Austin’s hand grips my chin, refusing to let me hide.

“Do you want to watchThe Notebook?”

He knows my favorite movie? I expect Dylan to protest or complain, but he’s simply content to hold me. While I love that movie, I’m not sure I can stomach something so heartbreaking. “Not today.”

Austin nods. “ThenScream, it is.”

My stomach flutters. How does he know my favorite movies? Has he been paying as much attention to me as I have them? Was I too blinded by my own inner turmoil to notice them noticing me?

Whatever the reason, it doesn’t matter.

What matters is the way Dylan presses his lips to my skin. What matters is the way Austin’s fingers link with mine.

What matters is that they’re here.

Thirty-Two

BRADY

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