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“Such a good girl,” Evan pants. “Taking both of us like you were made for it.”

“She was,” Dean growls. “Look at her. Look how pretty she is when she comes.”

And I do. I come hard, back arched, body shaking, crying out as pleasure shreds through me like lightning. They don’t stop until I collapse between them, ruined and soaked and still greedy.

They follow soon after. Dean first, slamming up into me with a choked curse as he spills inside me. Evan second, groaning against my shoulder as he pulses deep in my ass, holding me so tight I swear he’s trying to become part of me.

We stay there for a moment, all three of us tangled under the water, breathing like we’ve survived a war.

Then Dean kisses my temple. “Still sore?”

I laugh, half-delirious. “You have to be kidding.”

Evan chuckles low.

Dean carries me out of the shower like I weigh nothing, my legs limp, arms slung around his neck, head lolling against his shoulder in that blissed-out haze I love so much.

Behind us, Evan grabs towels, wrapping one around his waist and draping another over my shoulders like he’s claiming me too. His hands brush over my skin as he follows, casual and possessive all at once.

They don’t speak at first. They just move in sync, Dean lowering me gently onto the bed, Evan pulling back the covers. I melt into the mattress, still warm and dripping, every nerve softly singing.

Dean towels off my hair while Evan kneels beside me, rubbing lotion into my legs like I might fall apart if he’s not careful.

“Holden’s gonna wake up in a few hours,” Dean murmurs, thumb stroking along my temple.

“And Brock’s probably already awake and brooding,” Evan adds, his hand skimming up my thigh. “You feeding your new boys?”

“You wanted French toast.” I grin, eyes still half-lidded. “Dean likes eggs and bacon on toast. I was thinking pancakes and sausage for Brock. And Holden feels like a black coffee and steak kind of man.”

Dean leans in and kisses my shoulder, teeth grazing just a little. “You’ve already got it all planned out.”

“Of course I do,” I say, like it should be obvious. “I’ve been dreaming about this. My boys. My home. My kitchen full of coffee and carbs and chaos.”

Evan huffs a quiet laugh and tosses the towel aside before slipping under the covers with me. “You’re insane, you know that?”

“Maybe.” I stretch, letting them curl around me on both sides like wolves. “But tell me you’re not into it.”

Dean’s palm slides over my belly, lazy and warm. “I’m so into it I might need another round before breakfast.”

Evan smirks, brushing my hair off my cheek. “You’re gonna spoil us.”

“I am spoiling you,” I whisper, kissing the corner of Evan’s mouth, then Dean’s jaw. “After a nap… we cook. We clean. We snuggle. And maybe, maybe, we go snatch ourselves a farmer.”

Dean groans. “God, I love it when you talk logistics.”

Chapter Thirteen

Maple

I’ve got a plate full of pancakes stacked like a carb-based peace treaty, two perfectly browned sausage links, and a mug of black coffee in his favorite scratched-up steel mug, because I’m thoughtful. Orange juice too, fresh-squeezed, not that bottled garbage. If I’m going to spoil him, I’m going to do it right.

Dean and Evan are still in the kitchen, half-dressed and busy pretending like steak at 6 a.m. is a normal thing. Dean offered to walk down the hall with me to ‘keep Brock in line,’ he said with that filthy grin that still makes my knees a little wobbly, but that’ll never work. Brock’s not the kind of man you can intimidate. He’s the kind of man who stares down grizzlies and probably wins.

No, Brock’s going to take a little work. A little finesse. A few days of proper meals and sincere threats and some light bondage. He’ll come around.

Eventually.

Right now, he’s shouting. Real ragey. Filthy words too, and not the good kind of filthy, the kind that sounds like he means it, like if he weren’t chained to my reinforced bedframe he might actually try to kill me.