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“I thought…” I flick my eyes to a confused Wicker. “You said you couldn’t sleep in the same bed with me without… uh, doing that.” At the time, it seemed like a threat, only now I realize a part of me had heard it like a promise. Earlier, when they all slid into bed after me, I was secretly expecting it.

But it never came.

Wicker catches on, his chest vibrating with a groan. “I’m about to lose my cuddle privileges so you can soak your cock, aren’t I? Man, this is just like that time you tried to play center.” Sighing, he begins to extricate himself from me.

“Wait.” I grab his arm, alarmed. “You don’t have to leave.”

Wicker gives me an odd look, his hair all mussed. “I’m just making room.” But then he pinches my chin between his forefinger and thumb, searching my eyes. “Ah, I know that look. You had a bad dream, didn’t you?” he asks, voice gruff. “You scared the hell out of us.”

Exhaling, I nod. “Like you wouldn’t believe. I think I scared the hell out of myself.” I shiver as his thumb strokes the edge of my jaw. “Thank God you were all here. I think I’d still be twisted up.”

In my periphery, I can see Pace slowly shucking his jeans, but it doesn’t register. Not when Wicker has me pinned under the weight of his blue eyes. His lashes are fascinating, long and blonde, and they fan out over his pink cheek when he dips down to brush a kiss against my lips.

It’s gentle, lacking that hungry antagonism that usually throbs between us. I’ve learned the reason he’s so good at kissing is that it’s the one time he allows all of his emotions to pour out. Anger, annoyance, lust, even the few occasions he’s having fun. I know what Wicker’s feeling because he shows me with his kiss.

But this one is stilted and new, the kiss soft and jarringly cautious, like he’s testing out some unspoken boundary. His or mine? I never know.

When we pull apart, Pace is standing at the foot of the bed, boxers gone. “Shit. The two of you look…” He clamps down on the descriptor. It’s not often Pace lets me do the looking, putting his finely sculpted body, miles of warm brown skin, on welcome display for me. Right now, he’s gripping his cock, the muscles in his abs flexing with a slow, indulgent stroke.

Wicker follows my gaze because he lets loose a deep, lazy chuckle. “Yeah, my boy’s got a nice piece, doesn’t he? Not as nice as mine, granted. But we’ve had some good times.”

I squirm at the sight—not to mention the thought—and wait for Pace to crawl into bed, to pull me flush against his body and fill me.

But he just lifts his chin, his dark eyes holding mine. “Wick,” he says, “get her ready for me.”

I stiffen, eyes snapping to Wicker. The two of us have been at a sexual standoff for months. Other than the one night we shared in this bed with Pace and our weirdly vicious nighttime cuddles, we’ve been firmly in the no-sex zone.

But there’s no denying Pace’s command makes my belly flutter, warmth building between my legs.

Wicker looks at his brother, then back at me. Quickly, he says, “I didn’t put him up to that.”

“You didn’t have to,” Pace says, running his hand over his shaft. “You haven’t busted a nut in weeks, have you?”

Shifting, Wicker frowns, the crease in his brow oddly annoyed. “Okay, so I’m building some character.”

“You’re starving it,” Pace replies. “Your wet dreams are back, and every time she touches you, you look like you’re taking a hit of Scratch.” Pace and I exchange a look, but mine must be utterly stunned. The thought of Wicker not even jerking off in weeks? No wonder his brother is worried. “Rosi?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, my tongue feeling too thick.

“You don’t have to let him fuck you,” he says, dipping his chin. “He can touch you. Or,” he pauses, likely noticing the way my eyes drop to the tent in Wicker’s boxers, “you can touch him. Use your mouth, even.”

Wicker sucks in a quiet, sharp breath, the muscles in his core tightening.

“Is that what you want?” I ask Wick, feeling this need to allow him a decision, even though it’s an absurd question. For a moment, I feel like Lex. I can see the skin across his jugular thrumming. Pupils dilated. Mouth slackening.

I know he wants it.

“Do I want to see your mouth on my cock?” He thumbs my bottom lip, eyes darkening when my mouth parts. “Goddamn, Red, I’d probably sell my soul for your hand.”

Immediately, I turn, throwing a leg over his.

“That’s right,” Pace breathes, the cordy muscle in his forearm shifting with another indulgent stroke. “Show me your ass while you go down on him.”

Wicker’s chest expands with eager breaths, body shifting as I settle between his legs. His thighs are thick, the hair scattered over them golden, just like his feathery lashes. Without hesitation, he grabs for my gown, eyes hungry as he lifts it over my head. This leaves me kneeling before him in nothing but the white lace panties he bought for me.

“Fuck.” He falls back against the headboard, blue eyes drinking me in as I do the same. “Not that your tits weren’t great before, but they’ve really become something else.”

He touches them like he can’t bear to take them in all at once, fingertips caressing them in a teasing, downward stroke. I think I know the feeling. Sometimes it hurts to look at him, like staring into the sun too long. Nothing this perfect could possibly be appreciated all at once. From the ladder of his abs to the flawless skin, Wicker is just what I told him before.