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The first punch of my hips doesn’t make it any better.

He grunts, the muscles in his back flexing, while Veritywhines.

I run a palm down the span of his spine with one hand while the other seeks out her ankle, guiding it to my hip. She immediately catches on, her long, elegant legs winding around me and Wick as if we were one, writhing entity.

And that’s exactly what we become.

I roll my hips into his, which rolls his hips into her. It might be the first time I’ve ever felt truly spoiled, having the two of them, so achingly beautiful, under my mercy. I grab Wicker’s hips and fuck him just the way I know he likes—deep and forceful—and in response, he fucks Verity in the same way, my movements dictating his.

The spot of skin below his nape is salty when I taste it, the sweat building between us. It’s not the best angle, but I wouldn’t know it from the sounds Wicker is making, deep and body-wracking. It’s all-consuming.

“How….” Verity is gasping, “how does it feel?”

The backs of Wicker’s ears go a vivid pink. He doesn’t blush for just anything. “Like he’s filling every part of me,” he grits, a particular wildness to his words. He touches her neck, fingers splayed against her flushed skin. “It feels like he’s giving it to me so I can give it to you.”

Some spark of excitement in Verity’s expression collapses into desperation. “Because you're ours,” she says, plucking a wet kiss from his parted lips. “Aren’t you?”

“I’m…” Wicker stutters, reaching back to clutch my thigh. “Fuck. Fuck, Pace, I’m going to?—”

“Wait,” I grunt, reaching around to hold him. My mouth slides against the curve of his cheek. “Come with us.”

I already know it won’t take much for Verity, but I still reach between them to find her clit, beckoning her closer to the precipice. From my vantage, I can just barely catch the pinch of his brow as she seizes, the first wave of my orgasm slamming into me. I use the force to punch into him, holding him there as my cock surges.

Wicker’s eyes fly open, locking with Verity’s. “Oh, fuck,” he gasps, grabbing her chin to find her gaze. “I can feel it. Both of you. It’s—fuck!”

I know he’s coming just by the feel of it, his ass clenching around me as he empties into her. She rises up, the best she can with her belly pushed between them, and captures my mouth with hers. The kiss is long and lazy, tongue sweeping around mine, and I feel the press of Wick’s lips against my throat.

“Hey,” he says, once we’ve cleaned Verity up and taken her to bed. She dozes off instantly, her body curled between us. “We’re always brothers, you know that, right?”

I turn, seeking out his gaze in the dim light. “Yeah, I do.”

“What the three of us went through together, no one takes that away. Not a King,” he quirks an eyebrow, “and definitely not a fucking Duke.”

Nodding, I say, “I know. It just got under my skin for a second.”

He leans back into the pillow, body shifting to look at me. “Hey, I just realized something.” At my questioning hum, he adds, “You haven’t checked security once since we got back.”

“Huh.” I wait for the panic to hit, the stress and worry, the compulsive need to just gocheck, but it doesn’t come. I’m met with an unfamiliar sensation buried deep in my chest. It’s warm and lax and void of fear.

I think it might be contentment.

Even though I’m exhausted,both mentally and physically, I don’t fall asleep when they do. We’re in the main bedroom now and Verity’s curled into my side, her hand on my stomach, using me as a body pillow. Wick’s on her other side, face buried into the back of her neck.

I watch them, feeling somewhat foolish at my insecurities, but a part of me understands that’s the result of Father’s parenting. Being his discarded sons—it’s the thing that brought us together. It’s all we know. We wear the name Ashby like a badge, but we feel it like a wound.

After he’s gone, there’ll be nothing else.

Nothing but this.

I flatten my palm over the baby, making a mental promise never to do to him what Father did to us—making us feel unfit in our skin. I stay that way until the sound of Lex’s footsteps draw my eyes to the door. He lingers there for a long moment, his eyes sweeping over the bed, quiet and assessing. Somehow healwaysknows. I wouldn’t put it past him to have stayed downstairs longer, just to give us some time.

“Is it true?” I ask before he crosses the threshold.

“Yes.” He answers, eyes darkening. “But it doesn’t change anything.”

“I guess not.” I stroke Verity’s hair. Blood and last names mean everything in Forsyth, but neither can touch this. The way she chases my touch, even in sleep. How Wicker chases her, a divot digging into his brow. The twitch of Lex’s fingers as he watches him, like he’s anxious to get into bed alongside us. “They’re still ours,” I finally accept.

“They are,” he agrees, so easily, as if it’d never occurred to him otherwise.