Page 70 of Daddies' Holiday Toy

They close in then, Liam to my left, Reece to my right.

Reece doesn’t touch me right away.

He just leans in, close enough that I catch the faint, clean scent of his aftershave.

It’s crisp and devastatingly male.

His arm lifts, hand bracing against the back of the couch so he can lean over me, effectively caging me in without actually touching me.

My heart’s beating so loud, I’m almost certain they can hear it.

Liam’s approach is different.

He slides onto the couch beside me like he’s done it a hundred times before this—like this is already his spot to claim.

His palm settles on my thigh, the heat of it burning my bare skin.

My t-shirt only reaches to my mid-thigh, giving him plenty of places to touch without lifting it.

Then his fingers tighten, making my breath hitch before I can stop it.

Jack stays rooted in his chair a few feet away, his hands clenched on the armrests.

His chest rises and falls too fast, his gaze is locked on us. Angry, conflicted, but not once moving to stop us.

Guess we’re putting on a show.

“You sure?” Reece’s gaze pins me in place.

“Say it again,” Liam murmurs, his thumb brushing a slow arc over my leg.

“I’m sure.” My voice is steady. “I want this.”

Something passes between them, an almost imperceptible shift, a silent understanding, then whatever thin thread of restraint was holding them back snaps.

Liam’s hand moves up to my hip, fingers spreading with possessiveness.

Reece’s palm moves to the back of my neck, his thumb brushing just under my ear.

My breath hitches at the double hit of them both.

They glance at each other over my head, just the quickest flicker of mutual understanding.

Hands guide me backward, my calves bumping the couch as my knees bend, my body surrendering to the motion without a fight.

My breath catches, pulse beating fast enough to make my fingertips tingle.

Reece tilts my chin up with two fingers, the pads firm but careful, his eyes holding mine like he’s making sure I’m not looking anywhere else.

There’s something grounding in the way he does it—forcing my focus on him and on the steady weight of his gaze, even while the rest of my body is spiraling.

Liam’s fingers graze under the hem of my T-shirt, warm and rough, skimming higher until his knuckles brush the underside of my chest.

The touch alone makes my nipples tighten, but before I can linger on that, his hands drift down again, sliding along my stomach until they hook around the thin waistband of my panties.

I can feel Jack behind us, can almost feel the heat of his stare between my shoulder blades, but he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t say a single word to make us stop.