Page 103 of Kill for a Kiss

Stan meets his rhythm. His mouth blazes a path down my spine. His hands steady me at the hips, his thrusts deeper, harder, each one landing in a place I didn’t know could take more.

Sterling kisses me again, bruising and desperate. His hand tangles in my hair. Stan slips his fingers between my folds, drawing another cry out of me.

They move in rhythm. They move like they were made to undo me together. They build me higher. Bring me down. But catch me before I fall. And then they do it all over again.

Time disappears. The room fades. My body is only sensation now. The fire they feed. The ache they soothe. The need they stoke. And the way they keep me here, cherished and ravaged. In this moment I never want to end, I’m all theirs.

***

It’s sometime past noon, I think. I can’t really tell. The open window is flooded with the sunlight, golden and approving. My body feels both scorched and soothed, as if I was kissed by their fire and then cooled by the outside wind.

We’re a mess of limbs. Sheets kicked half off the bed. Heat lingering in the air, thick and heavy. Less dizzy. More satisfied. And loud.

“I mean,technically,” Stan says from where he’s stretching his limbs wide, taking up more than half the bed. “I caught a boar all by myself. With my bare hands.Well, and a rifle. Either way, we’ve made some proper meals out ofmyhunt.”

Sterling stares at the ceiling like he’s praying for divine intervention. “You’re not even on the bed properly.”

“I’m creatively positioned,” Stan says, tossing an arm over his face. “Like a masterpiece in repose.”

“Masterpiece is an overstatement.”

“You wound me, Silver.” Stan kicks at Sterling’s shin, which earns him a murderous look from his older brother.

I muffle my laugh against a pillow. It smells like both of them. I’m sore, half-asleep, floating on warmth and afterglow, but their voices keep me tethered to this moment.

Stan lifts his head, eyes barely open. “Seriously though. I deserve a medal. Or a sandwich. Or a medal made of sandwich.”

Then he yawns, long and loud, and flops his arm off the side of the bed with dramatic flair.

Sterling narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t fall asleep here.”

Stan wriggles like that’s physically impossible to comply with. “Can’t help it,” he mumbles. “Hero’s gotta rest. But Silver, really, about that sandwich—” He’s asleep before he finishes the sentence. His snores start a second later. They’re not gentle. They’re not evenlypaced. They are, in fact, quite offensively loud.

Sterling stares at him, jaw clenched like he’s calculating exactly how to dispose of his brother’s body. “I swear to god,” he mutters.

I stifle a laugh and press my smile into Sterling’s firm chest.

Stan has taken over the bed. Arms flung wide. One leg dangling off the mattress. He looks like a passed-out octopus in boxer briefs. I’m wedged in between his long limbs and Sterling.

“There’s nowhere for you to lie comfortably,” Sterling says quietly, sounding quite concerned.

“Sure there is.” I shift without waiting, sliding over him. “Right here.”

Sterling grunts at the movement, caught off guard. But his arms move on instinct, gathering me in. I lay my head against him, right over his heart. His chest rises beneath me, and that rhythm… His heartbeat… That sound alone could calm my mind. I listen to it for a little while and find that it does.

I tilt my head and look up at him. “Perfect fit,” I whisper.

His piercing gaze softens when he meets my eyes. His hand lifts, brushing my hair back from my face, his fingers lingering along my temple.

I startle a bit when Stan snorts in his sleep. Sterling closes his eyes briefly, looking like he’s begging the heavens for patience.

“Want me to elbow him?” I offer, laughing lightly.

“That would require touching him even more.” His voice is deadpan. “I’d rather burn the bed.”