Page 97 of Kill for a Kiss

I stand in front of Stan while he sits casually on the couch, spreading his legs and welcoming me with open arms.

He covers the left side of his chest with his flat palm. “You remember what’s here?”

Of course I do. The cursiveEover his heart. The one that still felt too fresh.

Sterling turns with a deadpan look. “Don’t start stripping again.”

“No promises,” Stan says, dragging a hand down his abs, revealing the tattoo. “Elle likes the view. Right, babe?”

“She’s not answering you,” Sterling mutters, pouring water into a pair of mugs.

“She’s blushing. That’s good enough,” Stan shoots back.

I’m not blushing, I think. But I do sink down into the couch beside him and take one of the mugs from Sterling when he offers it. His fingers linger on mine, merely a second longer than necessary. When I glance up at him, we don’t exchange words. Only heat.

Stan stretches his legs across the space until his knee bumps against mine. He winks at me. “You know,” he says, voice dropping, “this little cabin isn’t so bad. Two brothers with their beautiful girl. Honestly, I’m starting to think I’m living in a dream again.”

Sterling scoffs quietly. He sits on the other side of me, shoulder to shoulder, calm and steady. I sip my tea and smile, feeling warm, happy, and safe. Truly safe this time. The memories clawing their way to the surface can wait.

***

After breakfast, I’m not sure who it was that suggested lounging by the fire—me or the desire between my legs. Either way, it happens. The dishes are stacked, the kettle’s refilled, and Stan’s leaning back on the rug, chewing a toothpick with his shirt still missing, still basking in the aftermath of his last joke about “the best spit-roast he’s ever had,” but he made sure I knew he wasn’t talking about the roasted boar. Sterling didn’t laugh. I did, after it took me a moment to understand.

Now Sterling sits in the armchair near the fire, head tilted, either assessing the room or calculating the probability of throttling his youngest brother in the passing second.

But Sterling’s eyes rarely leave me. I feel his gaze searing into my skin, deep into my bones, like my body knows and wants to relive last night’s memories of how he and I fit. So perfectly.

I shuffle around on the couch, folding my legs. Sterling’s flannel is still draped over my body, and I’m aware of how I have nothing underneath.

“Elle…” Stan drawls from the floor, stretching his arms over his head. “I should’ve gotten your entire name tatted on me. Or something poetic, likeowned by.”

Sterling’s fingers tap against the armrest. A few times in quick succession. He works his jaw, but he doesn’t say a word. Still, his silence says everything.

I hum, pretending to consider it. “Wouldn’t that make you property?”

“Oh, baby.” Stan’s grin is vicious. “That’s the goal.”

My cheeks flush, from Stan’s words and Sterling’s gaze that drags down my body. I want to feel his hands replace the flannel.

I sigh, soft and shaky. “You’re both so…”

Stan rolls to lie on his side, propping his head up on his fist. “So…what, Elle? So good at making you feel good? Making you wantmore?”

Sterling finally moves. He leans forward in his seat, forearms resting on his thighs. His eyes are shadowed by firelight. “You’ve said enough, Stan.”

“Oh, have I?” Stan smirks, unbothered. “But I’m about to mention the best part. How Elle looked last night. Blindfolded, moaning, mouth on my—”

“Stan.” Sterling’s voice cuts, deep and sharp.

I rise from the couch and cross the room, toward Sterling. The rug’s warm beneath my bare feet as I lower myself to the floor between them. Sterling’s eyes burn into mine. Stan’s breath catches. I lift my hand and rest it on Sterling’s knee first. Then I glance over my shoulder at Stan and place my hand on him too. In the silence that follows, everything between us builds with anticipation.

“You’re both so rowdy when you rile each other up like this,” I whisper, smiling a little. “But I like it best when you’re both speechless.” I swallow around my next words, mustering my bravery. “Because of me.”

Stan’s sharp intake of breath is all the encouragement I need. I smile wider, warm in the cheeks. Sterling’s hand curls into a loose fist over my hand. He stares at me, like he’s weighing his options, to drag me into his lap again or drag Stan out the front door.

Stan breaks first. His hand brushes mine. His thumb strokes over the back of my fingers with a familiarity that makes my stomach flutter. “You’ve got no idea what you do to us, do you?” His voice drops low, that smoky rasp threading under my skin. “Sitting there between us like you’re not the goddamn flame.”

I don’t answer. I can’t, when my breath catches again as his hand trails up my arm, slipping under the collar of Sterling’s flannel on me. Sterling watches, his eyes dashing down to where Stan’s knuckles graze my skin.