Page 53

REMI

I absolutely cannot believe I allowed that to happen. I didn’t come here to get my rocks off or to have the guys touch me in a way only a few have before.

I came for protection. I came because Al is a threat to me, and I don’t want to constantly look over my shoulder, which is what I would be doing if I went home.

Slowly, I shift my weight and ease myself upright, the sheets cool beneath my skin.

My body, still humming from the intensity of what just happened, feels light and unsteady.

I slide my legs over the edge of the mattress, toes brushing the floor before I rise, each movement deliberate, as if I’m savoring the moment before reality slips back in.

The room seems quieter now, the soft light from the lamp flickering in as I stand, catching my breath, letting the calm settle over me before facing whatever comes next.

I’m keenly aware of Tripp and Boone as they watch me come to my full height, which isn’t tall at all.

Even bent over, Tripp envelops me. And I watch as Tripp disengages from Boone, taking a step back.

With unabated intensity, I watch as he removes the condom, tying it at the end. His eyes never once leaving mine.

Tripp’s gaze lingers—unyielding, molten, tracing every inch of me as if memorizing the details for some secret archive only he can access.

It’s the kind of look that demands nothing and yet leaves me raw, exposed, trembling beneath the surface.

The room is silent but for the wild staccato of my heartbeat as his eyes, dark and fathomless, pin me in place.

It’s power and longing, a devotion so fierce it seizes my breath in my throat and refuses to release it.

For a heartbeat, the world narrows to a single thread stretched taut between us, electric and unbreakable, and I find myself aching for the courage to hold his gaze just as boldly.

My gaze slides to Boone, drawn as if by gravity alone.

He rises, unhurried, unfolding himself until he stands to his full height—a presence both formidable and grounding.

His eyes meet mine, and it’s like the air between us pivots, charged with something I can’t name.

Boone’s gaze is as disarming as Tripp’s—steady, unguarded, a silent promise of safety that tugs at something deep inside me.

There’s gentleness there, but also a quiet intensity, as if he’s seeing straight through the armor I’ve so carefully built.

For a brief, suspended moment, I let myself be held in the warmth of that look, uncertain but craving the sanctuary it offers.

“I, uh, better get back to my room,” I say, stopping to pick up my panties.

It was stupid, stupid, stupid coming in here.

I had no right to interfere with their time together, even though I find the idea of these two alphas together to be incredibly hot.

It still doesn’t change the fact that I don’t trust them not to hurt me again.

All of this was a release from the day's stress.

“No need to run off,” Tripp says, doing up his pants and throwing away the used condom. “You can stay.”

“I should really get back.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You know we’re never going to hurt you again, right?”

I look down at my feet, toeing the plush carpet. “I—um.”

Honestly, I don’t think they will, but I can’t be certain. With everything they did to me, it’s still fresh on my mind, and that’s not something you get over quickly. It’s something that stays with you for a long time, even when you want it to go away.

“One day, you’re going to believe it when we say we won’t hurt you again,” Boone says, regret eating him up inside if his eyes have anything to say about it.

One day, I will, but I won't tell them that. Honestly, I want them to sweat it out and work for it. I’m not the type to roll over and take it anymore. They’re going to have to show up and show me they can be the alphas I want them to be, not the alphas they were.

It’s all about give and take. A relationship, even though I’ve never been in any type of relationship, is all about give and take.

In the romance novels I read, though far-fetched, they have some merit.

All the men have done something heinous, but in the end, they go above and beyond the call of duty to make it better.

Initially, I left my room to get something to eat, but I quickly detoured when I passed one of their bedrooms. The sound of skin slapping against skin had my ears prickling and my skin tingling.

It confused me for a minute, but once I peeked through the door, I became embarrassingly wet between my thighs as slick coated my pussy.

I refuse to be embarrassed by what happened in there.

I saw something I wanted, and I took it without second-guessing myself.

The old me would’ve crawled into a hole and died.

But this new me, the one built of tough steel and shed tears, is a person who refuses to back down when she wants something.

Pushing aside all lingering feelings, I step into the hallway, letting the door close quietly behind me.

The hush of the late hour wraps around me, interrupted only by the faint creak of floorboards beneath my bare feet.

The cool air brushes over my flushed skin, calming the hum still alive in my veins.

With every step, I feel the steady rhythm of my pulse and the faint brush of sheets against my legs—a grounding reminder that this is real, that I am changed by what just happened.

The light from the open bedrooms spills into the corridor for only a moment before fading, leaving me in half-shadow as I make my way toward the staircase.

I pause at the top step, drawing in a bracing breath.

The house is quiet, save for the distant hum of the central heating and air unit and the occasional groan of settling wood.

I grip the banister, letting my fingers curl around the smooth rail, and begin my descent.

Each stair creaks gently beneath my feet, the sound echoing in the stillness.

I move slowly, savoring the peace that comes in the aftermath, each downward step carrying me further from the storm of tangled bodies and whispered promises, and closer to the solitude of the kitchen.

The world narrows to the soft glow cast by the dim hallway lights and the steady beat of my heart as I reach the bottom, pausing only to gather myself before moving on.

As I step into the kitchen, I come to a stop. There, in front of the refrigerator, is Knox. Naked from the waist up, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. My eyes slowly trail down his body, snagging on specific areas. Each perfectly sculpted muscle is on display.

“I can feel your eyes practically burning my ass,” Knox jokes, craning a look over his shoulder. He smirks when he sees the blush steal across my cheeks.

“I was not.”

“Says every person caught ever.” His voice takes on a light-hearted, joking timbre.

Of course, I absolutely was staring at his ass, but that’s a secret I’ll take to my grave.

There’s no way I’ll ever let him know how my gaze lingered—how, for a split second, I lost myself tracing every sculpted line before sense (and pride) snapped me back to reality.

Let him keep joking; I’ll keep my little confession tucked away, masked behind a stubborn tilt of my chin and a quick glance at the kitchen floor.

“I came to get something to eat, if that’s okay,” I say, changing the subject.

He chuckles, which lets me know he thinks my change of conversation is hilarious. Fucker.

Knox just grins, a flash of white teeth in the fridge's pale light.

Without a word, he starts pulling out ingredients—sliced turkey, a tomato, crisp lettuce, a wedge of cheese, and a jar of some fancy-looking mustard.

He lays them on the counter with practiced ease, each motion deliberate and almost artful.

He grabs a loaf of bread and sets it down with a soft thud before glancing at me, brows raised in silent invitation.

“You want one too?” he asks, voice casual but carrying the warmth of a secret camaraderie. “Or are you just planning to stand there burning holes into me while I eat?”

I roll my eyes, but the corner of my mouth tugs upward despite myself. The kitchen, usually a space of solitude, especially in my home, suddenly feels a little less empty. The late-night quiet is punctuated by the comforting ritual of midnight snacks and the low hum of easy company.

“Yes, I’d love a sandwich,” I say, coming to the island and taking a seat.

He watches me closely, his eyes running up and down my body, seeing me in my silk nightgown. Maybe it wasn’t the best thing to wear outside the bedroom, but honestly, I can’t be fucked to change now. I should be comfortable if they insist on keeping me here.

After they claimed I was staying with them, they took me to my home and escorted me through my home, as if someone was in the shadows waiting for me. It was laughable. Overkill, but laughable nonetheless.

No one was waiting for me at my home. I don’t think Al would be that stupid to do something like come into my house.

Attacking me unprovoked, without evidence of the encounter, is different than breaking and entering someone’s home without their permission.

There is evidence of that if they choose to do it.

I don’t even know why I packed this particular nightgown. Usually, I only wear a long shirt and panties to bed. The panties aren’t even lace at that. Tonight, however, I’m wearing silk and lace. I’m wearing two of the sexiest pieces I own. Pieces I’ve never worn before tonight.

Maybe subconsciously, I knew something was going to happen. Maybe, just maybe, there is a part of me that wants what they have to offer, even though I know I shouldn’t.