Page 218 of Tell Me Pucking Lies

I turn finally to Revan. He hasn’t moved from his position against the wall, but his eyes have tracked every movement, every kiss, every word. Always watching. Always calculating.

“And you,” I say, walking to him slowly. “You think you’re above it. Above the jealousy and the need and the chaos.”

“I don’t think that.”

“No?” I stop in front of him, close enough that our bodies almost touch. “Then what do you think?”

He’s quiet for a long moment, and I watch emotions flicker across his face—things he usually keeps hidden behind that cool, controlled exterior.

“I think,” he says finally, voice low, “that you’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted that I can’t strategize my way into having.”

The honesty in those words does something to my chest. Something that feels dangerously close to breaking.

“So stop strategizing,” I whisper. “Stop trying to control it. Just...” I reach up, fingers tangling in his hair. “Surrender.”

I kiss him and it’s slow burn—not the immediate inferno of Atticus or the claiming dominance of Koa, but something that builds gradually, intensely, until I’m not sure where he ends and I begin. His hands are gentle on my waist, almost careful, and that carefulness undoes me more than aggression ever could.

When I pull back, all three of them are staring at me with identical expressions—hunger mixed with something deeper, something that looks like understanding.

“One bed,” I say, gesturing to the bedroom visible through the doorway. “Four bodies. Full surrender.” I look at each of them. “Can you handle that?”

Koa’s the first to move.

Atticus grins despite the blood on his face. “Fuck yes.”

Revan just takes my hand, squeezing once. “Lead the way.”

The bedroom is sparse—just a queen bed with dark sheets and a window covered by blackout curtains. There’s dried blood on the floor from some previous incident, a reminder of what this place is, what we are.

But right now, none of that matters.

Koa gets there first, already pulling his torn jersey over his head and tossing it aside. His torso is a canvas of bruises and cuts, evidence of all the wars he’s fought. He’s beautiful and destroyed all at once.

I cross to him, hands exploring the damage. He hisses when I touch a particularly bad bruise on his ribs but doesn’t pull away. Just watches me with those dark eyes while I catalog every injury.

“Does it hurt?” I ask.

“Everything hurts.” His hand comes up to cup my face. “Don’t care.”

Atticus and Revan are undressing too, and I’m hyperaware of all of them. Of the energy in this small space. Of what we’re about to do and what it means.

No more pretending this is simple. No more pretending it’s just physical.

This is surrender for all of us.

Koa kisses me first because I’m close, already touching him. His mouth is demanding but there’s a gentleness underneath that makes my chest ache. Like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into this kiss—the fear and the need and the desperate hope that I won’t disappear.

Hands—not Koa’s—slide up my sides, pulling at the hoodie. I break the kiss long enough to let Atticus pull it over my head. His mouth finds my neck immediately, teeth scraping over my pulse point.

“Fucking gorgeous,” he mutters against my skin.

Revan’s behind me now, his chest pressing against my back, his hands finding the button of my jeans. “You sure about this?” he murmurs in my ear.

I nod.

They undress me between them—Atticus pulling down my jeans while Revan unhooks my bra, Koa just watching. When I’m finally naked, standing in the center of this room with three fully aroused men surrounding me, I feel powerful in a way that has nothing to do with guns or violence.

This is a different kind of power. The kind that comes from being wanted, being desired, being chosen.