Page 28 of The Reckoning (Oakmount Elite #7)

SIXTEEN

LILIAN

M orning light filters through the warehouse windows, painting the room in soft gold and shadow.

I blink awake slowly, disoriented for a moment before remembering where I am.

The events of yesterday come rushing back—Mother, the power of attorney, the mysterious procedure—but the panic that accompanied those revelations feels somehow more distant in the gentle morning light.

I’m still in bed, nestled between two warm bodies. Carefully, I turn my head to study them in their sleep.

They look so peaceful like this, so eerily similar yet utterly different.

Arson lies on his back, one arm thrown above his head, his features softened in sleep in a way they never are when he’s awake.

The perpetual tension, the barely controlled rage that seems to animate him—all of it smoothed away by unconsciousness to reveal the beauty beneath.

Aries sleeps curled on his side facing me, his breath warm against my shoulder.

There’s a vulnerability to him in sleep that he rarely allows himself to show anymore, a softness that captivity and betrayal have stripped from his waking hours.

His hair is tousled, falling across his forehead in a way that makes him look younger, more like the boy I grew up with than the hardened man he’s becoming.

It strikes me, watching them like this, how much pain lies beneath their identical faces. Different wounds, different scars, but the same underlying hurt—of abandonment, of not being seen for who they truly are. The same pain I’ve carried my whole life.

Maybe that’s why we’ve found each other now. Three broken pieces from the same fractured puzzle.

I shift carefully, trying to extract myself without waking them. I need coffee, I need space to think, and I need a moment to myself before diving back into the chaos that has become my life. But as I attempt to slide away, a strong arm snakes around my waist and tugs me back.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Arson’s voice is rough with sleep, his eyes still closed despite his firm grip.

“Coffee,” I whisper, trying not to wake Aries. “I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm. No.” His arm tightens, pulling me closer to his warm body. “Stay.”

His eyes open then, hazel and intense even through the fog of sleep.

The peaceful expression from moments ago has vanished, replaced by something hungrier, more intentional. He studies my face, then glances at his sleeping brother before returning his attention to me.

“You look good in the morning,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up from my waist to brush hair from my face. “All soft and warm.”

The compliment brings heat to my cheeks. I’m not used to this side of him—this gentleness that appears in unexpected moments, catching me off guard. “I probably look a mess,” I deflect, suddenly self-conscious of my tangled hair and sleep-creased face.

“No,” he says simply, his thumb tracing my lower lip in a way that sends shivers down my spine. “You look perfect.”

Before I can respond, he leans forward and captures my mouth with his. The kiss is softer than I expect from him, almost tender in its exploration. His hand cups my face, holding me as if I’m something precious, something that might break or disappear if handled too roughly.

It’s a stark contrast to the fierce claiming of our previous encounters, and somehow more dangerous for its gentleness. I respond despite myself, my body melting into his touch, into the warmth and comfort he offers.

The kiss deepens, his tongue teasing at the seam of my lips until I open for him. Heat builds between us, slow and insistent. His hand slides from my face down my neck and my shoulder, coming to rest at my hip, where he squeezes lightly.

I’m so lost in the sensation that I almost forget we’re not alone until I feel movement on my other side. Aries shifts in his sleep, murmuring something inaudible, his arm draping across my waist just below Arson’s.

Arson breaks the kiss, his eyes darting to his brother before returning to me with a wicked gleam that makes my pulse quicken. “We should wake him,” he suggests, voice pitched low. “Don’t you think?”

There’s a challenge in his tone, in the slight quirk of his eyebrow. He’s testing boundaries—mine, Aries’s, the fragile truce that formed between us last night.

“I—” I start, but don’t get to finish as Arson shifts, rolling me gently onto my back. He hovers over me, his weight supported on one elbow while his free hand traces lazy patterns on my stomach where my shirt has ridden up during sleep.

“You made the rules, remember?” he reminds me, lips brushing my ear as he speaks. “If I have you, he has to be present. Well, he’s present.” His teeth graze my earlobe, drawing a small gasp from me. “Even if he’s not fully…conscious.”

The implied suggestion sends a rush of heat through me that has nothing to do with embarrassment. There’s something forbidden, something thrilling about the idea of Aries waking to find us like this. About watching his face as he realizes what’s happening.

“What are you thinking about?” Arson asks, clearly reading the desire in my expression. “Tell me.”

“Him,” I admit, the honesty surprising even me. “Watching us. Joining us.”

Something flashes in Arson’s eyes—possession, jealousy, excitement, or some complex mixture of all three. “You want us both at the same time,” he says, not a question but a statement of fact.

I nod, unable to deny it. “Is that wrong?”

“No,” he says after a moment, his hand still making those maddening circles on my skin. “It’s honest. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted from you, Lilian. Honesty.”

He kisses me again, harder this time, more demanding. His hand slides higher under my shirt, skimming the underside of my breast without quite touching where I want him most. It’s a tease, deliberate and calculated to make me arch into him, seeking more contact.

I comply without thinking, pressing closer, my body responding to his with a will of its own. The movement causes Aries to shift beside us, but his breathing remains deep and even. He’s still asleep, unaware of what’s happening just inches away.

Arson pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his expression darkening with intent. “I want to taste you,” he says, the words sending a jolt of desire straight to my core. “And I want him to wake up and see exactly what he’s been missing.”

Before I can respond, he’s shifting down my body, pushing the blankets aside as he goes. His hands find the waistband of my sleep shorts, tugging gently in silent question.

I hesitate for only a moment before lifting my hips in permission.

This is madness, part of me knows—to allow this while Aries sleeps beside us, to cross boundaries that can never be uncrossed.

But a larger part, a hungrier part, doesn’t care about consequences or complications.

It wants only the release, the connection, the temporary oblivion these two men offer.

Arson slides my shorts down slowly, his gaze never leaving mine as inch by inch, he reveals bare skin. I’m not wearing underwear—didn’t think to put any on before collapsing into bed last night—and the realization makes his pupils dilate, swallowing the hazel of his irises.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, settling between my legs, his broad shoulders nudging my thighs apart. “So beautiful.”

The position is vulnerable, exposing, and I fight the urge to cover myself. Instead, I watch him watching me, fascinated by the naked desire in his expression, the way he looks at me like I’m something precious and wild all at once.

Beside us, Aries remains asleep, oblivious to the tableau unfolding next to him. His face remains peaceful, his breathing deep and regular. The contrast between his innocence and what Arson and I are about to do adds an extra layer of forbidden excitement that I’m not proud of but can’t deny.

“He’s going to be so jealous when he wakes up,” Arson murmurs, his breath warm against my inner thigh. “Finding out what he missed while he was dreaming.”

His words send a shiver through me—anticipation, guilt, desire all mingled together into something intoxicating.

I shouldn’t want this complicated dynamic, this twisted triangle we’ve created.

I shouldn’t crave the possessive looks, the competing attention, the knowledge that both brothers want me with an intensity that borders on obsession.

But I do. God help me, I do.

Arson’s mouth finds me then, his tongue parting my folds in a long, slow lick that has my hips bucking off the bed.

He pins me down with one strong forearm, keeping me still as he explores, savors, devours.

Each stroke sends shock waves of bliss rippling through my body, building on the last until I’m trembling, panting, my fingers fisting in the sheets.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. I need more, need him inside me, need the stretch and burn and fullness only he can provide. But he seems content to tease and to torment, bringing me to the edge again and again, only to back off just before I tumble over.

A whimper escapes my throat as he seals his lips around my clit, sucking hard. My hand flies to his hair, gripping the dark strands as I try to hold him in place and urge him on. But he resists, lifting his head to shoot me a wicked grin.

“Patience,” he chides, nipping at my inner thigh. “We wouldn’t want to finish before your other lover joins the party.”

As if on cue, Aries stirs beside us, a sleepy groan rumbling from his throat as consciousness returns. I freeze, suddenly aware of how this must look—me splayed out half naked with Arson’s head between my thighs.

For a moment, the only sound is our mingled breathing, heavy with anticipation. Then Aries’s eyes flutter open, hazy with sleep before sharpening into focus as he takes in the scene before him.

“What the hell?” His voice is thick with confusion and dawning anger. He pushes up onto one elbow, gaze darting between Arson and me, a muscle ticking in his clenched jaw.