Page 56 of Theirs to Hunt (Girls Like Us #1)

Chapter fifty-six

S he's quiet in the backseat, head resting against the window, legs folded up she's trying to stay small. But I know better now. Reagan's never small. Even when she's silent, she's still the loudest presence in the room. Or the car.

Grayson's hand hasn't moved from her thigh since we left the restaurant. Resting there, fingers curved, thumb rubbing slow arcs. She hasn't pushed him away. She won't. Not anymore.

I park in the drive and kill the engine. Grayson leans over to open her door, but I'm already there. She blinks at me I surprised her, then slides her hand into mine.

I don't say anything. I just hold her steady while she climbs out. She doesn't need a speech. She needs contact.

Inside, the house is warm and low-lit.

I helped Grayson set it up before we left, pillows fluffed, lights turned soft, every edge blunted for her. I didn't expect her to look so tired. Or maybe it's not tired. Maybe it's…unguarded .

She sways when she toes off her shoes, and Grayson is there instantly, hand on her hip.

"Easy, little fawn," he murmurs.

She says she's not drunk. I believe her.

Wine gave her the permission to lower the barriers she usually clings to.

Grayson unzips her dress and it slips down her body, slow and quiet. I've seen beautiful women before. Hell, I've touched them.

But none of them have ever made my chest feel this, tight and wild all at once. She's not just beautiful. That's too tame. She's herself. And she's letting us see it.

Her eyes flick between us.

I can feel her hesitation, not fear exactly, but the kind of self-consciousness that comes from the depth of raw emotion we are sharing, the vulnerability.

Grayson's shirt is already gone.

I tug mine over my head too, but this isn't about sex.

Not tonight. Not yet.

I grab one of Grayson's old Navy shirts, the one I know she wore before and lift it up for her. She doesn't move at first, so I step in close and help guide her arms through. It's too big on her, swallows her whole. She looks good in it anyway.

Grayson presses kisses to her knuckles and I feel it again, that twist in my chest.

Not jealousy. Awe. This is happening. She's allowing it, allowing us.

"Bed," I say, voice quieter than I expected. And somehow rougher. Grayson's the one who gives commands. I don't usually need to. But tonight, it just feels right.

She doesn't resist. She follows. We lead her to the bed, both of us moving in sync like we've done this before.

Grayson to her left.

Me to her right.

She curls up between us and just looks at us, she still thinks she might wake up alone .

"We don't have to do anything tonight," Grayson tells her.

His voice is low. Calm. Measured. "We just want to show you what it feels to be wanted. Cared for. Together."

Her breath catches. Her thighs shift, just slightly. That's all it takes.

I slide my hand beneath the hem of the shirt, resting it on her thigh. Not pushing. Just a question.

"I want that," she whispers. "I want you both."

Something settles in me at those words. Clicks into place.

Grayson leans in first, his mouth trailing her neck.

I mirror him, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear.

She shudders. I can feel it through the mattress.

We touch her together, slow, patient, reverent.

My hand meets his between her thighs.

We don't need to speak. We already know how to move. We've been waiting for this chance, for years.

She arches into our hands, her breath catching on each soft sound she makes. Every time she moans, something in me sharpens and softens all at once.

"Just let go," Grayson tells her. His voice is right by her temple.

"You're safe," I whisper, kissing her collarbone.

When she comes, it's not loud. It's not dramatic. It's real. Her whole body trembles, her legs clenching, her fingers curling into the sheets. We hold her through it, steady and close, not letting go.

After, we don't leave her.

She folds into Grayson's chest and I slide in behind her, arm around her waist.

She's warm and spent and still glowing.

And mine. And his. And somehow, still completely her own.

Grayson whispers, "Good night, little fawn."

I press my lips to her hair and murmur, "'Night, Bambi." Her voice is faint, already drifting.

"Good night." And just that, she's asleep between us.