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Hunter

It’s movie night tonight, and Rilee doesn’t know it yet, but we’ve turned it into a competition.

Grayson sits with military precision on the far end of the couch, a pillow tucked under one arm like it’s a reserved seat sign.

Caleb sprawls dead center, legs stretched out, already digging through the snack bowl like he owns the place. He’s armed with a full bag of sour gummies and zero shame.

I’m on the other end—blanket folded neatly in my lap. Softest one in the house. Her favorite. I may have washed it in her detergent on purpose.

We hear her footsteps coming down the hall, and like three complete idiots, we all tense.

Caleb’s the first to speak. “Rilee,” he calls, grinning like a game show host, “I’ve got sugar and serotonin. You know you want it.”

Grayson pats the spot beside him, calm and composed. “Saved you this seat,” he says softly. “C’mere, baby.”

I don’t say anything at first.

Just lift the blanket slightly and give her a heated look. “Ri,” I say softly, “sit by me?”

She pauses in the doorway, eyes flicking from Grayson… to Caleb… to me.

And freezes.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she says.

Caleb wiggles the gummy bag. “Limited-time citrus mix.”

“Softest blanket in Michigan,” I mutter, lifting it an inch higher.

“Strategic proximity to wine,” Grayson adds, gesturing to the end table beside him.

She blinks at all three of us. “Are you testing me?”

Grayson shrugs, not quite denying it.

Caleb grins. “We’re curious.”

“Curious about what?”

I shift uncomfortably.

Caleb admits it, sheepishly. “Just wanted to see who you’d pick.”

Her jaw drops. “You’re treating me like a dog choosing between treats.”

“We thought of it more like… enrichment time,” Caleb offers. “A little mental stimulation for our favorite girl.”

She walks straight into the room.

And glares.

“You wanna know who I’d pick? None of you.”

“Wait, what—?”

“You think it’s cute, trying to turn me into some kind of prize?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it cracks. “Like I’m a game to win?”

Caleb’s face falls.

Grayson straightens.

I go still.

Rilee crosses her arms. “I get it. You’re boys. You joke. You compete. But you don’t get to pit yourselves against each other like I’m the payoff. You don’t get to make me choose.”

Grayson opens his mouth—then closes it.

Caleb swallows. “Ri, we didn’t mean it like—”

“I know what you meant,” she cuts in. “But it still sucked.”

Silence.

Long. Sharp. Awkward as hell.

Then she sighs, softer this time.

“I like you all. Okay? In different ways. For different reasons. And I don’t want to be forced into these little moments where you’re all waiting for me to declare a winner.”

Her eyes flick to each of us.

“I just wanted to watch a stupid movie and be held by guys who mean something to me. Not… get tricked into proving something.”

And then—like the goddamn goddess she is—she grabs the blanket from my lap.

Takes the gummies from Caleb.

Snatches the pillow from Grayson’s side.

Drops them all in the middle of the couch.

And sits right there. Cross-legged. Waiting.

“Pick a movie,” she says, voice calm but still crackling with heat.

We don’t speak.

We just move.

Caleb sinks down on one side of her.

Grayson takes the other, setting the pillow behind her back.

And I sit in front of her, on the floor, arms on the couch beside her legs. Her hand drops down a minute later, settling gently in my hair.

And just like that—we’re silent.

Wrapped in the warmth of a queen who laid down the law.

And reminded us exactly whose story this is.

But thirty minutes in, I’m not watching the movie.

I’m watching them.

Caleb’s got his head tilted toward hers, his arm casually draped along the back of the couch. His fingers keep brushing her shoulder, light and natural like it’s second nature. Like he belongs there.

Grayson’s hand is on her knee. Still. Steady. Like it’s been there the whole time, and she hasn’t once pulled away.

And me?

I’m down here on the floor like a guard dog.

I shouldn’t be here.

They’re good to her. Sweet in ways I’m not. Attentive. Soft.

They’re already part of the rhythm. Already found their way into her skin, her world.

I’m just the guy who watches her from the sidelines and thinks too much.

Maybe I should step back. Maybe I already missed my—

“Hunter,” she says softly.

And my name on her lips unravels everything.

I look up.

She’s reaching for me.

Like she needs me.

And I’m already moving before I can second-guess it.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” I murmur, climbing up onto the couch in front of her, crowding her space.

She doesn’t flinch.

Doesn’t hesitate.

She leans in.

And then—I kiss her.

It’s not careful. Not sweet.

It’s a claiming.

A kiss forged in years of longing, months of holding back, and weeks of watching her fall for people who weren’t me.

Her hands fist in my t-shirt, pulling me closer.

My mouth moves against hers like it’s starving. Like I’m trying to memorize the taste of her and burn it into every cell in my body.

She gasps when I press her back into the cushions, her legs parting instinctively, welcoming me into the space no one else fills.

I groan, low and wrecked, because this—this is what I’ve been trying not to want.

And I’m so tired of pretending I don’t.

When I pull back, we’re both breathing hard. Her lips are pink, kissed raw, and her eyes are glassy with need.

I rest my forehead against hers.

Her breath fans across my cheek, fast and uneven, like mine.

Neither of us says anything for a beat.

And then her fingers curl in the front of my t-shirt again—like she’s afraid I’ll pull away.

I’m not going anywhere.

She pulls me back in—and I don’t stop.

Her mouth meets mine again, hot and open, and everything in me coils tight.

I’m still kneeling on the floor, and she’s perched on the edge of the couch—close enough to taste, but not close enough to have.

Not like I need.

I grip the cushion beside her thigh and push myself up, sliding onto the couch in one movement.

I pull her into my lap—her legs sliding to either side of my hips, straddling me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

And hell, maybe it is.

Right now, I can’t remember a single reason why I ever held back.

My hands find her thighs, then her waist, and then the small of her back—like I can’t decide what part of her to hold first. I want all of her.

She grinds once—slow, testing—and my breath punches out of me.

“Rilee,” I rasp, already half gone.

Her lips find the underside of my jaw, then the curve of my neck. She’s kissing me like she’s claiming me, like she’s finally stopped caring who sees.

Which is good.

Because Caleb’s somewhere to our left, definitely watching, probably grinning.

Grayson’s on our right, silent as always. But I don’t look. I don’t care.

Because all I see is her.

Her hair falling in my face. Her hands on my chest. Her thighs tightening around my hips as I rock up to meet her.

She lets out a soft noise—barely a breath—and it shoots straight through me.

My hands move under her shirt, skimming warm skin, and her eyes flutter closed like she’s giving herself over completely.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” I whisper.

She shakes her head, slow and wrecked. “Don’t.”

I kiss her again—deeper now, more desperate.

Because if this is the only moment I get with her like this, I want to burn it into my bloodstream.

And if the others are watching?

Let them.

She’s mine right now.

And I’m done pretending I don’t want that.