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Rilee

I should feel relieved.

Finals are over. The pressure’s off. No more all-nighters or flashcards or crying in bathroom stalls trying to remember the side effects of ACE inhibitors.

But all I feel is… heavy.

Like my bones are made of soaked cotton and my brain is still stuck in test mode, spinning worst-case scenarios on repeat.

What if I failed dosage calculations? What if I bombed my care plan? What if all this effort wasn’t enough?

By the time it’s all over, I’m running on fumes. I try to hide it. Smile. Pretend. But Caleb sees through me in a heartbeat.

“You okay?” he asks gently, brushing a curl from my cheek.

I lie. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Hunter calls a house meeting thirty minutes later.

Grayson packs my bag, and Caleb has his keys in hand ten minutes after that.

And now we’re here.

A cabin up north, all dark wood and plaid throw blankets and a fire crackling like it’s been waiting for us. The windows are fogged from the snowstorm rolling in, and the guys are already arguing about board games like it’s their full-time job.

I should feel better.

Instead, I’m curled on the oversized couch, sweater sleeves pulled over my hands, trying not to cry at the smell of hot chocolate.

Hunter notices.

He’s across the room in two strides, crouching in front of me with that rare, fierce tenderness he keeps hidden from the world.

“No one touches her,” he says over his shoulder to the others. “She’s fried. She needs sleep, snacks, and rest.”

“Also a foot rub,” Caleb says, wiggling his fingers like jazz hands. “I volunteer as tribute.”

“She’s not a science project,” Hunter mutters, but he’s already tucking a blanket around me.

Grayson appears a minute later with soup. Like, actual soup. In a mug. “No talking unless it’s about how amazing this tomato bisque is.”

I blink at all three of them, overwhelmed in a different way now.

“I don’t deserve you,” I murmur.

“Too bad,” Hunter says, stroking his thumb along my jaw. “You’re stuck with us.”

Later, we pile on the couch—blankets everywhere, board game boxes abandoned for a movie no one’s really watching. The fire pops and glows, casting everything in gold.

Outside, the snow falls thick and silent.

Inside?

I think maybe I’m finally learning how to breathe again.

I’m warm, and tucked against Caleb’s side, one of his big arms draped lazily over my shoulders like I’m his favorite blanket. The fire’s crackling, and I close my eyes—just for a minute.

Not asleep, but not fully awake either.

Grayson clears his throat across the coffee table. “Okay. Would you rather have to orgasm every time you sneeze or sneeze every time you orgasm?”

Hunter groans. “Gray. Come on. That’s disgusting.”

“You’re just mad because your allergies would make you a menace.”

“I’d be in perpetual danger ,” Caleb says, rubbing my arm like this is normal conversation. “One whiff of dust and it’s game over.”

I snort into his hoodie.

Hunter narrows his eyes. “Wait—Rilee’s awake. Don’t answer anything else until she’s fully unconscious.”

Grayson looks smug. “Too late. She laughed.”

“Barely,” I mumble without opening my eyes.

“She’s conscious enough to judge us,” Caleb stage-whispers. “Proceed carefully.”

Grayson leans forward. “Okay, new one. Would you rather have nipples for toes or toes for nipples?”

I open one eye. “What kind of hell game is this?”

Hunter doesn’t even blink. “Nipples for toes. I wear socks anyway.”

Caleb nods solemnly. “You could get them pierced. Bedazzled toe-nips.”

“Please stop,” I mutter.

“No one is touching my feet,” Grayson says, offended. “Not even for science.”

I groan and burrow deeper into Caleb’s hoodie. “This is what I get for letting you three take me to a cabin.”

“A warm fire. Hot cocoa. High-level philosophical nipple debates,” Caleb says proudly. “This is peak romance.”

I don’t answer.

Mostly because I’m laughing too hard.

* * *

I’m not saying I regret the rule.

Last night, I was so fried from finals I could barely form a coherent sentence, let alone handle the energy of three very affectionate, very handsy hockey players. So when Hunter called a house-wide time-out—no touching Rilee, she’s fried—I was honestly grateful.

They can be… a lot. In the best way. But still.

And it was nice. Just one night to rest, to be taken care of without expectation.

Today was… kind of perfect, honestly.

We played more board games. Grayson made lasagna from scratch—because apparently he’s not just hot and broody and tattooed, he’s also a domestic god. Caleb ran me a bath, washed my hair , massaged shampoo into my scalp like it was a love language. I was so relaxed I almost floated away.

Until he had to leave the bathroom halfway through because—his words, not mine— “this is about to become an erotic novella and I promised Hunter I’d behave.”

Coward.

Dinner was cozy. Warm. Easy. They were all doting and playful and perfect.

And now?

Now I’m freshly bathed, cozy in one of Grayson’s t-shirts and absolutely brimming with post-finals relaxation.

Which means I am also horny.

And currently on the world’s most annoyingly enforced sex ban.

I stretch across the couch, my bare legs conveniently draped over Hunter’s lap. He doesn’t even blink. Just keeps flipping through his book like he’s unaware of the thirsty chaos unfolding directly in his personal space.

“You look tense,” I say, trailing my fingers over his forearm. “Should I help with that?”

He doesn’t look up. “Nope.”

I pout. “Not even a little kiss?”

His jaw tightens. Just slightly.

“You instituted the rule,” I remind him. “You can break it.”

“That’s not how rules work.”

“It is exactly how rules work. Especially when I look like this.” I gesture to myself with a dramatic, slightly lazy hand wave.

He doesn’t take the bait.

Grayson walks through with a mug of tea and raises a brow at me like he senses I’m up to something.

Caleb sticks his head out of the kitchen, sees my legs in Hunter’s lap, and immediately shouts, “Violation! Hunter’s breaking the rule!”

“I am not,” Hunter growls.

Caleb winks at me. “I believe in you, Ri. Use your feminine wiles.”

Oh, I’m about to.

Because if Hunter won’t touch me willingly, I’ll just have to make it impossible not to.

Game on.

But so far?

He’s being strong.

Annoyingly strong.

Which is why I keep adjusting in his lap, stretching a little more, dragging my toe along the inside of his thigh like oops, was that my foot?

Still nothing.

The man deserves a medal.

“I’m cold,” I murmur, inching closer until my thigh brushes his.

He still doesn’t look at me. “You’re under three blankets.”

“Emotionally,” I whisper, tugging the hem of Grayson’s shirt a little higher up my leg. “I’m emotionally cold.”

Grayson makes a choked sound from the armchair. “You are the worst .”

“Caleb?” I call.

A head pops in from the kitchen. “What’s up, babe?”

“Nothing. Just checking if I’m still irresistible.”

He grins. “Top-tier thirst trap. Proud of you.”

“Thank you.”

Hunter exhales slowly. His fingers twitch where they’re resting—well, now slightly gripping—the couch cushion.

“Do you need help?” I ask innocently. “You look… tense. Again.”

His voice is low. Rough. “Rilee.”

“Yes?”

“You know what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” I blink up at him. “Because I thought this was just a snuggle.”

He finally turns to look at me—and that look. That dark, warning flicker in his eyes like he’s barely holding himself together.

I sigh, dramatically.

“Okay. That’s fine,” I say, lifting myself just enough to look Hunter dead in the eye. “I packed Mr. Purple anyway. I’ll just go get him.”

Grayson almost drops his tea. “You what ?”

Caleb, from the kitchen, yells, “ABSO-FUCKIN-LUTELY NOT.”

Even Hunter tenses under me. “Who the hell is Mr. Purple?”

I blink, all innocence. “My vibrator.”

A beat of silence.

Then three voices—nearly in unison:

“No.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Are you trying to kill me?”

I smirk. “You said no touching. I’m just following the rules.”

Hunter’s jaw flexes.

“Fuck it,” he mutters.

Then he’s kissing me.

Hard.

Like he’s been starving for this. For me. His mouth crashes against mine and I gasp, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt as he pulls me fully into his lap. There’s nothing gentle about it—just heat and hunger and the kind of desperation that makes your toes curl.

Someone whistles.

Grayson, probably.

Hunter doesn’t care.

He palms my ass, dragging me closer until I’m grinding down on him, his hard length straining beneath me. My oversized shirt rides up, his hands pushing under it like he’s making up for every second he forced himself not to touch me.

“You drive me crazy,” he growls against my mouth, biting gently at my lower lip. “Sitting here, all soft and smug and—God, Rilee.”

His voice is wrecked.

“I tried,” he mutters. “I really tried.”

I smile, breathless. “Trying is overrated.”

He grabs my thighs and adjusts me in his lap like I weigh nothing. His mouth trails down my neck, hot and open, while his fingers dig into my skin in a way that says he’s not going anywhere.

And I don’t want him to.

The fire crackles.

Blankets shift.

I hear Caleb in the background saying something like, “Should we leave? Or take notes?”

But all I can think is.

Finally.

Hunter pulls back, meets my eyes with a heated look. “You’re breaking my rules; there are going to be consequences.”

“Consequences?” I ask, confused.

“Yes. You’re not going to come until all three of us have.”

I blink at him, confused. They’re normally so focused on my orgasms; it’s a mindfuck.

It’s like they’ve made edging me a competitive sport—seeing who can get the most desperate whimper, who can keep me trembling the longest without tipping me over.

But okay, challenge accepted, I guess.

“On your knees for me, Ri.”

I obey as Hunter stands, drawing out his cock. It’s already hard and glistening at the tip. He feeds it into my mouth, and I suck, greedily. Just so happy that he’s giving in.

His breath is a harsh pant. “More,” he grunts.