liv⋆˙⟡

Blood was drawn from the goat. Sacrifices made. And you were pushed aside in the revelry. You didn't want to enjoy any of it. Not that you could have. You were an afterthought, swept away in the crowd of cultists and freaks, standing along the fringes by yourself while they all drank and celebrated.

Titus didn't spare you a second glance when you left for your room. He had what he wanted. And you knew that your nightmare was just beginning.

You’re in your room when there’s a knock on the door. You tighten the silk robe around your waist and answer, nearly shaking too much to hold the door handle.

"Hello Mrs. Danforth," a man in a white button up nods pleasantly at you. "I have been sent to tend to you."

"Ah- what do you mean?" you ask as he makes his way into your room, opening up the bag that he carried with him. Your mind reeled with the possibilities. Tend to you? Take care of you? Is he here to kill you?

As he unpacks his tools, you realize very quickly that they’re just medical supplies. Gauze, alcohol pads, needle and thread.

The man looks at you, and gestures to the bed. "Please, relax Mrs. Danforth. This won’t take but a moment."

The name still feels foreign to your ears. Mrs. Danforth. Your new title. It’s going to take a while to be able to wear that completely, without it feeling like a mask.

They had done some basic patchwork before the wedding. Bandages and gauze. Barely holding you together at the seams. Enough to make you presentable for the ceremony, that’s it. 

But this is real medical care. You needed it. Every stitch, every swipe of a wound made you bite your tongue, holding back screams. But at least you’re being tended to, and you can only hope that you never have to endure this kind of pain again.

When he’s done, you stay laid out on the bed. He packs up his medical kit, collecting the bloodied rags and wiping away the surfaces, leaving no trace.

"Who-who sent you?" you ask.

"Mr. Danforth," he smiles at you. He said it so calmly, as if the answer was obvious.

He’s out of the room without another word. 

You’re finally alone. Tears well in the corners of your eyes. Tears that you didn’t even realize you were holding in all night. Dawn breaks through the curtains, thin streaks of light fighting their way into the room. A new day, a new beginning. The start of the rest of your life. 

You let out a shaky breath and sit up in the bed, running a hand through your hair. You extend your left hand in front of you, catching the light on your wedding ring.

You hear Ursula's voice in your ears.

I tried looking for the goodness in him. I found nothing.

We can control him, together.

Maybe she was right, there is no goodness in Titus. But maybe she was also right, that he could be- well, not controlled- but gently steered in the right direction.

Hades and Persephone. Death and his wife. Two sides of the same tarnished coin.

The door opens. No knock, of course not. He owns everything, including you, and he’s entitled to whatever he pleases. Whoever he pleases. 

You rise to your feet immediately, wincing at the sudden movement and trying to bite back the discomfort.

"I see you're looking better. All stitched up?" Titus grasps his hands in front him. He looks pleased with himself.

"Yes," you say, giving no emotion away.

He twists the rings on his hand- both the wedding band and the family heirloom- and steps closer to you.

You flinch slightly, taking a half step back. It’s more reflex than anything, conditioned by multiple nights of being chased and hunted. Those hands, one ones innocently twisting at his wedding band, were around your neck not too long ago.

Titus notices. He takes a beat and nods. "I owe you my gratitude," he says. 

There is something strange behind his eyes. The feral bloodlust from last night has faded into something almost human. "I obviously didn't know about the loophole," he continues. "Rather convenient."

"Yeah, convenient," you deadpan. "For you."

"We both win, right? You're still alive. I have what is rightfully mine." His fingers linger on the council ring. His priority.

"Are you here to consummate the marriage?" you spit, venom laced in your words.

"No," Titus shakes his head.

You allow yourself a breath of relief. A small victory in a night of horrors.

"When I have my way with you,” he mutters, voice low, “you'll be asking for it. Begging for more. And I won't touch you until then. You have my word."

The small victory was short-lived, obviously. This is a challenge. To see how long you can last. 

"Then you'll be waiting for a very, very long time," your voice is even, though you’re almost visibly trembling.

"We'll see about that," he nods. Not a threat, just a fact.

There's something in the air between you two. Heavy, and almost tempting.

Without another word, he leaves you in your room to sleep by yourself. You let out the breath you were holding, and collapse onto the bed. Every cell in your body is begging for rest.

And you have your first full night’s sleep since before your first wedding. 

When you wake, the sun is strong and high in the sky. It must be mid day by now. You have no idea how long you slept, but you feel like you’ve been hit by a train. 

There’s a knock at your door. Who knows how long they’ve been waiting for you to gain consciousness. 

"Come in," you grumble. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes until you see white spots, trying to wake up fully.

A very perky young woman opens the door, stepping in with a stack of clothes.

“Mr. Danforth would like you to come down for a meal before you depart,” she says, her tone much too light and airy for the setting. 

“Depart?” you ask, yawning. Just the simple act causes you to wince, your body still aching and sore. “Where are we going?”

“Home,” she smiles.

It’s unsettling, how pleasant everyone here is. Don’t they know what just happened? What you’ve been through?

Titus clearly has terrible taste in clothing. You realize this when you put on the clothes he has chosen for you. Just bleak, drab, business casual. You wince a little when buttoning the pants, your stitches crying out for sympathy. 

When you go downstairs, Titus is nowhere to be seen. You’re quietly grateful for the opportunity to eat in peace. Again, your first full meal since your first wedding. You don’t realize how weak you’d become until your belly is full again and your senses are renewed. 

A dark escalade pulls up to the front, and you are ushered out the door. Titus is standing outside, talking with the driver. He spares you a sideways glance before climbing into the back seat. You sit next to him, staring out the window the entire time.

“I’ll have your belongings brought to the house,” Titus says as the car peels away, still not looking directly at you.

“I don’t have many,” you say. 

Which is true. The clothes in your dresser. Your favorite books. And the necklace that your mother left you before she died. You were cursing yourself for not bringing it with you. But then, how could you have known that a weekend wedding getaway would morph into this?

Otherwise, there wasn’t much to want. 

“Somehow, that doesn’t shock me.” Titus replies.

You glance at him sideways, and his smug attitude makes you seethe. After everything you’ve been through this week, you should feel relieved that you’re still alive. And yet, you’re chained to this man.

You won’t feel any relief until you’re free from him. 

The house in Newport is not a house. It’s a sprawling estate, of course. Inherited by Titus after his father’s death, the house’s upkeep is its own operation. There’s more people working on the property than were on staff at your last job. Every need is taken care of, so that the Danforths don’t have to lift a finger.

Titus has probably never had to work for anything in his life. And now, you’re going to make him work for your favor. 

“Someone will show you to your room,” Titus says as the front doors open for you. Again, never lifting a finger, these Danforths. 

“What am I supposed to do here all day?” you ask, looking up at the foyer with curiosity. It’s grand and heavily decorated, paintings and lavish accents touching every corner of the space.

“I don’t care,” Titus replies, voice flat, already walking down one of the hallways.

“I’m just supposed to stay locked up in here?” you call after him, tone incredulous.

Titus stops dead. He turns on his heels and stalks back to you. 

Your chest tightens, the image of Titus running after you replaying in your head. 

“Upset with the lodgings, darling?” he says, voice low. “Remember, a golden cage is far more preferable to a goat pit.”

You chew on the inside of your cheek, trying to settle the emotions building in your chest. 

“Now,” Titus continues. “Anything you should desire can be taken care of. Want to try horseback riding? Go to the stables. Want to rot your fucking brain all day? The theater room is on the first floor. Go online shopping. Do whatever you want. I don’t. Fucking. Care.” The last sentence is emphasised, his eyes boring into yours. 

“Whatever I want,” you reply, eyes narrow, “except leave.”

Titus relaxes slightly, a smile forming that doesn’t reach the rest of his face. “Now you’re getting it. I knew you had some sense.”

He wraps a firm hand around the back of your neck. Your breath stills and eyes widen, just barely, worried that something in him snapped. That volatile temper of his has decided to just kill you right there.

But he brings you closer and presses a kiss to the top of your head.

Without another word, you watch him walk away. This time, keeping your mouth shut. 

It occurs to you that he could, actually, kill you at any time. Decide you’re not worth the trouble anymore. All of this would have been for nothing if you still end up dead by the end of it. And then Titus will have gotten everything he wanted, like he always has. 

It’s time to make yourself more valuable.

-

The forest on the edge of the property is secluded, just like you want it. You needed somewhere to practice without the prying eyes of the staff. You line up the shot, taking a deep breath. Almost ready, when you hear a branch snap behind you. 

Your arms fall to your sides, head turning to the sound. The tightness in your chest does not ease when you see Titus walk towards you. The only thing keeping you calm is that this time, you’re armed. Just in case.

“When they told me you were out here,” Titus stops just a few feet from you, “I thought I misheard.”

“Nope,” you say, turning your attention back to your practice.

“Of all of the hobbies you could have chosen, and I do mean all of them,” he walks closer, stepping around a fallen branch, “should I be worried that this is what you picked?”

You take a deep breath, fingers light on the blade. You bring the knife behind your head, other arm outstretched in front of you, finding your target. After steadying yourself, you launch the knife. It sinks into the tree. Not into the target, but also not on the forest floor. You take the victory. 

“I don’t know,” you turn to him, wiping your hands on your pants. “Should you be?”

“What’s the matter, nothing good on the television?” he asks.

“Don’t you have some small children to bring to tears or something?” you reply.

“Where did you even get the knives?”

You walk by Titus, jutting your chin out. “Like you said, I can get anything I want here.”

After collecting the knives from the bark, you find your starting point again, with every intention of practicing as if Titus isn’t standing there, watching you.

“You’re choking it,” Titus says. 

You glare at him. “Excuse me?”

“The blade.” Titus approaches you and takes your wrist in his hand, turning it over in his grip. You have the knife in your grasp, fingers gently wrapped around the base of the blade. He gently slides the blade down, so that your fingers are resting at the tip. 

“You have more leverage this way,” he says, voice low. 

Without explaining further, Titus moves his hands to your hips. You still, just barely, breath hitching in your throat. Based on the way his eyebrow lifts, and the corner of his mouth twitches, Titus notices.

He gently positions you, moving your hips so that you are facing him straight on, perpendicular to your target. You wait for his hands to fall away, but they linger just a little bit longer. You can feel his fingers twitch lightly against your hips.

“You will push through with this back leg,” he taps your thigh.

You watch his hands, eyes narrow.

“Now,” he murmurs. The hairs on the back of your neck stand. “Try again.”

Titus brings his hands behind his back and takes a few steps back. He nods, waiting for you to make your move.

You don’t hide the disdain in your face, but square up anyway. Blade behind your head, other hand out towards your target. One deep breath in, and out, and let the knife fly.

It lands right on the target. Not the center, but closer than you’ve been all afternoon. 

Titus flashes you a smug grin. “Good,” he nods, and you hate the way the word runs through you. “Maybe now you’ll be able to hit a sleeping elephant.”

“Fuck you,” you spit, readying your next blade. 

You throw again, remembering what Titus said, and hit closer to the center of the target. Titus’s smug grin permeates your periphery. You roll your eyes. 

“Alright, time to come inside,” Titus extends a hand. 

“I’m not a dog,” you spit. 

“No, and you’re not a child either. You’re going to come with me. Now.” His tone is flat, and his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. Unsettling as always. 

You collect your knives and walk by Titus, leaving his extended hand hanging in the air.

Titus directs you to your bedroom, keeping a respectable distance as you make your way through the halls. Even after moving to your permanent residence, he doesn’t have you to sleep in the same bed as him. Chivalrous, maybe. More likely, though, his clear disdain for you would ruin his sound sleep.

When you open the door, you realize why he brought you back in.

Your belongings have been delivered. Four boxes, stacked neatly on the floor, with your name printed on the front. Your entire life, reduced to this. You would be ashamed, but you worked for everything in those boxes. It’s all yours.

“Your apartment has been paid off. Furniture sold, and personal effects packed,” Titus walks in behind you. “I’m not sure how you managed to live in such a tiny hovel, though,” he adds, nearly under his breath.

You glare at him, unamused.

“Anyway,” Titus clears his throat, “Let me know if anything is missing.”

“Okay,” you approach the boxes, gently kneeling on the ground to open them.

Old concert shirts, a few pictures, and some well loved novels. You pick up your worn and very annotated copy of The Portrait of Dorian Gray, grateful that it made the trip.

You move to the second box. Then the third. And the fourth. Your movements become more haphazard with each box, hope fading fast. You check the excess packing material, thinking it must be hidden somewhere. Not missing, though. It can’t be.

“It’s not here,” you mutter. Not wanting to believe it, you rifle through the boxes again. 

“What is it?” Titus asks, stepping up behind you. 

“My necklace. The- the heart pendant. It’s not here,” your voice is rising. 

Titus looks at your possessions with near disgust. “I can buy you another necklace-”

“No,” you cut him off, tone harsh. You turn to him and try to decide how much you’re willing to share with Titus. “It was my mother’s.”

For the first time, something softens behind Titus’s eyes. You almost don’t notice it, but there is definitely something different in his expression. Something like empathy, if that’s even possible for him.

“I- I understand,” he nods, tone noticeably softer. “I’ll send someone out to see if it was missed.”

You sit on your bed, arms wrapped around your stomach. “She was a single mom, and tried to give me the world. It was the only thing of value she had to her name. When she died-” your voice catches in your throat. You look up at Titus. His hands are heavy at his sides, clearly not sure what to do at this moment. 

“When she died,” you continue, “it was the only thing I had left of her.”

There’s a heavy silence, a lengthy pause. You retreat into yourself, any bravado you had cut short. Any quips you may have for Titus die on your tongue.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Titus nods and folds his hands behind his back.

He leaves you alone in your room, your whole life reduced to four measly boxes and a broken heart.

-

Titus decides to throw a dinner party. He says it’s to honor the new marriage, and to celebrate the Danforths remaining at the high seat of the council. But this is clearly just a way for the wealthy to live in their wealth. Spending money just to spend. Luxury for luxury’s sake.

Your outfit was chosen by him, of course. You half expected it to be some tacky, gaudy display of horrendous opulence. It’s not like he has proven to have exceptional taste.

But the dress is surprisingly lovely. Lush, deep blood red fabric hugs every curve from your breasts to your hips, then drips down to the floor. Off the shoulder straps leave your collar bone exposed. With minimal beading, it’s much more subdued than you would have expected from him. Not that his wardrobe is particularly flashy, but these events have a way of bringing the tackiness out of people.

The maids finish preparing, leaving you at the vanity, staring at yourself in the mirror. You look beautiful. And you can feel your will starting to erode. You hate how much you like this gown on you. You hate how perfectly your hair is pinned. You hate how your skin is glowing, how well this life fits on you, like the ring on your finger. 

Titus enters the room without knocking. The vest he’s wearing has an ornate pattern on it, blood red, matching your gown. 

“You look beautiful,” he says. 

“Way to compliment yourself,” you roll your eyes, “since you’re the one that picked this out.”

“The dress is nice,” Titus says, standing behind you now, hands behind his back. “You look beautiful. Now, close your eyes.”

“Why,” you glare at him through the mirror.

“Just do it,” he squints at you, patience thinning.

You stare at him for a moment, but he’s unmoving. Finally, you relent.

“You aren’t particularly trusting,” Titus says, voice low. “Then again, neither am I.”

“I wonder why,” you mutter, eyes still closed.

You feel a chain drop down around your neck, and his fingers clasp it behind you. You can only imagine what kind of garish jewels Titus has picked out for you. Without waiting for him to release you, your eyes open, and your gaze falls immediately on the necklace.

Your mother’s necklace. 

A thin, gold chain and heart pendant, etched with an ornate design. Simple, but beautiful. You thought you’d never see it again.

Tears well in your eyes. You blink them away quickly, careful not to ruin your makeup, or let on how moved you are by this gesture.

“How-” you start, but you bite your tongue.

“The servant who collected your things tried to pawn it. Idiot. He has been killed for his treachery." Titus says those words so plainly, and even smiles at you. Like taking a life is as mundane as taking out the trash. 

Your painted fingers move to the pendant, touching it gently, making sure this is real. There is a pang of guilt at the thought of someone dying for this. But you think about what you would have done just to get it back, and suddenly your disdain doesn’t feel as strong.

You look at Titus through the mirror. “Thank you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, but the rest of his face remains unchanged. Something flashes behind his eyes. Not smugness, but maybe pride. 

“Our guests will be arriving soon. Be sure you are in the foyer to receive them.”

And he leaves as quickly as he entered. 

Dinner is a chore, to say the least. These people, having no real lives or ambitions, have no personalities and no interesting things to say. They comment on the state of the world- which, seeing how far removed they are from it, leads to very shallow discussion. 

You remain silent, picking at the courses set in front of you. Any appetite you had vanished the moment you were seated and were forced into such mindless discussion.

Titus sits at the head of the table, and you at the other end. Every so often, he steals glances at you, and the necklace. But he otherwise does not acknowledge you or your presence at the table.

Somewhere near the end of the meal, you feel something nudge your leg. 

The cousin seated next to you, Jonathan or something, catches your attention. What you thought was a mistake proves to be very intentional when he drops his hand under the table, resting right on your thigh. His gaze is heavy, daring you to make a sound.

“Titus lucked out with you, didn’t he?” Jonathan’s voice is low, lost in the many conversations happening around the table. 

Your entire body goes stiff, unable to decide on what to do. Nothing in your brain materializes on your tongue, and for once, you are stunned into silence. The sheer audacity required to hit on you at a dinner party in your own house, when your psychotic husband is on the other end of the table.

“That is not a good idea.” Your words are weak, but it’s all you can think to say.

Jonathan gives your leg a rough squeeze. “Titus is all talk. We both know he’s not man enough to do what needs to be done,” his eyes drag over you, lingering over your chest and the deep breaths you’re taking. 

You look down the table at Titus, who doesn’t seem to have noticed. He’s locked in a conversation about who knows what. Oblivious to the disrespect happening right under his nose. 

Jonathan removes his hand and settles back in his chair, continuing on as though nothing happened. Your breath finally returns to you. Stupidly, you think that is the end of it. 

When the dinner party winds down, and the men gather in the drawing room for scotch and cigars, you excuse yourself. 

“I’m going to bed,” you murmur in Titus’s ear before slipping away. He gives a silent nod in understanding. 

In your room, you start by taking down your hair and removing your accessories. Your fingers once again linger on the necklace. Your heart squeezes in your chest, thinking of your mother, what she gave up for you. And how much you wish she was here to guide you. The necklace stays on.

There’s a knock on the door. Instantly, you know it’s not Titus. 

He doesn’t knock.

“Come in,” you say, thinking it’s one of the maids sent to help you undress.

The door creaks open, and Jonathan saunters in. He’s holding two glasses of wine in his hand. 

“I figure we pick up where we left off, what say you?” He sets the glasses down on a nearby table. 

“I say you should leave,” you say, backing away slowly. 

Jonathan loosens the tie around his neck. 

“You’re a woman with needs,” he says, stepping closer. It doesn’t take many strides for him to cross the room. “I’m sure you understand that a man has needs as well.”

His gaze appraises you again, dragging over your figure and practically licking his lips. 

“He will kill you,” you spit. 

“He won’t,” Jonathan shakes his head. “Because you won’t say anything, will you?”

Your back finds the wall, trapping you. Jonathan reaches out and tucks some hair behind your ear. “Pretty little wife,” he murmurs. “Pretty little trophy.”

Jonathan bends down and plants a kiss to your collar bone. Testing, to see how you’ll react. He looks up at you, searching for signs of betrayal. 

“Don’t,” you say, voice small. Your hands find his shoulders, and you start to push back. 

When you do, fury flashes in Jonathan’s eyes. This is no longer a game. At least, no longer a fun one. He captures your wrists in one hand and pins your arms above your head. 

“You’re going to take this like a good little whore,” he spits.

His other hand palms your breast roughly.

“I’ll scream,” you bite.

“I’m family,” Jonathan’s eyes are dark, “you’re just some gold-digging slut. We’ll see what happens. Who is believed.”

“Jonathan,” a voice cuts through the air. Angry, uneasy.

Never in your life have you been relieved to hear it. Until now.

Jonathan goes still. He releases you from his grip, and smooths the fabric of his shirt before turning. 

“I was wondering where you went off to. Only to find you groping my wife.” The words are venomous.

“Titus,” Jonathan nods. “Your wife has quite the insatiable appetite, doesn’t she?”

Jonathan’s voice is light, almost jovial. But there’s a tremble in it, and you can see the panic in his eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting to actually have to answer for this. “She asked me up here,” Jonathan continues, stepping closer to Titus.

Titus’s eyes move from Jonathan to you, looking for something, anything, to validate what Jonathan is saying. A quiet anger simmers below the surface, ready to explode with any excuse.

With everything you have gathered about the Danforths, specifically about Titus, you know what will happen if you out Jonathan and his true motives. His fate will be sealed. And right now, you couldn’t care less about him or his life. You give a near imperceptible shake of your head that Titus understands immediately. 

“Come with me,” he says to Jonathan, turning on his heels and moving quickly from your room. 

Jonathan turns to you, flashing a smile as he walks away. But the smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and you know that he can feel how the air shifted. 

The door closes. You hear hushed voices for just a moment, before the loud bang of a gunshot cuts through the air. 

A heavy thud, then nothing.

Titus enters the room again. You see Jonathan’s legs on the ground on the other side of the door, his lifeless body already worthless, dead weight. The blood splatter blends in with the color of Titus’s vest, but you still see small specs around his collar and on his neck. The gun is still firm in his grasp. 

“Blood is not easy to wash from silk,” he nods to you. “And it’s easier to clean the floors than an entire room, anyhow.” The way he says it so calmly, so rationally, shocks you more than the killing itself.

At this point, after all you’ve been through, the violence should be second nature to you. There have been many sleepless nights spent reliving the lives you’ve taken. Their faces, bloodied and screaming, calling out to you. Asking why. But it was self defence. It was all in the name of survival. That’s what you say to their decaying bodies in your nightmares, at least. 

As horrifying as it is, you hope that you never one day grow numb to these careless acts of violence. 

You haven’t moved away from the wall yet, but your pulse has noticeably steadied. Titus sets the gun down on the table next to the glasses of wine and makes his way to you. 

“You should know,” Titus says, “I will always protect what is mine.”

You take a deep, steadying breath.

“And like it your not,” his voice drops low, “you are mine.”

Titus reaches out for you. This is the first time that you don’t flinch. The first time that Titus has reached for you, and your first thought is not of the possible and very likely damage he could inflict upon you. And has. 

There is no ire in his words. You slide your hand in his. 

“Are you hurt?” he asks, pulling you to the center of the room. 

You don’t argue as Titus turns you away from him. His hands drag from your hips, to your waist, up to your shoulders. 

“No,” you say, voice thin. 

“Good,” he says. 

His fingers find the top button of your dress, undoing it quickly. Your body stills. 

One of his hands lingers on your waist, while the other drags the zipper down your back. Slow and controlled. Your breathing shallows. 

Titus leans in, pressing a kiss to the base of your neck, then your bare shoulder. He pushes the straps of your gown down, the fabric giving way easily under his touch. The satin slips down your body, pooling at your feet. 

You’re left standing in front of him in your undergarments. Compared to the fear coursing through you when Jonathan touched you, this is different. You aren’t afraid, not of Titus. Not now. This feeling is harder to name. It’s almost curiosity. Almost.

Titus’s hands grip your bare hips. The touch shoots up your spine. It’s not bruising, but firm. He’s reminding you that he can, and will, do what he pleases. His mouth moves up your neck again. You don’t realize how long it’s been since anyone has really touched you until now. Not your ex-fiance, not anyone. 

Your body leans back to him without you realizing it, your back meeting his chest. 

One of Titus’s hands moves slowly from your hip to the front of your panties. Just resting, not moving between your legs yet. Titus sets his chin on your shoulder, looking down at how your body reacts to him. Your breath catches in your throat.

“Feeling needy, are we?” Titus’s voice is low and gravelly right at the shell of your ear. 

“N-no.” You don’t even believe yourself when you whisper it.

“Don’t lie to me, darling,” his fingers toy with the lacy seam. 

As much as you can feel the heat growing between your legs, you can’t get the context of this situation out of your head. What almost happened just 10 minutes ago, the dead body outside your bedroom door. The hands on you, and what else they have done to you.

“I’m-not-” you breathe.

Suddenly, Titus pulls away. You almost fall backwards, jolting back to yourself.

You turn to him, your face burning.

He can’t meet your eye as he smooths the front of his vest. You can’t quite read his face, but he looks almost disturbed, embarrassed.

“Good night,” he gives you a curt nod.

You watch him walk out, dazed. You have no idea what just happened, and you’ve stopped breathing entirely.

As soon as the door shuts, you drop to your knees, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions. Your hand presses to your chest, heart clenching, pulse racing. Everything from this evening collides in your brain. 

Jonathan’s leering, greedy gaze. The way Titus looked at you, angry, protective. How vulnerable he looked when he left. How your body eagerly accepted his touch. It’s all too much.

There’s no sleeping soundly tonight. 

Hours spent tossing and turning, you finally give up. Anxiety fills you all over again. Every sound, every creak in this god forsaken house, sounds like someone entering your room. You sit up, sleep deprivation pulling at your sanity. There’s no way you’ll get any rest like this. Feeling alone and unsafe. 

There is one room that you know no one will enter. 

Until now, neither have you.

You pad down the dimly lit hall, a few lights guiding your way. 

A large painting of the late Chester Danforth watches you walk by. His face is somber, stoic. You pause for a moment, feeling uneasy under his gaze. Titus’s eyes have the same look when he’s focused. You shake off the eerie similarities and push on.

You hold your palms to the heavy wood of Titus’s bedroom door, pressing your ear to try to hear any movement inside. All you hear is the racing pulse in your ears. 

Trying to be as quiet as possible, you push the door open, just enough for you to slip through. 

You see Titus’s sleeping figure illuminated by the moonlight. He’s on his back, one arm resting on his chest, and one arm splayed out next to him. You approach slowly and quietly, just in case he’s a light sleeper. 

It’s almost strange, seeing him like this. Completely disarmed. There’s a softness in his features that you haven’t been able to appreciate, what with his personality ruining it. You want to lean in and memorize him like this. The sharpness of his jaw, the slight curve of his nose, his long lashes.

Titus’s chest rises and falls steadily, clearly in deep sleep. You move quietly to the other side of the bed and slip under the covers, head resting over his outstretched arm. 

For a few moments, you just watch Titus sleep. Like this, you can pretend. You can pretend that he’s not who he is, and that you married into a normal life. That Titus is a loving husband. That you are not constantly unnerved by him and confused by his motivations. 

It lulls you to sleep.

Morning light streaming through the gap in the curtains wakes you softly. It takes you a moment for you to remember yourself and your surroundings. Everything comes back to you when you see Titus’s arm wrapped around your waist, holding you flush to his chest. His face is pressed against your hair. 

Annoyingly, this was probably the best night’s sleep you’ve had these last few weeks, which pains you to admit.

One minute. You allow yourself one minute like this. To feel Titus’s arm around you and again, pretend this is normal. You want to melt into his embrace, and forget what he’s done.

But you don’t want to risk him waking up like this, with his arms wrapped around you. There’s no way you would willingly give him that satisfaction.

You hold your breath and try to slip out from his grasp without waking him, almost tripping trying to contort yourself in such a way that makes as little noise as possible. When you straighten yourself out, Titus appears to still be sleeping. Thankfully. 

You quietly sneak to his door and pull it open without another glance. 

“Sleep well?” his groggy, deep voice calls out to you. 

You press your forehead to the door and curse quietly to yourself. When you turn around, Titus has one arm tucked behind his head, eyes on you. His mouth curves into a smug grin.

“Don’t.” The word is a curt warning. 

“Come back to bed, darling,” his voice is dripping with condescension. 

You remember why all of that softness from last night was not real. The fact that you were able to pretend this was remotely normal was not real. It was all in your head. You will never have a normal life with Titus, not as long as he is who he is. 

Face hot, you leave without another word.

-

“Pernilla,” you look up from your book, “where is Titus?”

“The guest room in the west wing,” she nods. Her eyes shift back and forth, and she looks uncharacteristically nervous.

“Okay,” you say, dragging out the end of the word. “Why is he in there?”

She doesn’t answer right away.

“You know what,” you hold a hand up. “Don’t worry about it.”

It takes you a second to even figure out where the west wing is- this house is far too big for normal people- and find the guest room.

You lean your head to the door and are immediately confused. All you hear is the sounds of sex. Whines, moans, and the animalistic grunts that can only come from your dear husband. 

The door creaks when you open it, and falls heavily shut behind you. 

“Darling!” Titus smiles when he sees you. 

The girl, whoever she is, is bent over in front of him. Her hands are tied behind her back with thick satin bindings, face twisted in pain or pleasure, you're not sure. Then again, the line between them is thin, anyway. 

Titus is thrusting into her at a dizzying pace, surely chasing his own release, not worried about the girl in front of him. His bare chest is glistening with sweat, biceps pronounced as he grabs the bindings of the girl in front of him, hauling her up and pressing her back to his chest. 

“She’s pretty, isn’t she?” Titus asks, looking at you with amusement. He drags his tongue up her neck, gathering the sweat. She whimpers, leaning her head back to his shoulder.

Titus forces her face forward towards you. “Meet my wife,” he says into her ear. 

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” You ask, crossing your arms. “That would suggest I want you in the first place.”

You can’t help your gaze from falling down to the girl’s poor pussy, where Titus moves in and out. It’s the first time you’ve seen him. All of him. You swallow hard, trying to keep your face flat.

“You expect all of us to take a vow of celibacy, just because you have?” he smirks. “Sit down,” Titus nods to the chaise across the room, “if you want to watch.”

The girl in front of him starts whining again. Titus covers her mouth with a firm grip. “Shut your fucking mouth,” he growls. 

You narrow your eyes. This was a no-win scenario. Leaving would imply that he got to you somehow. He could stay in here, fucking this girl in peace. Staying and watching would mean he could put on a show, and you would be subjected to whatever happened next. Or, worse, let him think you were turned on by this display. You wish you never walked in.

Arms still crossed, you walk towards the bed. Titus’s hips stutter slightly, clearly confused by this course of action. You grab the girl’s face with one hand, bringing her gaze to you. 

“Does that feel good?” you ask. 

“Mhmm,” she whimpers. 

“Did he let you come?” you push the hair out of her face. 

“N-no,” she whines. 

Titus looks down at you, smile faltering. 

With your eyes locked on Titus, you drag two fingers into your mouth, and press them against her exposed clit. She lets out a loud yelp. 

“Wha-what are you doing?” Titus groans, feeling the effects of your actions on his cock.

“Come on, come for me, let go,” you coo at the girl, caressing her clit as Titus continues to move inside. 

His pace has slowed, too busy watching you. 

You’re not sure how long he has been using this poor girl’s cunt, but it doesn’t take long for her to reach her peak.

“I’m coming,” she whimpers. “Oh my god.”

You help her ride through it, watching Titus’s face as she squeezes him. He drops her down onto the bed face first, his face twisted. 

“What’s the matter?” you smirk. “You gonna come now, too?”

He looks at you, breathless, as it dawns on him. He can stop now, stave off the climax he’s right on the edge of, or find his release, and end this charade.

“Bitch,” he mutters, moving inside the girl again. 

“Your bitch,” you spit. 

Titus is so sensitive at this point, that it takes three more thrusts for him to finish off inside the poor girl. 

“Show’s over,” you shrug, turning to leave. “And make sure you clean her up before you send her away. Please.”

-

Two can play at this game. 

Not that you want to hire an escort to fuck. Titus would clearly enjoy that. 

In true Titus fashion, you saunter into the study, unannounced. In your clothes. Not the ones Titus bought for you. The ones he turned his nose down at when they were delivered in boxes. 

Soft, dainty panties and a flowy nightgown that is far too short to be considered PG. It was your go-to sleeping outfit when you were trying to seduce your now dead ex-husband. Worked every time.

Titus's eyes rake over you, not even trying to hide his leering.

"Comfortable?" he asks, taking a sip of his whiskey.

"Very," you smile. You lie on the couch on your stomach, your ass almost completely out, and feet waving lazily in the air. You flip open a magazine, and try to pretend like it’s the most interesting thing you’ve read in the last two months.

Titus clears his throat and moves the paperwork in front of him to the side of the desk. He leans back in his chair and just…watches you.

You continue leafing through the pages, feigning ignorance. The quiet is unsettling, though. Every so often, you steal a glance at Titus, to find that sure enough, he’s still just watching. 

Deciding to take it up a notch, you roll over onto your back. Your legs drape over the backrest of the couch, and the soft satin falls even further, exposing the entirety of your legs. Very little skin is left covered.

Titus clears his throat.

“You have something to say to me?” you ask, not looking up from the page.

“Just that you are incredibly predictable,” Titus drawls. 

One of your legs falls to the edge of the couch, completely exposing your panties. “What’s the matter, dear? Can’t stand to look at what you can’t have?”

Titus rises from his desk and moves towards you. The magazine falls from your grip. He just stares down at you at first, almost appraising you. When he reaches down, you think he may break his word, you think he may have snapped. He may take you right here on the couch.

But he grips the front of your panties, dragging the fabric firmly between the folds of your pussy, rubbing right against your clit. 

Your jaw drops in a surprised, silent moan, eyes wide.

“You think you can tempt me?” he says, his voice low and gravelly. His eyes aren’t crazed. Intense, yes, but otherwise Titus is surprisingly calm. His grip on your panties tightens, increasing the friction on your clit. 

A low whimper escapes you before you can stop it. 

“That’s not-”

“You’ll have to try harder, my dear,” he says, finally letting go. The fabric hits your skin with a sharp snap. 

You yelp. Against your better judgement, and the soul still thriving in your heart, you are ashamed to admit how wet you are. 

“Satan knows I want you,” he caresses the side of your face.

You have to will your eyelashes not to flutter, and your heart to stop beating so fast. 

“But like I said,” Titus’s gaze is heavy, eyes boring into yours, “when I have you, you’ll be begging for me.”

You swallow hard, trying to get a fucking grip. This should not be turning you on, and yet.

And yet.

-

“What the fuck is going on in here?” Titus storms into the kitchen. The arguing, he ignored. It was when he heard your voice cut through the hall that Titus knew he needed to see what the hell was the matter.

He finds you standing there, thoroughly chastised by his tone.

“They won’t let me cook,” you cross your arms. 

The cooks look at Titus, eyes wide, not knowing what to do. 

Titus takes a beat, closing his eyes for a moment, like he’s trying to calm himself.

“Leave,” his voice booms through the kitchen. 

They vacate without another word. The entire kitchen leaves, a fury of kitchen clogs scurrying out of the room.

“Of course they listen to you,” you mutter.

“They would listen to you,” Titus says, moving closer to you, “if you didn’t ask them for things that directly contradict me. Now, what is this about?” 

“I wanted to make dinner,” you shrug. “They wouldn’t let me, kept offering to do it for me.”

“Really?” Titus’s eyebrows raise. “An entire team of expertly trained chefs, and you think you can cook better than them?”

“It’s not about better,” you snap.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he scoffs. 

“Like you would even understand,” your voice rises. 

“I don’t!” his matches.

“I need some agency, Titus!” You’re yelling now. The only person (alive) to dare raise their voice at Titus Danforth. “I don’t understand how you live like this. I need to know that I can still do something for myself. That I can still take care of myself.”

“You don’t need to take care of yourself,” he hisses.

“It’s not a matter of need, darling,” you spit out the pet name. “You obviously don’t get it. I’m sure Titus Danforth can’t even make a fucking grilled cheese!”

He narrows his eyes at that. You think you may have angered him, struck a nerve, but you don’t care. At this point, more than two months in, Titus has proven that he won’t lift a finger to you with the intent of causing pain. At least, not anymore.

“Sit,” he points to the stool in the corner.

“Titus, I’m not-”

“Sit. Down.” He hisses. “I won’t say it again.”

You settle down on the stool, arms still crossed. 

Titus takes a moment to orient himself before searching around the kitchen. He opens and closes multiple cabinets, not finding what he’s looking for. 

“This is painful,” you groan. 

“Shut up.”

“You don’t even know where anything is in here,” you roll your eyes.

He finally finds a skillet, and glares at you pointedly. 

“Congrats,” you scoff. 

He sets the pan on the burner and pilfers for everything else. Butter, sliced bread, cheese. 

“Cheddar, gouda, or havarti?” he asks over his shoulder, looking at the offerings in the fridge.

“Cheddar and gouda,” you reply.

“Of course,” he mutters.

You watch as he builds the sandwich, the actions clearly foreign to him. Nearly tearing a hole in the bread as he spreads the butter, and cursing to himself when he realizes that he let the pan get too hot. You watch as the man who walks with his head high, all the confidence in the world, stumbles through the kitchen. For you.

“My mother was a lot like you,” he says without removing his attention from the skillet. “She married into the family. What she wanted was security, what she got was my father.”

He flips the sandwich, wincing slightly when he sees how dark this side is. You listen to him silently. “In the end, she wouldn’t let this life consume her. Until it ended her. And my father saw her as weak for it.”

When Titus turns the sandwich out onto a plate, the second side is much lighter than the first. He seems pleased with himself, sliding the plate down the counter to you. 

“It’s a little well done,” you grumble. 

“Satan help me,” he sighs, eyes cast towards the ceiling, flexing his hands at his sides.

You take the plate in your hands, looking down at it, and back up to Titus. “So what you’re telling me is that your humanity died with your mother? That’s it? You are the way you are because she was the light? And then your daddy put it out?”

“What I’m saying,” he grits his teeth. “Is that the world is not black and white. We are all good. We are all evil. You have to be the strongest in the room. You have know how to play the game.”

“I’m tired of your fucking games,” you take the plate and storm out of the kitchen. 

“And by the way,” you pivot back for the last word. Apparently, you can’t help yourself. You raise the plate. “This is still not what I wanted. The grilled cheese was a joke. I was going to make myself a chicken quesadilla. So. Thanks for that. You proved that you can burn bread and that you don’t listen.”

Titus just blinks at you. “Incredible.”

-

This cat and mouse is exhausting. You don’t know how much longer you can do this, how much longer you can keep being the petulant, defiant bride.

One day, Titus is surely going to snap. He seems on edge as it is. When he gave you his word, he probably didn’t think you’d last as long as you have- three months now. The teasing and taunting from both of you has gotten to be pathetic and draining. 

Some days, you can almost feel your humanity eroding. Being locked away in the gilded cage, seeing no one, caring for nothing. It has a way of steeling you to the outside world and its problems in a way you swore wouldn’t happen.

But then, you’ll catch a glimpse of a story on the news. Or Titus will take you with him to the resort for a day of meetings. Being around people again, it reinvigorates you, grounds you, reminds you that there is something outside of the Newport walls.

“We should come out here more often,” you look at him over your sunglasses. 

“Why, are you bored at the house?” he drawls. 

You just stare at him. 

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You sit out by the pool of the penthouse suite at the Danforth Casino and Resort, while Titus paces back and forth on the phone. Every so often, his voice raises at whoever is on the other line. Eventually, you try to tune him out and lean your head back on the lounge chair. 

“You have a short temper,” you say when you feel his shadow cast over you, eyes still closed. “You should consider therapy.”

“I’m in therapy. It’s called a cigar club, very effective,” he responds. “I need to take care of some business down at the casino.”

You wave him off. “Okay,” you say, uncaring. 

You expect him to stalk off, like he always does. But instead, he bends down and presses a rough kiss to your head. You wave him off.

“I’ll be back shortly.” 

You mumble a response.

As the time passes, you get bored fast. After an hour, you decide you’ve had enough. With the entirety of this resort at your fingertips, Titus thinks you’re going to stay locked up in this room? 

Laughable.

You pull a sundress over your swimsuit, slide into some sandals, and take the elevator down. 

There’s people everywhere. You wander the lobby, watching the uber wealthy fret over luggage and take pictures by the front entrance. You wonder, if they knew of the blood spilled in order to keep this thing afloat, would they still come? Still make their reservations, host their bachelorette parties? Or would they turn their heads, somber for a while, mumbling about thoughts and prayers, and still come back for more?

You move on, knowing the answer.

You see the cinnamon sugar curls of your dear husband, his back to you, talking to someone you’ve never met. They’re standing in the doorway of the casino, having a heated discussion. You try to stay on the fridges, watching without looming, but it doesn’t last long. 

The man sees you, and immediately his demeanor changes, lightening up to something worthy of a show.

“Ah, the wife,” his face lights up dramatically at the sight of you. You try not to roll your eyes at the address.

Titus’s head snaps in your direction. The heat behind his eyes fades, brows knitting together into something akin to concern. You step closer, plastering on a smile of your own.

“Mrs. Danforth, lovely to make your acquaintance.” The man bows his head and kisses the back of your hand. It’s not exactly inappropriate, but it still confuses the hell out of you. 

“Likewise,” you reply, still unsure of what to make of him.

“I’m Jones, your husband’s favorite business partner.” Jones flashes a mouth full of tacky veneers. 

“Remains up for debate,” Titus deadpans. 

“I hear you hold the humanity of our man Titus, here,” he grabs Titus by the shoulders, shaking him a little. 

Titus clearly does not like that.

“Wha- what do you mean?” you ask, your gaze flickering between them.

“Enough-” Titus starts.

“Apparently,” Jones continues, “Titus has been making all kinds of changes with his new seat. And people seem to credit all of it to his marriage to you.”

In an instant, his smile is no longer joyful. Jones drags his gaze down your body, sizing you up, deciding what to make of you. 

Titus’s jaw clenches. He opens his mouth to say something, but stops when you drape your arms over his shoulder. He brings a hand to your waist as you press your body to his side. 

“Well, if you know anything about my husband,” you say, “you know that he doesn’t do anything on anyone’s behalf. Afterall-”

You look Titus dead in the eye, your noses almost touching.

“He’s not a man that can be controlled.”

Titus’s jaw works again, eyes refusing to lift from yours. 

“Right,” Jones nods. “Of course.”

“Go away, Jones,” Titus grits, still not looking away from you.

Jones lingers for a moment longer. 

“Now,” Titus raises his eyebrows and flicks his wrist in annoyance.

As soon as Jones is gone, you remove your hands from Titus. But he keeps his grip securely around your waist. 

“I thought I told you to stay upstairs,” he mutters. 

“You didn’t, darling,” you smile. 

“It should go without saying at this point.”

A hand firmly at the small of your back, he leads you back to the elevator. You grumble under your breath the entire way.

“What was that about, anyway?” You ask as soon as the elevator doors close. 

“Don’t speak to me right now,” he says without looking at you, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

“It’s a long ride to the top,” you say, “plenty of time.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Titus snaps. 

You narrow your eyes at him. “No.”

Titus moves quickly. His hand wrapped around your jaw, not hard but forceful, pushing you against the shiny, opulent wall of the elevator. Your eyes widen.

“I have been very patient with you,” he spits. “Any other slut would have been bent over my knee a hundred times already. And still, you push me.”

“Titus,” your voice is thin. It’s the only word you can get out. 

He’s completely pressed against you, and you feel every muscle and hard outline of his body.

“You think you’re better than me, don’t you? Higher, holier, cleaner” he continues, “but I’ve seen what those pretty hands are capable of. The violence, the destruction. You were one of us before I put the ring on your finger. Before our blood mingled on the page.”

You want to argue, but Titus is right. Whether or not it was self defense, you still did those things. You still hurt people. And lived to not regret it at all.

“You want me to tell you that I want you? Huh?” Titus’s pupils are completely blown, voice harried. “You want me to tell you that when I fucked that girl, I pretended she was you? What difference would it make?”

“Titus,” you croak again. You bring your hands up around his biceps. The action is small, but it does something to him. At the very least, it snaps him out of it. He presses his lips together, and with a frustrated growl, Titus releases you from his grip. 

Your breath comes back to you all at once. 

“Do not mistake my restraint for anything other than that,” he spits. 

The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to the penthouse. Titus storms out without another glance at you. 

You’ve completely lost it. There’s no other explanation for what you are feeling. This man has chased you, threatened you, and tried to kill you- multiple times. He’s made you fear for your life. 

But now, when you watch him pace the length of the patio from the other side of the sliding glass door, you twist the ring around your finger. You think about the serenity of his sleeping form. The way he protected you from his own family. The lengths he went to for the one thing in your life you held dear. Even that stupid, nearly burned grilled cheese.

Ursula was wrong when she said there was no goodness in him. She just wasn’t looking in the right places.

Titus has won. Again. It doesn't bring you any joy. But what's worse is knowing you are trapped either way. And you are so tired of fighting, of pushing, of making your life harder. Wouldn’t it just be easier to acquiesce? To give in to the part of yourself that isn’t repulsed by any of this?

And really, how bad can selling your soul really be? In the grand scheme of things?

The sun dips down below the horizon. Room service has brought up your meal, and you sit in silence with Titus. 

The sound of cutlery hitting against the plates is interrupted by Titus’s deep breath. Your attention snaps to him immediately.

“I…” he starts

You look up at him from behind your glass. The sip of wine turns into a full gulp.

“I dismantled a terrorist organization in the Middle East.”

You set your glass down, nodding, trying to absorb this information.

“That’s what Jones was referring to. He had an arms deal with them that is now…void.”

Titus does not look proud or pleased. You try to catch his gaze, but he won’t look at you directly. 

“Why are you telling me this?” you ask carefully.

“You asked,” he says.

After a beat of silence, you continue. “You don’t have to do anything on my behalf.”

“I don’t.” Titus finally looks at you, his words heavy. “It’s hard to invigorate economic growth when those people are being slaughtered, so.”

Titus shrugs. He isn’t eating anymore, silverware set down on his plate. 

“Of course,” you nod. 

You don’t know what to make of this information. Would Titus have always made that decision? Was Jones right, are you somehow swaying him? It’s something you’ll probably never know.

Titus still won’t sleep in the same room as you. Now you realize, it’s not disdain, it’s temptation. The best way for him to ensure that he keeps his hands to himself is to make sure there is a physical wall between you. 

It’s late, but you can’t stop thinking. The time you spend undressing, your thoughts are with Titus. Trying to figure out how you feel, how to move forward. What the right choice is in this impossible situation. Sleep isn’t even an option right now.

You tighten the robe around your waist, wringing the straps in your hands. Your body and mind are at war with each other, fighting over control. But really, the choice is simple. Keep fighting, keep resisting, or take your place. Accept your fate. Make this system work in your favor.

And you’ve come too far to remain a prisoner. 

Your knuckles hit the door lightly, almost sheepishly. It’s like you’re giving yourself an out if he doesn’t hear. 

“Come in,” Titus’s voice calls from the other side.

You slip in quietly, shutting the door behind you.

Titus’s hungry eyes watch as you cross the room. He’s standing by the fireplace, stance wide, top buttons of his shirt open. The dim lighting of the room and low fire highlight his features, the ones you came to appreciate in the moonlight.

You twist the tie of your robe again, trying to steady your heartbeat. 

“What is it?” TItus asks, crossing his arms. 

You don’t say anything for a moment, just looking around the room. The entire Newport house, and even the lodge, have Danforth written all over them. Old, ancient money, collections that would put a museum to shame. But this is the first time you are surrounded by Titus’s things. What he holds with value.

“I thought maybe we could sleep in the same bed tonight,” you say, meandering towards his desk. Titus’s eyes track your movements, but he doesn’t stop you.

“You thought?” Titus narrows his eyes at you. 

You gently push a stack of books aside, fanning them out to read the covers. Most of them are ancient-looking notebooks, or books on finance. But one catches your eye.

The Portrait of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde. The same edition as your very well-loved copy. He’s been reading it, you can see the tabs and dog ears as evidence.

“Yes,” you whisper, gaze meeting his. 

When you finally approach Titus, he drops his arms to his sides. You reach for his shirt, carefully undoing the rest of the buttons. The fabric falls open, exposing the lightly freckled skin that you’ve only seen once before. Titus watches your face as your eyes drop to his chest. 

You raise your hands towards him.

Titus grabs your wrists. Your breath catches in surprise, but not fear.

“Don’t toy with me.” His voice is a low warning. 

“I’m not,” you reply. You are not trembling, you are not confused. There is not an ounce of mischief in your actions. Not this time.

He releases his grip, and you bring your hands to his shoulders, gently pushing his shirt down over his shoulders to the ground. You don’t hide your appraising stare. His broad chest, his strong arms. Every move is slow and deliberate. You’re taking your time, and Titus is taking you in. 

"Say it," he says, still not raising his voice.

You chew on your bottom lip. 

“I need to hear you say it,” his voice is still strong, but laced with less venom. Almost desperate. Almost.

"Titus," you look him in the eye, "I want you. Please.”

Titus’s eyes- though already dark- cloud over with something forceful. He clamps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His eyes move between yours and your lips, like he’s trying to make his mind up. Decide if you mean it, or if this is just a trick.

He takes you for your word.

His mouth presses against yours. Just like on your wedding night. Forceful, eager. Only this time, you kiss him back. Your mouth opens for him, taking his tongue against yours. This is the first time he’s kissed you since the wedding night. And that was completely one sided.

This time, you whimper into his mouth, and it spurs him forward.

It’s not sloppy. Titus is many things, but not sloppy. He’s eager, ready to take what he believes is his. 

And as of now, you are. Completely.

He grabs at the tie of your robe, undoing it and letting the soft fabric fall, leaving you in your delicate lingerie. Your exposed skin prickles in the cold air. It’s not the first time Titus has seen you like this. But it’s the first time he’s been able to drink you in, knowing that it’s all for him. 

“On your knees,” his voice is gruff, catching his breath.

The command runs through you.

You lower yourself to the floor, looking up at him through your lashes. Titus’s breath comes out heavy as he loosens the buttons at his waist. His eyes don’t leave yours as he pushes the waistbands down, discarding both his pants and underwear at the same time. 

Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of him, hard and ready. You think back to when you saw him fucking the escort. That was different. Now, you’re seeing him fully, right in front of you. Embarrassingly, your mouth waters a little. 

When you think he’s going to come closer, Titus actually steps away from you. He looks smug as he settles back into an arm chair by the fireplace. 

He watches you, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. 

“Come here,” he waves. 

Heat rises in your cheeks. You know what he wants. After a deep breath, you move to your hands and knees, and slowly crawl to him. He watches you cross the room, hungry and waiting. You push your face against his knee, resting your head on his leg. 

“Good girl,” he smiles. The praise courses through you. You should be embarrassed. This should be upsetting to you. But for some reason, your panties are completely soaked. 

Titus looks down. “You know what to do.” 

You swallow once, bracing yourself. When you reach for him, and wrap your fingers around his length, Titus’s inhale sharpens. His smile falls fast. It makes you remember that he had been waiting for this, too. Even if he wasn’t completely without sex in the meantime.

With your mouth wide, you look up at Titus and drag your tongue up his length, gathering the salty precum at the tip, watching for his reaction. 

Titus’s mouth opens slightly, feeling your tongue against him. He reaches one hand behind your head, threading his fingers through your hair, and holds you steady. 

“Come on,” he says, “take it.”

You open your mouth as wide as you can, and he pushes your head down. One of your hands rests on his thigh, and when you take him as far back as your throat will allow, you squeeze gently. It’s involuntary, like a muscle reaction.

And he stops. 

Titus’s eyes close for a moment, feeling your wet mouth tight around him. “That’s it,” he groans. 

You gag slightly, and after a moment, Titus lets you up for air. Saliva drips from your lips onto his lap. He lets you take a moment before pushing your mouth back around him. 

It’s equal parts strength and trust. Titus pushes you down further and further each time, only stopping when your fingers curl gently at his thigh. 

Eventually, Titus releases his grip, giving you autonomy. You don’t relent, bobbing your head up and down, hand stroking the length your mouth doesn’t reach. Titus’s fingers grip the arm of the chair, growing more and more restless the longer you work him.

“Enough,” he says. His voice is strong, but he’s slightly breathless. You try not to get too smug, knowing that you can elicit this reaction from him.

“Enough?” you ask, resting your cheek on his thigh again.

He motions for you to stand, and you slowly rise to your feet.

He rises along with you, capturing your mouth with his again. His hands grasp as much of you as possible. It’s a frenzied kind of contact. After months of depriving him, Titus finally has you. And he can’t stop touching you.

“You drive me fucking crazy, you know that?” he mutters into your mouth. 

You reach behind you for the clasps at your bra.

“No,” he grips your arms and pulls away, “I want to do it.” 

“Okay,” you roll your eyes, just a little, and drop your hands, letting Titus reach behind you. 

His eyes don’t move from yours until the fabric falls away, exposing more of you. He takes you in, and can’t help himself from reaching up and palming your breast, catching a hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger. 

You hiss, the sensation shooting through you.

“Sensitive?” he asks, dipping his mouth down to your chest. 

You gasp and thread your fingers in his hair, holding him close. Titus holds you, hands splayed out on your waist and ass. 

“Please,” you whimper, running your hands down his arms. 

“Please what?” he mutters, standing over you again.

“Please,” you breathe, “I need you inside me.”

Titus smiles, the tone of your voice clearly exciting him.

He kisses you, pushing you towards the bed. When the backs of your legs hit the mattress, you collapse onto your back.

“Let me see her,” he mutters, pushing your legs open. He presses his mouth to your panties, dragging his tongue over the wet spot that’s formed.

“Don’t make it weird,” you writhe under him.

“What’s the matter?” Titus looks at you from between your thighs. “Embarassed?”

“No,” bite back, but you feel heat rush your cheeks. 

Titus pulls at the straps of your underwear, tugging the fabric down your legs. 

He starts on your thighs, biting down on your skin, soothing the marks with his tongue. He pushes your legs up, knees towards your stomach to get a better angle. You are completely open and exposed to him, everything on display.

“Fuck,” he hisses, licking his lips before kissing the skin just around your cunt.

“Titus,” you whine. 

“Look at how wet you are,” he mutters against you. “Who is all this for?”

You whimper, desire clouding your thought processing power. His tongue slides quickly over your folds, just tasting you for now.

“Say it,” he grunts. 

“For you,” you gasp, back arching off the mattress. “It’s for you, Titus.”

“That’s right,” he growls. Two fingers slide over your pussy, teasing, before slipping in easily. “Mine.”

Your jaw drops at the sudden thrust. 

“Oh shit,” you hiss.

“I can’t believe this is what you’ve been hiding,” TItus says, slipping a third finger into you.

You can’t think of anything remotely intelligent to say. The combination of Titus’s mouth on your clit, drinking you in, and his fingers sliding in and out, brings you to the edge faster than you wanted. It has been months, after all.

“Titus, I’m so close,” you bring your hand down into his hair, pushing your hips closer to his mouth, chasing the release.

“No,” he pulls away. “Not yet.”

You let out a frustrated groan. “What the fuck?”

“The only way you get to come,” he stands upright, looking down at your desperate form, “is wrapped around my cock.”

You stare daggers, but open your legs for him anyway, as he slowly fists himself, moving closer. 

Titus bends over you, a glint in his eye. He presses a firm kiss to your lips again, tongue sliding against yours. He swallows your gasp when you feel his tip graze over your pussy, teasing you. 

“Titus,” you moan. 

“What, darling?” he drops his mouth to your jaw, trailing wet kisses to your neck.

You buck your hips slightly, seeking out any kind of friction you can get. 

“Words,” Titus growls, nose brushing yours. “Tell me what you want.”

You kiss him, taking his bottom lip in your teeth as you pull away. “Enough with the teasing. Fuck. Me,” your eyes narrow.

“That’s more like it,” Titus smiles. 

“I told you,” he says, lining himself up with your entrance, “when I take you, you would beg for it.”

Any smart quips die in your throat when he suddenly thrusts inside of you. You take him all the way in all at once, pushing you to your limit.

“Fuck,” Titus grunts. “Look at that. You take me so well.”

“Titus,” you breathe, voice wavering. “It’s too much. I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” he says, holding your legs up over his shoulders. “You’re going to be a good girl and take it.”

He starts moving, and your vision immediately starts fading at the edges. You’re completely overwhelmed, voice already ragged. 

“You feel so good,” Titus says, pressing his face to your leg. He kisses your calf as he slowly pulls out before pushing all the way back in.

Titus watches your face, watches for the moment that your whines change from pain to pleasure. Only then does he start to pick up the pace. 

“Talk to me, darling,” he pants. “I want to hear you.”

“You’re splitting me apart,” you moan. 

“You want me to stop?” his mouth curls up into a sly grin. 

“No.” The word slips out quickly. Too quickly. 

Titus presses a smug smile to your leg. 

“Don’t,” you snap, but the word is not as threatening as you want it to be.

Titus moves his hand down between your legs, pressing gentle circles over your sensitive clit. 

Your hands find purchase on the sheets, gripping them so tightly you almost cramp. It’s impossible to keep your body still, arching and writhing under him. 

The climax you were so cruelly denied just moments ago builds back up in your belly.

“Please,” you look up at Titus. This is as close as you will let yourself get to literally begging him. 

“How could I deny that face,” Titus smiles down at you. The mischievous glint is gone, his eyes only focused on your and your breath. 

Broken, desperate sounds claw their way from your throat as you finally feel the euphoric release you were chasing. The orgasm washes over your entire body, all the way down to your toes. 

Titus feels it, too. His jaw goes slack and his hips stutter, feeling your walls squeeze around him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he moans, fucking you through it. 

“You need- ugh- Titus please,” you press your hands on his hips, completely over-stimulated and overwhelmed. 

He pulls out of you, but not without a sly grin plastered over his face. 

“Too much for you?” Titus bends over you and kisses your neck.

“Don’t,” you groan. But your legs wrap around his hips, holding him close. 

“I think I’ll say whatever I please,” he kisses you hungrily. “After all this time, I’m going to enjoy this.”

You drag your nails down his freckled back, pulling small noises from Titus. 

“We need to set some rules,” you whisper into his ear. 

Titus pulls away, propping himself up over you. 

“Excuse me?” He raises an eyebrow.

You grip Titus’s shoulders and push him, rolling the both of you over until you’re straddling him. Based on his expression, Titus is surprised, but not upset. 

With the new position, and your senses finally coming back to you, you smile down to Titus. 

“I want to sit in on council meetings,” you say, rubbing your cunt over Titus’s dick. 

“That’s not-”

“I will.” You cut him off, leaving no room for an argument. “You don’t have to include me in every discussion, but I will be there.”

Titus rests his hands on your hips, helping you hold yourself up on shaky legs. 

With Titus’s dick in your grip, you try to sink down on him, only able to take a few inches at first. 

“That’s it,” Titus mutters, squeezing your leg reassuringly. 

Unable to control your whimpers, you lower yourself further and further. 

With one final push, you arch your back over Titus, taking him all inside of you. He brings a hand up to your breast bone, dragging all the way down your stomach before gripping your hips.

You move above him, slowly and intentionally. The fervor of moments ago has melted into something almost religious. Two bodies becoming one, meeting each other where they are. 

“I will not be your pet.”

Titus just moans, looking up at you with those pathetic eyes. For a split second, you see his bravado drop. He looks completely at your mercy as you ride him. Your hips move back and forth, grinding against him.

“I will not be your trophy. I will not be your silent arm candy. I am your wife, and you will treat me as such.” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders for stability. 

“Yes,” is all Titus manages. His voice is beginning to thin, the same pleasure in you finding its hold on him.

“And in return,” you bite your lip, letting yourself feel this without shame or embarrassment. “I will truly be your partner. Completely. Body and mind.”

Titus’s eyes flash dark, the aggression taking hold again. “Yes.”

He looks up at you, licking his lips, moving his hands to grip your ass. His hips buck upwards, picking up your slow, deliberate pace. It catches you off guard, your grip tightening on his shoulders and leaving small half moons under your nails. 

You lean forward over him even more, allowing him to control the pace. You are almost completely overwhelmed by pleasure, feeling him hit that spot deep inside you that makes you squirm. 

“Titus,” you moan right into his ear. “I’m gonna come again.”

Titus brings a heavy hand down onto your ass, pulling a yelp from you. 

“Yeah?” Titus grunts. “Greedy, greedy girl. Gonna come on my cock again?”

“Mhmm,” you nod your head, eyes closed.

“Go ahead,” Titus brings his hand down again, squeezing your ass roughly. “I’m going to fill that greedy cunt. Claim you once and for all as mine. Forever.”

When you fully collapse on top of him, face buried in the crook of his neck, Titus presses a kiss to your shoulder before sucking a bruise to your skin. The feeling of his teeth grazing you, leaving little marks, pushes you over the edge. 

You come again, hard, with his name on your lips.

The second you clench around him, crying out for him, Titus loses himself inside you. He buries himself deep, not letting up until he’s sure he’s completely spent. 

Your body is almost completely useless, just dead weight on top of Titus. He presses another kiss to your shoulder before carefully rolling you off him, pulling out of you slowly. 

You lay on your back, trying to regain control of your breath, watching Titus sit up against the headboard. You reach your hand out, gently dragging your fingertips against his leg. He takes your hand in his, interlocking your fingers and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“Is this what love is supposed to feel like?” he asks.

The question catches you completely off guard. You blink, trying to understand. 

“This is the closest we are going to get,” you say, curling your body around him.

“I love you,” Titus says, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

Something foreign blooms inside of you. It can’t be love. You have felt love before. For your mother, your friends, and your ex-fiance- before he tried to kill you, obviously. 

This thing with Titus is different. Everything that has led up to this moment compiles together into something like attachment. Your souls are linked forever. When you look at him, you just feel like he’s a part of you. 

The woman you were a few months ago is no more. She’s had to adapt to her surroundings.

“I-” you start, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you, too.”

​You couldn’t say you were surprised when Andrew got arrested. Honestly, you weren't even surprised he’d been caught while protecting his family. It was the Cody curse: that same family used him as a weapon while simultaneously viewing him as a liability. They had tried to do the same to you once they realized you were the only good thing in Andrew’s life, pulling you into the orbit of their jobs and their secrets. You knew, even then, that this was the inevitable outcome. Andrew was a man built for the fall.

​You’d lost count of the days spent driving to that gray, lifeless facility to visit him. Those were days you knew the rest of the Codys wouldn't waste on him—not when there were scores to plan or money to move. You made a point of visiting the day before his birthday, a calculated move to avoid the others. You specifically wanted to avoid the sharp, possessive gaze of Smurf. Andrew had nearly lost his mind getting you away from her influence, dragging you out of the "family business" before the rot could settle in your bones. He’d saved you, even if it meant he had to stay behind in the dark.

​Then, halfway into the second year of his sentence, you suddenly stopped showing up.

​He didn't blame you. Whatever ghosts the two of you shared—before Smurf dragged you in and he dragged you back out—it wasn't worth the fluorescent lights and the reinforced glass. It wasn't worth the way he flinched when you reached out, or the suffocating silence of a man who had forgotten how to be touched. By the time he was halfway through that three-and-a-half-year stretch, you had disappeared into a life that was quiet, clean, and far away from the Cody name.

​So, why was he standing in front of your house now?

​The setting sun cast long, amber shadows across the deck. Andrew was there, a ghost made of flesh and bone, walking slowly up your porch steps. His calloused fingers brushed against the surfboard resting on the porch table, lingering near a discarded shirt and a tin of board wax. He looked out of place in the salt air, still wearing the tension of a man who expected a cell door to slam shut at any moment.

​Your wetsuit hung on the line, still dripping steadily onto the wood—drip, drip, drip—the only sound in the evening quiet. You were inside, likely still in the shower, washing the salt from your skin with that specific shampoo he remembered.

​Cedar and mint.

​To Andrew, that scent didn't just mean you; it meant safety. It meant the life he had forced you to take so he wouldn't have to watch Smurf destroy you, too. He stood there, frozen, caught between the urge to knock and the instinct to run before you saw what the last few years had done to him.

His hand came up, heavy and trembling. His knuckles barely grazed the aged, salt-worn wood of the front door. Andrew didn't look at the house; his eyes remained fixed on his boots, tracking the dust from the road. He let out a long, shuddering breath, his forehead coming to rest against the doorframe right beside his hand. He was a man holding onto a ledge, unsure if he wanted to be pulled up or let go.

​Then, he heard it.

​Your voice. It was muffled by the wood, but he’d know that low, resonant frequency anywhere. But it was immediately followed by another—a softer, melodic laugh. A woman.

​Oh.

​The syllable echoed in the hollow of his chest. His body screamed at him to turn around, to vault over the porch railing and disappear back into the shadows of the coastal highway. He had no right to be here. He had no peace to offer you, only the jagged edges of a life lived under Smurf’s thumb. Maybe you’d moved on. Maybe that was why the visits had stopped—why the letters you never sent remained yellowing in a desk drawer. You hadn't talked about labels back then; you were just two people clinging to each other in the dark, too terrified of Smurf’s surveillance to call it love.

​The door creaked open before he could retreat.

​It wasn't you. The woman standing there had skin the color of deep mahogany, her hair piled into a messy, salt-crusted bun. She wore a sheer pullover over a damp bikini, looking every bit like she belonged in this sun-drenched life. She was beautiful in a way that felt healthy, vibrant—everything Andrew wasn't.

​"Can I help you?" she asked. Her voice was curious, not yet guarded, but she leaned slightly against the frame, a subtle claim of territory.

​Andrew’s mouth opened, then clicked shut. He felt like a ghost trying to remember how to speak to the living. His throat was dry, tasting of every unspoken word and regret. He looked like a stray dog—beaten, dangerous, and lost.

​"I..." he started, but the word died.

​Then, you appeared. You rounded the corner from the hallway, drying your hair with a towel, your skin still steaming from the shower. You stopped dead. Your eyes went wide, turning glassy in an instant as the air left your lungs. You looked older—the fine lines around your eyes spoke of years Andrew had missed—but you were still the man who had been his only sanctuary.

​"Andrew," you breathed. It wasn't a greeting; it was a prayer.

​The woman stepped back, sensing the sudden, violent shift in the atmosphere. She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze darting between your shocked expression and the hollowed-out man on her porch.

​"You're out," you said softly, stepping in front of her, closing the gap but keeping the threshold between you. "I didn't...I didn't think it was today."

​Andrew’s heart didn't just break; it shattered, the shards cutting into his lungs. He heard the way you said his name—not Pope, the monster Smurf had raised, but Andrew. He looked past you into the warm, lit living room. Did she know? Did she know the way you used to hold him when the night terrors got too loud? Did she know how many times he’d pressed you into that same couch, desperate to feel something other than his family’s rot?

​He looked at her, then back at you, his voice a jagged whisper. "I shouldn't have come.”

​The silence that followed was suffocating. It wasn't just the absence of noise; it was the weight of years, of secrets, and of the blood Andrew had on his hands. No one moved. The woman looked between the two of you, her eyes sharp and perceptive, reading the invisible threads of history that tied you to the broken man on the porch.

​Finally, she broke the spell. She straightened her posture, reaching behind the door to a small console table—a place Andrew hadn't noticed in his panic—and snatched up a set of keys and a leather purse.

​"Well," she murmured, her voice slicing through the tension like a blade. "I should get going. Maddy is probably wondering where I’ve disappeared to."

​She didn't lean in to kiss you. She didn't offer a familiar touch or a lingering hug. She simply gave you a small, knowing smile—one that suggested she understood exactly who was standing on your porch—and stepped toward the door.

​As she brushed past Andrew, she paused. She was close enough that he could smell the salt spray on her skin, but she didn't flinch. She leaned in, her voice a ghost of a whisper meant only for him.

​"Be good to him," she said.

​Andrew didn't breathe until she was down the steps. Was it a warning? A plea? Had you told her about him—about the Cody family, the jobs, the dark streak in his soul that only you knew how to soothe? The thought that you had spoken his name to someone else, that you had shared his existence with this vibrant woman, made his stomach twist with a mix of jealousy and profound shame.

​"Please," you finally whispered, your voice cracking the evening air. "Andrew...come in."

​He hesitated. His boots felt like they were made of lead, anchored to the porch. He turned his head, watching the woman climb into her car. She didn't look back at you, and she certainly didn't look back at him. She just drove, her taillights disappearing into the amber glow of the streetlights, leaving Andrew alone with the one person he was most afraid to face.

​He finally moved, crossing the threshold with the gingerly steps of a man walking through a minefield. As he stepped into the entryway, he didn't look at the furniture or the art on the walls. He looked at you.

​He was close enough now that the scent of the shower hit him full force. It wasn't the sterile, metallic smell of the prison or the rot of his mother’s house. It was cedar and mint. It was the smell of the mornings you used to spend together before the world went to hell. It was the smell of home.

​Andrew’s eyes tracked the dampness of your hair, the way your pulse thrummed in the hollow of your throat. He looked like he wanted to reach out and touch you just to see if his hand would pass right through, but he kept his arms stiff at his sides, his fingers twitching against his thighs.

​"You changed the floors," he said, his voice gravelly and low, his eyes finally darting to the hardwood. It was a mundane observation, but it was all he could manage without breaking. "They used to creak."

​You let out a breath that sounded like a sob caught in your throat. "A lot of things changed, Andrew.”

​"Who is she?"

​The question was sharp, cutting through the scent of cedar and mint like a jagged piece of glass. Andrew didn’t wait for an answer. His gaze began to prowl the room, darting from the kitchen to the mantle until it landed on a small wooden frame. In the photo, the woman from the porch was laughing, her head leaned back against your shoulder as the Pacific tide surged behind you both.

​You followed his gaze, a long, shuddering breath escaping your lips. Before you could speak, Andrew scoffed—a dry, bitter sound that held no humor.

​"Is she better than me?" he asked. He didn't realize he was moving at first. It was an old instinct, the way he occupied space, drifting forward until he was deep in your personal bubble. "You moved on because you found someone...clean? Someone who isn't a liability?"

​You stepped back, your hips hitting the edge of the kitchen island, but Andrew didn't stop. He kept coming until he was looming over you, his shadow swallowing you whole.

​"Is Maddy yours?" he whispered, his eyes searching yours with a desperate, frantic hunger. "Is she your kid? Did you start a family while I was rotting in a cage?"

​His hands flexed at his sides, his knuckles white, before they finally snapped up. He gripped your shoulders—hard. But the second his skin touched yours, the tension didn't escalate. Instead, the fight seemed to drain out of you. Your shoulders softened under his palms, a silent surrender that Andrew wasn't prepared for.

​The aggression vanished as quickly as it had arrived. His grip loosened, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt, and then his head dropped. He let his forehead thud against your chest, his shoulders shaking with the effort of holding himself together.

​"Do you love her?" His voice didn't just break; it fell apart. It was a small, wounded sound that belonged to the boy he used to be, not the man the Codys had built.

​"Liz," you whispered, the name finally found its way out. "Her name is Liz, Andrew. She’s a friend. Just a friend."

​Your hands moved hesitantly, hovering in the air before finally settling on his forearms. You could feel the corded muscle, the vibrating tension of a man who had been on guard for years.

​"Don't lie to me," he choked out into your chest, his fingers tightening on your shirt. "Don't...I can't...please don't lie."

​You shook your head, hot tears finally blurring your vision. You squeezed his arms, trying to ground him, to pull him back from whatever dark ledge he was standing on.

​"I’m not lying, Andrew," you breathed, your voice steady despite the moisture in your eyes. "God, I’d never lie to you. Not about this. Not ever."

​He stayed there for a long moment, listening to the rhythm of your heart, the same rhythm that had been his only North Star through every job and every prison sentence. He smelled the mint on your skin and felt the warmth of a house that wasn't Smurf’s. It was too much. It was everything he didn't deserve.

​"Maddy," Andrew muttered, the name sounding like a foreign word in his mouth. He was still pressed against you, but his mind was working, filing the name away, trying to map out the new boundaries of your world. "Who is she? Is she...does she stay here?"

​You rested your chin on the crown of his head, feeling the coarse texture of his hair. Your fingers traced slow, absent-minded patterns over the skin of his forearms, trying to leach the tension out of him.

​"Liz’s girlfriend," you whispered. "They have a place a few miles up the coast. She was just stopping by to drop off some wax."

​He let out a breath that he seemed to have been holding since he stepped onto the porch. His fingers finally unclinched from your shirt, but they didn't go far. They slid down to your hips, his palms heavy and warm as he anchored himself to you. He didn't pull away. He seemed content to stay in the sanctuary of your shadow.

​"Why’d you stop coming?"

​The question was muffled against your chest, stripped of the aggression from moments ago. Now, it was just a raw, aching wound. "A year and a half, and the visits just...they stopped. I waited. Every visiting day, I waited until the guards cleared the room."

​You felt a pang of guilt so sharp it made your breath hitch. You pulled back just enough to force him to look at you, one hand sliding up to cup his cheek. His skin was rough, a little cooler than yours, and he leaned into your palm with a desperate, crushing weight. He looked like a man who had been wandering in a desert and had finally found water.

​"Smurf," you murmured, the name tasting like lead.

​Andrew’s eyes darkened instantly. The mention of his mother always brought a specific kind of shadow to his face.

​"She found out I was still seeing you," you continued, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone. "She made it very clear that if I kept showing up at that facility, I wouldn't be walking back to my car one of those days. I didn't exactly want to end up dead in some ditch, Andrew."

​You left out the rest—the way Craig had followed you for weeks, the silent phone calls in the middle of the night. You would have risked it for him, honestly. You would have faced whatever Smurf threw at you if it meant Andrew didn't have to be alone. But you knew him. If Andrew found out his mother had laid a hand on you, he’d do something that would ensure he never left prison again. You stayed away to keep him safe from his own protective instincts.

​Andrew’s jaw set, his eyes flashing with a familiar, dangerous glint. "I won't let her hurt you."

​It was the same promise he’d made you when you were teenagers hiding in the backseat of his truck. The same one he’d made when he practically forced you out of the family’s reach years ago. It was a Cody promise—heavy, violent, and absolute.

​"I’m out now," he whispered, his grip on your hips tightening as if he expected Smurf to materialize in the kitchen and snatch you away. "She doesn't get to touch what’s mine. Not anymore.”

Andrew didn't let go. Even as he pulled away from the island, his hands remained anchored to your hips, his thumbs hooked into your waistband as he navigated the hallway. He moved with a strange, magnetic pull, guiding you past the living room where the sliding glass doors revealed the darkening shoreline, past the bathroom where the steam was still vanishing from the air.

​He didn't stop until you reached the bedroom.

​The room was dim, lit only by the fading lilac glow of the sunset, but Andrew’s eyes immediately found the bedside table. There, next to a lamp, sat a framed photo of his younger self—unburdened and staring back with a ghost of a smile. Next to it lay a thick, worn stack of the letters you’d written but couldn't send, held together by a simple rubber band.

​Andrew’s knees hit the edge of the mattress, the sudden contact making him stagger slightly. You didn't hesitate. You stepped into him, your hands moving to his chest as you gently guided him back. He sat heavily, and you climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs just as you had when you were boys hiding from the world in the back of his truck.

​In the shadows of the room, his hazel eyes were vivid, darting across your features as if he were trying to memorize your face all over again.

​"I missed you," you whispered, your hands coming up to cradle his face. Your skin was warm against his, a sharp contrast to the cold steel he’d lived with for years. "Every single day."

​He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath hitching. You began to pepper soft, lingering kisses along his jawline and his scarred cheeks. With every press of your lips, his hands tightened on your hips, his fingers digging in just enough to remind himself that you were real, that you weren't another prison-cell hallucination.

​"Tell me," he begged, his voice a jagged rasp against your skin. "Tell me you love me."

​He sounded like a man drowning, reaching for the only lifeline he had ever known. You leaned back just enough to look him in the eye, then slowly pushed him down until his back was flat against the covers. You loomed over him, your hair falling like a curtain around both of your faces, creating a world that consisted only of the two of you.

​"I love you," you whispered, your lips hovering inches from his. You felt his heart hammering against your chest, a frantic, wild thing. "I love you, Andrew. So much."

​You repeated it softly, a litany of truth meant to drown out every lie Smurf had ever told him.

​"Kiss me," he whispered.

​And you did.

​It wasn't the frantic, desperate kiss of a goodbye, nor was it the rough, jagged edge of the Codys' world. It was slow. It was soft. It was a long-overdue conversation, filled with the years of words you’d kept locked away to keep him safe. As your lips met his, Andrew finally let out a long, shuddering sigh, his eyes closing as he let the salt and the cedar and the love wash over him, finally bringing him all the way home.

​The kiss deepened, becoming less about the shock of the reunion and more about a desperate, tactile reclamation. Andrew’s hands were everywhere—grasping at your shoulders, sliding down your spine, clutching the fabric of your shirt as if he expected you to dissolve into sea mist if he let go for even a second.

​"Stay," you whispered against his mouth. "Stay with me tonight."

​It wasn't a question. You’d stopped asking him that years ago, back when you realized that Andrew didn't know how to answer questions about his own desires. He only knew how to follow or to protect.

​He pulled away just an inch, his lips sliding down to press against the column of your throat. He lingered there, his breath hot against your skin, and you felt his lips brush against your Adam’s apple.

​"Yeah?" he hummed, the vibration rumbling through your chest. He hesitated, his voice dropping to a small, uncertain pitch. "Can I...I can stay in here? With you?"

​You let out a soft, breathy chuckle, your Adam’s apple bobbing against his lips. "What, Andrew? You think I’d make you sleep on the floor like a dog?" You pulled back just enough to catch his gaze, pressing a quick, firm kiss to his mouth. "It’s your bed, too. It always has been."

​Andrew didn't speak. He just watched you. As he moved to get ready for bed, his eyes never left your form. It was a predatory kind of focus, but softened by a deep, aching reverence. He watched you pull your shirt over your head and toss it toward the chair; he watched the way the muscles in your back moved as you reached down to peel back the heavy duvet.

​To him, you were a miracle of light and ordinary life. He committed the way the lamplight hit your skin to memory, filing it away in the dark corners of his mind where he kept the things worth surviving for.

​When you finally climbed under the covers and patted the space beside you, Andrew’s breath hitched. He didn't just slide under the blankets; he crawled toward you, moving with a slow, deliberate caution. He didn't stop until his body was draped over yours, his weight a heavy, grounding presence that you welcomed.

​He tucked his head into the crook of your neck, his face pressed against the warm, bare skin of your chest. He breathed in deep—cedar, mint, and you. The silence of the house was absolute, broken only by the distant, rhythmic pulse of the ocean and the sound of your shared breathing.

​"I love you," he mumbled, the words thick with sleep and the sudden, overwhelming safety of the room.

“Oh- Unh- oh, fuck !” Your breath comes in small, hoarse huffs, muffled by the mattress and soft pillows Jack has your face smushed against. His large hand pins your head down with ease, pushing you slightly into the cushioning with every rough thrust, creating a pleasant rocking sensation. You can feel a drop run down the back of your thigh from the generous amount of lube Jack had used, tickling you just the faintest bit but going unnoticed– you’re more focused on how his cock pistons in and out of you, firm and deep. His tip hits your prostate head-on with each deep plunge. The skin of your knees has undoubtedly molded to be coarse and textured from the towel placed between you at the start.

“What was that?” Jack’s voice drawls somewhere above you, a huffed-out laugh making your eyes flutter. You loved how cocky he sounded when he fucked you– it’s something you think you could very well have for breakfast, lunch, and dinner forever without getting tired of it. “I didn’t quite catch that. Say that again, sweetheart.”

“So good, Daddy,” you moan out, louder this time.

“Good,” Jack murmurs, adjusting his grip on your head, pulling a bit of your hair in the process; and hissing in surprised pleasure at how it makes you clench around him. “Thought you might be tapping out.”

“Mmhhnm, no, daddy..” you moan out, shaking your head as best as you can under his crushing grip. You’re drooling at this point, your spit collecting into a thick, dark puddle on the (formerly) clean pillows sticking to your face, cool air hitting the damp residue on your face every time Jack pulls his hips back. It’s delicious, all of it, but you know that it could be better… you arch your hips up further, the motion strained and a bit shaky. You’re sweaty all over, smelling like nothing other than sex and musk, and your ears have been ringing since your second orgasm. Your muscles burn from the varying positions you’ve been placed into, the aching like a painfully sweet acid.

“More,” you mumble, pushing yourself back on his cock with a pathetic whimper.

“More?” his voice drawls above you, the weight of his hand pushing you down further as he leans down to get a better look at your smushed face, his cock continuing to pound into you. His eyes glitter in the dim light that reaches his face, everything other than the shine faintly obstructed by fabric and shadow.

“Yuhs, please, daddy–”

The rest of your sentence is rudely cut off by a sharp yank of your hair, pulling your head up and earning a half-surprised half-pleased yelp out of you. Sluggish, your fuzzed senses distantly pick up Jack’s chuckle, low in a way that rakes over your eardrum in a way that makes you shudder. “You take what you get, sweetheart. Understand?” Even with his words, the sweat formed on his temple gives away that he’s having a hard time resisting the way your tight hole keeps sucking him deeper and deeper. “It’s rude to ask for more.”

“But I want more,” You whine, your voice ticked up in pitch at the new ache formed in your lower back– a result from the way you’ve been twisted up beyond what your spine comfortably allows. “I just- Nnh- feel like you could do, ah, better…”

Goosebumps sprout on your skin at the sharp wave of irritation you feel emanate off of Abbot, his eyes darkening as he leans in, breath hot in your ear with every burst of air that leaves his lungs in sharp huffs. His hand comes down to grasp firmly at your throat, his thumb and pointer pressed the slightest bit over your pulse points, forcing a fresh dose of vertigo into your system once your body recognizes the slowing of blood to your brain. His hips continue to slap firmly against your ass, his cock still hitting that sweet spot inside you, his rhythm purposeful and unchanging to torment you.

“You’d better watch your mouth when you speak to me,” his voice growls into your ear. “You’ve been so good all night, I don’t want to punish you, love.”

Too dazed to keep being bratty, you just close your eyes and nod faintly, managing a dry swallow under the weight of Jack's strong hand. The motion isn't enthusiastic, and it certainly lacks strength behind it, but it gets your point across. "Yes, Daddy."

Your voice doesn't sound any stronger.

His hand around your throat loosens, thankfully, the air you greedily suck in tasting sweet in your rediscovered freedom. He eases you back down to the pillows, brushing hair out of your face once you’ve touched back down fully. Blood rushing to your head, a thick heat spreads under your skin, almost burning in its intensity– spirals spin blankly in your eyes, your fingers clutching at the sheets once again.

“M’Sorry, daddy…”

“It’s okay, Pumpkin. I know how impatient you can get. Just don’t let it happen again, mm?”

You don’t realize how close you are to cumming until that sparking in your nerves makes your blood run cold, giving you only enough time to tense in warning before your legs start to shake, your muscles spasming beyond your control. Thick, creamy come spurts out of your cock in waves, painting the towel under you with sloppy strokes of white, the sight accompanied by unrestrained whines and gasps. Jack slows down to watch how your thighs tremble and how your release drips from you, his eyes lidded with a heavy satisfaction.

“Mmmn… Thank you, Daddy..”

“Not so bratty now, are you?”

Before you could take another bitter sip, the air directly behind you shifted. You felt a strong, grounding presence settle just inches away, radiating a familiar warmth that instantly made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. It was a physical weight you had grown incredibly attuned to over the last few months, a presence that always seemed to pull your focus no matter how chaotic the floor got.

Slowly, you looked over your shoulder to see who it was. Robby was standing right there, his broad frame casting a protective shadow over yours. He had his jacket zipped up, and a soft, half smirk played on his lips as he looked down at you.

“When does your shift end?” Robby asked, his voice unusually gentle and quiet against the background noise of distant monitors and rushing staff.

You sighed heavily, turning around fully so you were completely face to face with him, letting your shoulders slump.

“My shift ended an hour ago,” you said, your voice thick and husky with a bone deep tiredness that no amount of caffeine could ever hope to fix.

Robby’s smirk vanished instantly, replaced by a deep furrow in his brow and a sudden tension in his jaw. “And why are you still here?” he asked, genuine concern bleeding into his tone as his eyes scanned your exhausted face.

The question ignited a spark of raw, frustrated adrenaline in your chest.

“Because fucking ICE took Jesse,” you said, your voice dropping to a harsh, angry whisper. You were careful not to direct the venom at Robby, and he knew that, but the sheer fury of the situation was bubbling over. “And half the other nurses cleared out because they did not want to risk getting arrested too. We do not have enough hands on deck. I could not just walk out and leave the remaining staff drowning on the floor, so I stayed.”

Robby’s expression darkened significantly, a flash of shared frustration crossing his face. The raid had shaken everyone in the hospital to the core, and the devastating fallout was leaving the remaining skeletal crew completely overwhelmed.

“I know,” Robby said, his tone softening as he reached out. His large hand came to rest briefly and warmly against your shoulder, squeezing gently.

The sudden heat of his palm through your scrubs sent a quiet, electric thrill straight through your exhaustion, momentarily making you forget how badly your feet ached.

“I promise I will make sure this does not last for long,” Robby added, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

You managed a weak, grateful nod, wishing he wouldn't take his hand away just yet. “Have a good night, Robby. See you tomorrow,” you said softly.

Robby smiled a little, his hand lingering for just a fraction of a second longer before he finally pulled it back, leaving a cold spot where his warmth had just been. “I will tell Abbott to go gently on you, okay?” he murmured.

“Did I hear my name?”

Right on cue, Jack Abbott appeared from around the corner, stepping up right behind his husband. You and Robby both looked over at him as he joined the small circle. Even after a brutal, nonstop day running the department, Jack looked effortlessly composed, though the sharp intelligence in his eyes took in your slumped shoulders and pale face instantly.

Robby turned his head slightly toward Jack, gesturing toward you. “Go gently on them. Do not go hard on your staff today. They have had a lot to deal with.”

Jack’s gaze shifted immediately from Robby straight to you. A slow, knowing smirk traced his lips, and he gave you a deliberate, devastating wink that sent a sudden jolt of heat straight to your stomach.

“Don’t worry,” Jack said, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes locked onto yours. “I will keep a very close eye on them.”

Robby’s smirk returned, a silent, shared understanding passing between the two married men. It was a private, intimate dynamic that you had been observing more and more lately, and seeing them both focus that energy onto you made your stomach do a strange, fluttery flip despite your immense fatigue.

Robby reached out, playfully swatting Jack’s back as a goodbye gesture. He adjusted the heavy backpack slung over his shoulder, where his motorcycle helmet was securely strapped to the side. With one final, lingering look in your direction, Robby turned and headed down the corridor toward the exit.

Jack watched him go for a brief second before turning his full, undivided attention back to you. He leaned his hip casually against the edge of the nurses station, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, a double shift?” Jack asked, his voice low, smooth, and entirely too captivating for this time of night.

You nodded, taking another small, miserable sip of your lukewarm coffee just to give your hands something to do. “Yeah.”

“Because of Jesse and the other nurses?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, leaning your lower back against the counter for support, suddenly hyper aware of just how close Jack was standing to you. “They got scared that they will get arrested too. Honestly, I can’t blame them.”

Jack nodded, his sharp expression softening into genuine, profound understanding as he looked at you. “No, you can’t blame them. It is an absolute mess down here.”

He stepped a fraction of an inch closer, closing the distance between you just enough that you could smell the faint scent of his cologne over the sterile hospital air. His eyes scanned your tired face with a warmth that felt entirely too intimate for a public hallway.

“But you stayed,” Jack murmured, his voice laced with a quiet admiration that made your pulse quicken.

You nodded, a sudden spark of playful energy cutting through your heavy exhaustion. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of your lips as you held his gaze.

“Didn’t want you to believe I don’t like you,” you said, your tone deliberately light and teasing.

Jack smiled, a brilliant, knowing expression that reached his eyes. “Oh, you love me, I know,” he said smoothly. He reached out and gave your shoulder a playful nudge with his hand, flashing you another quick, devastating wink that made your face feel suddenly warm.

Before you could fire back a retort, Jack stepped back and clapped his hands together loudly, the sharp sound echoing through the bustling nurses' station. His entire demeanor shifted from intimate and playful to the authoritative, commanding leader the department desperately needed right now.

“Okay people,” Jack called out, his voice raising loud and clear so every doctor, nurse, and orderly on the floor could hear him over the constant hum of activity. “I know today is a hard day and night, and a lot of you had to do a double. But we have to give the best we can. So, everyone, let's get to work.”

The response was almost instantaneous from the weary crew. Right on cue, the night shift doctors, including Ellie Shen, looked up from their charts and call lights.

“Hooah!” Ellie and a few of the other nurses shouted in unison, trying to pump some energy back into the room.

Abbott screamed it right back to them, a wide grin breaking across his face as he rallied the troops.

A small laugh escaped your lips at the sheer display, the heavy weight in your chest lifting just a little bit. Shaking your head with a smile, you tossed your empty coffee cup into the nearest bin, adjusted your scrubs, and started going back to work, feeling a little more ready to face the long night ahead with Jack keeping a close eye on you.

The rest of the shift actually went great. The sheer momentum of the busy emergency department took over, and you completely forgot how tired you were. The constant influx of patients, the quick huddles with Ellie Shen, and the steady rhythm of the floor became a blur, and that adrenaline was the only reason your feet did not stop moving. You pushed through hour after hour, completely running on fumes.

But the moment the chaos finally started to wind down and the morning light began to peek through the windows, the adrenaline evaporated.

A sudden wave of exhaustion hit you like a physical wall. By the end of it all, you felt a little dizzy, the room tilting slightly on its axis. Your knees buckled just enough that you slowly fell onto the side of the nurses station, gripping the edge of the counter to keep your balance.

Out of nowhere, a voice came and said, “Hey, you alright?”

It was Jack. You quickly looked up at him, trying to pull yourself together, and answered, “Yeah, yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Jack stepped closer, his jaw tight as he looked you up and down. This time, it wasn't in his usual flirty, playful way. It was in a strict, observant doctor way.

“You look pale, honey,” he said.

Honey. He called you honey.

You stood there frozen, completely losing your train of thought. You genuinely did not know if you felt dizzy because you were tired and hungry, or if your brain was short-circuiting because of the casual, warm nickname that had just come out of his mouth.

“Uh… I, uh,” you stammered, unable to form a coherent thought.

Before you could even finish your sentence, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you eaten anything?”

You thought, fuck. How did he know? You tried to quickly construct a lie to protect your pride, but looking into his sharp eyes, you just couldn't do it.

“No. Just a granola bar at the shift switch,” you said, your voice dropping incredibly low as you looked down at your hands.

Then you forced yourself to meet his gaze again, and the expression on his face made your stomach drop. It wasn't his usual funny, smirking stuff. He looked genuinely angry and deeply worried.

“A granola bar?” Jack repeated, his tone laced with disbelief. “That’s what you ate all day? That’s why you almost fell just now.”

Before you could even start talking or making excuses for yourself, he raised a hand to cut you off.

“Go change and meet me in the parking lot. I am driving you home,” Jack said, his voice leaving absolutely no room for argument.

You panicked a little, not wanting to be a burden after he had just worked a brutal shift himself. “No, no, you don’t have to. My home is not that far. It’s okay.”

Jack stared at you, a small, knowing glint finally returning to his eyes, though his expression remained firm. “No, no, you didn’t get it. I am driving you home. Not your home.”

Your jaw practically dropped as the meaning of his words sank in. “Jack, no. You don’t have to do that.”

But before you could continue protesting, he stepped in even closer, completely shutting down the argument.

“Don’t start. You are coming home with me,” Jack said, a soft but unyielding authority in his voice. “I am making breakfast for me, you, and Robby, and you will sleep in the guest room, okay? And I am not asking you. Now, go change.”

You blushed fiercely right then, the heat rushing all the way up to your ears, and Jack absolutely saw it. But to your immense relief, he did not tease you or say a single word about the sudden crimson on your cheeks. Instead, he just gave you a reassuring, final nod, watching you closely until you finally turned around to head toward the locker room.

You went and changed out of your sweat-stained scrubs, washing the sterile hospital grime off your face before pulling on a fresh pair of casual clothes. Even the simple act of tying your shoes felt like a monumental effort, but the thought of Jack waiting for you kept you moving.

Once you were ready, you walked out into the crisp morning air and headed down to the parking lot where Jack told you to meet him.

He was already there, leaning against his vehicle. He had changed out of his work attire into his casual clothes, a simple jacket and jeans that honestly looked entirely too good on him for someone who had just survived a chaotic double shift. He was scanning the exit doors, and the moment his eyes landed on you, the tense line of his shoulders visibly relaxed.

“And I was about to come see if you fell anywhere,” Jack said as you approached, a soft, teasing tone returning to his voice.

You smiled a little at that, the warmth from his concern melting away some of your lingering nervousness. He smiled right back, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that made your heart do a quiet, familiar flutter.

Then he reached over, unlocking the passenger side. “Come on, let’s go,” he said gently.

You followed him to his Jeep, climbing inside the spacious, comfortable cabin. The interior smelled faintly of him, leather, cedar, and a hint of cold morning air. Jack hopped into the driver's seat, started up the powerful engine, and immediately turned the heater up to take the morning chill out of the air.

With a smooth shift of the gear, he backed out of the space and started driving out of the hospital lot, heading down the quiet morning streets toward the house he and Robby shared.

The silence inside the warm cabin of the Jeep was comfortable, but the reality of where you were going was still spinning in your head. You looked over at his profile as he navigated the quiet morning streets, feeling a sudden wave of self-consciousness about invading their private space.

“Jack, you really don’t have to go to all that trouble,” you said softly, breaking the quiet. “I’m not even that hungry.”

But before he could even start talking, your body completely betrayed you. Your stomach growled, a deep, loud, predatory rumble that echoed incredibly clearly in the confined space of the vehicle.

You froze, staring straight out the windshield as your face burned hotter than it had all night.

Jack didn’t miss a beat. A low chuckle vibrated in his chest, and he didn't even look away from the road as a massive smirk spread across his face.

“Tell that to your stomach, darling,” Jack said, his tone dripping with playful amusement.

Darling.

Another nickname. First honey, now darling. You leaned your head back against the headrest, genuinely wondering if the sudden dizziness washing over you was from the lack of glucose in your system or from the casual, devastating way he threw those words around. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, a chaotic contrast to how exhausted the rest of your body felt. Jack didn't push it any further, simply reaching over to turn up the radio to a low, soothing volume, letting you process your blush in peace.

After about ten minutes of driving through the peaceful neighborhood, the Jeep slowed down and turned into a driveway. You arrived at a beautiful, cozy house that perfectly blended Robby’s rugged style and Jack’s polished tastes. The windows were dark, but you could see the faint glow of a porch light welcoming you in.

You both went inside, the quiet of the early morning wrapping around us like a blanket. Jack slowly took off his shoes, setting them neatly by the door, and you carefully took yours off too, feeling a little self conscious about how heavy your movements felt in the silent house.

Jack turned to you, pressing a finger to his lips with a warm smile. He told you to be quiet because Robby wasn’t awake yet.

“Sit on the couch, I will start making breakfast,” Jack whispered, gesturing toward the living room.

You nodded gratefully, stepping into the space. You went and sat slowly on the brown leather couch, sinking into the cushions. It was much comfier than it looked, practically swallowing you up, and your aching muscles instantly began to relax.

Just as Jack was heading toward the kitchen, you heard a loud voice echo from the hallway.

“Jack? Is that you?”

A moment later, you saw Robby slowly walking out of the bedroom. He was just in his black boxers and an old, faded yellow T-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. His hair was completely messed up from sleep, sticking up in every direction, and he was lazily scratching his eyes as he blinked against the morning light.

You blushed fiercely at the picture of morning Robby, your heart doing a sudden, violent flip. He looked incredibly attractive, completely soft and unguarded in a way you had never seen at the hospital.

Jack let out a soft chuckle at the sight, leaning his hip against the kitchen counter. “Robby, baby, go put some pants on. We are not alone.”

Robby froze. He stopped scratching his eye, his head snapping over toward the living room. The moment his gaze landed on you sitting on their couch, his face got so red, the deep crimson spreading rapidly across his cheeks and all the way to his ears.

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t see you, I…” Robby stammered, completely flustered as he tried to cover himself slightly with his hands.

Seeing him so embarrassed made you react without thinking, and you cut him off with a soft, reassuring tone. “Don’t worry, Robby. I don’t mind.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you blushed even harder, your face burning. You desperately wished you could swallow the words back down because you absolutely had not meant to say that out loud.

Jack broke out into a proper laugh, highly amused by the entire exchange. “Oh, I am sure you don’t,” he said smoothly, looking your way as he winked at you again.

Robby let out a embarrassed groan, practically turning on his heel. He rushed back into the bedroom, the door clicking shut behind him.

He came out just a few seconds later, having quickly pulled on a pair of comfortable grey sweatpants, though his cheeks were still a little pink as he walked back into the room.

“Sorry for earlier,” Robby said softly as he came over and sat right beside you on the couch. The cushion sank under his weight, shifting you just a fraction of an inch closer to him, and you could feel the residual warmth of his shower radiating off his skin.

“Don’t worry, Robby, really. It’s your house after all,” you said, trying to project a casual confidence you didn't actually feel right now.

Robby nodded, his eyes scanning your tired face with deep concern. “How was work?” he asked, his voice low and comforting.

“Mm, exhausting to be honest. But we managed,” you said, looking over at Jack in the kitchen for a brief second before turning your gaze back to Robby.

“I knew you would, sweetheart,” Robby murmured, his expression incredibly soft.

Sweetheart?

Another nickname, but this time from Robby. Your brain completely short-circuited. What is happening? Was all you managed to think in that exact moment. First Jack with honey and darling, and now Robby calling you sweetheart so naturally, right here in their living room. You felt like you were trapped in a beautiful, dizzying dream, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Before you could even begin to process the butterflies fluttering wildly in your stomach, Jack’s voice called out from the kitchen, breaking the silence.

“Hey, you two love birds, come here. Breakfast is ready,” Jack said, a distinct note of amusement in his tone.

As the two of you got up from the couch to walk over, Jack called out again, his back partially turned as he plated the food. “Hey, darling, how do you drink your coffee?”

You didn’t answer right away. You stood frozen at the edge of the room because why would Jack call you darling right in front of his husband? You nervously waited for Robby to get upset, or for Jack to realize his mistake. But when you stepped fully into the kitchen and looked at Robby, and then at Jack, you realized no one was upset at all. In fact, they were both looking straight at you with matching, knowing smirks.

“What?” you asked, your voice dropping incredibly low, your eyes darting between the two of them.

Jack turned around completely, leaning against the counter as he held up a fresh mug. He let his smirk widen just a fraction. “How do you drink your coffee, sweetheart?”

You looked at Robby, expecting him to say something, but Robby just crossed his arms, his smirk turning soft and entirely too affectionate as he watched you fluster. Neither of them was backing down. They were both actively doing this, directing all of that intense, combined affection straight at you.

Your entire face flushed a deep, undeniable crimson. You looked down at the floor, completely overwhelmed by the heat rushing through your veins.

“B…black,” you whispered, your voice small and shaky.

Desperate to hide your burning face, you quickly sat down in the nearest chair at the kitchen table, your hands trembling slightly as the two men continued to look at you like you were exactly where you belonged.

As you all sat down and ate, the atmosphere softened into a quiet, comfortable routine. Between bites of the heavy breakfast Jack had whipped up, the conversation naturally drifted back to the hospital. We talked a little about the incident with ICE, discussing the terrifying tension left on the floor and wondering out loud if anyone had heard any news about Jesse. Both Jack and Robby looked grim at the mention of it, the reality of the situation hanging heavy over the medical community, but having the two of them sitting on either side of you made the world feel a little safer.

Then, after we had eaten and the plates were cleared, Robby got up from his chair and stretched.

“I need to go get dressed and go to the hospital,” Robby said, running a hand through his messy hair before looking between you and his husband. “You too are off today, aren’t you?”

Hearing that, you automatically went to answer and say that you also had to work your regular shift later, your dedicated nurse brain kicking in despite your exhaustion.

But before a single word could leave your mouth, Jack cut in smoothly. “Yeah, I gave us both a day off.”

Your head snapped around, and you turned to look at him in absolute shock. “What? Why?” you asked, your voice rising just a little.

Jack did not even turn around to look at you. He just stood at the sink, casually doing the dishes as if he hadn't just altered the hospital schedule on a whim. “Because you had a double and you almost fainted,” he said, his tone flat, even, and completely unyielding.

Robby stopped dead in his tracks on his way to the hallway. His eyes widened, and his gaze locked onto you instantly. “You almost what?”

You bit your lip and didn't answer him, looking down at your hands as your face flushed. You felt a little exposed under Robby’s sudden, intense scrutiny.

Trying to salvage your pride, you looked back at Jack's broad shoulders. “I can work. They need help down there.”

Jack turned the tap off, finally turning around to face you. He leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “No, they don’t. I called to make sure they had enough hands on deck before giving you a day off. The morning shift is fully covered.”

You didn’t answer. You knew when you were completely outmatched.

Slowly, you looked over at Robby, hoping he might take your side, but he didn't say anything to defend your work ethic either. Instead, Robby’s worried expression softened into a look of profound relief. He just nodded firmly, silently agreeing with his husband’s executive decision, before giving you one last lingering look and heading down the corridor to their room to change.

You were upset that Jack had just gone ahead and done that without talking to you about it first. It felt like your autonomy was completely stripped away, even if it was out of concern.

When Robby came back out of his room, now dressed in his casual clothes with his backpack slung over his shoulder and his helmet securely strapped to the side, you saw your chance.

“Hey, Robby, can you drive me home?” you asked, your voice tight.

Robby stopped, looking at you completely confused, and then his eyes shifted over to Jack. Jack was standing by the kitchen counter, giving his husband a dead-eyed stare that screamed don’t you dare drive him home.

Robby swallowed hard, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, sweetheart, I want my life,” he said with a nervous little chuckle. He walked past the couch, squeezing your shoulder gently as a goodbye, and headed straight out the front door.

“Fuck my life,” you whispered fiercely to yourself the moment the front door clicked shut.

You grabbed your jacket from the back of the chair and marched over to the entryway, dropping down to start forcing your shoes back on.

Jack’s footsteps echoed sharply on the hardwood as he walked over. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t look up at him. You kept your eyes locked on your hands, aggressively tying your shoe laces into tight knots. “I am leaving,” you said, your voice shaking with a mix of exhaustion and frustration.

Jack rushed forward, stepping right into your line of sight. “No, you are not.”

You stood up abruptly, forcing yourself to look him dead in the eye, your chest heaving. “Why? Why can’t I? I don’t have to go to work, and I don’t have to be here. So I am leaving,” you said, the frustration finally boiling over.

Jack’s expression softened, and he reached out a hand to placate you. “Come on, sweetheart, don’t…”

Before he could even finish the word, you cut him off, your voice loud and sharp in the quiet house. “Why are you calling me all these nicknames? Especially in front of your husband and my boss? Why?”

The question hung heavy in the air, born from pure, overwhelmed frustration. Jack opened his mouth, starting to say something, but the sheer emotional overload was too much for you. You didn’t want to hear an excuse. You turned on your heel, grabbed the doorknob, and practically threw yourself out into the crisp morning air, slamming the door behind you.

You heard the door open again immediately, and you knew Jack was following you down the driveway. But you didn’t stop walking, your stride furious and purposeful, and to his credit, he didn't push or try to physically grab you. He let you go.

You started the long walk back to your house. For the first few minutes, the anger kept you warm, but the physical reality of a double shift and a lack of food quickly caught up with you. After about five minutes, the adrenaline completely tanked. Your legs gave out, shaking violently, and you barely managed to steer yourself toward a bench in a small, quiet neighborhood park.

You slumped onto the cold wood, your hands trembling as you reached into your backpack and pulled out a cigarette. You struck a lighter, inhaling the sharp smoke just to have something to ground you.

“Jack called me to come pick you up.”

A soft, familiar voice broke the silence of the park. You turned your head quickly, watching through a cloud of smoke as Robby walked up to the bench. He didn’t look angry, he just looked deeply worried as he came around and sat down right beside you.

“You should be at work,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper as you stared blankly ahead, refusing to look directly at Robby. The cigarette smoke curled lazily between you two in the chilly morning air.

“And you should be resting,” Robby said, his tone incredibly soft, completely devoid of any judgment or anger.

A bitter little chuckle escaped your lips. “Yeah, right.”

Robby shifted on the bench, the leather of his jacket creaking quietly as he turned more toward you. “Come on, sweetheart. We both know you are tired.”

The word hit a raw nerve. You snapped, turning your head to look him dead in the eye as you stood up abruptly from the bench, the sudden movement making the park tilt slightly. “Why are you both calling me that, for fuck's sake?” you demanded, your voice cracking under the weight of pure, exhausted frustration.

Robby didn't flinch. Instead, he stood up slowly, keeping his hands low and open in a placating gesture.

“Listen, I am sorry. And Jack is too,” Robby said, stepping a fraction closer, his eyes locked onto yours with absolute sincerity. “He sounded so worried on the phone when you left. I promise we will explain everything. But please, let me take you to your house, and we will explain everything to you when you are awake and rested, okay?”

His voice was so soft, so steady and grounding, that the last of your defensive walls completely crumbled. The anger drained out of you, leaving nothing but an aching emptiness and a desperate need to sleep.

You looked at him for a long moment before you finally nodded.

A look of profound relief washed over Robby's face. He placed his large, warm hand gently against your back, the solid weight of it guiding your unsteady steps as he slowly led you out of the park and over to where his motorcycle was parked by the curb.

Without a word, he unstrapped his helmet and handed it over to you. You took it, slipping the heavy casing over your head and fastening the strap, the visor cutting out the harshness of the morning light. Robby hopped onto the bike, kicking the engine to life with a powerful roar that vibrated straight through your chest. You climbed onto the back, carefully wrapping your arms around his broad waist for balance, and held on tight as he pulled out into the street.

The ride was a blur of cool air and steady speed. In no time at all, the motorcycle idled to a smooth stop right in front of your house. You climbed off, unbuckling the helmet and handing it back to him, your limbs feeling like absolute lead.

As you stood on the pavement, Robby looked up at you from the bike, his expression warm. “Go sleep and rest, and I promise that we will talk after, okay?”

You managed a weak, grateful nod, the exhaustion finally pulling you under. “Thank you, Robby,” you said softly.

You turned, walking up the steps to your front door. Your hands were shaking so badly it took you a few tries, but you finally unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping into the quiet safety of your own place.

You didn’t even have the energy to change out of your clothes or make it to your bedroom. You walked straight into the living room, let your backpack slide off your shoulders onto the floor, and just fell heavily onto the couch. The moment your head hit the cushion, your eyes closed, and you fell almost immediately into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When you woke up, the room was cast in deep, heavy shadows. For a moment, you just lay there completely still on the couch, totally disoriented as the heavy fog of a multi hour sleep clung to your brain.

You blinked against the darkness and reached out, groggily fumbling around on the floor until your fingers brushed against the smooth glass of your phone. You tapped the screen to check the time and blinked in surprise. The display glowed brightly back at you, showing it was already 19:00 in the afternoon. You had managed to sleep the entire day away.

Right below the time on your lock screen, a string of notifications caught your eye. They were text messages from Jack, sent hours ago while you were completely passed out.

Jack: hey sorry please text me you are okay

Jack: i was an asshole sorry i just need to know you are okay

You stared at the screen, your heart giving a quiet, complicated thump as you read the blunt apology. Sliding the notifications open, you unlocked the phone as you finally forced your stiff, aching muscles to move. You got up from the couch and walked into your dark kitchen to start making a fresh pot of coffee, desperately needing the strong caffeine to wake you up completely.

While the machine began to hiss and drip into the pot, you unlocked your phone again, pulled up the chat window, and texted him back.

You: i am fine

You barely had time to set the phone down on the counter before it vibrated fiercely in your palm. He replied almost immediately, as if he had been sitting there staring at his screen for hours just waiting for your name to pop up.

Jack: i am glad sorry for earlier can we talk Robby goes off work in an hour he can come pick you up and bring you here if that’s okay

You stared down at the glowing words, the steam from your fresh coffee rising into the air in front of your face. The lingering anger from the chaotic morning had completely washed away with the deep sleep, leaving only a strong sense of curiosity and a quiet anticipation about what the two men actually wanted to say to you.

Instead of typing out a long paragraph, you just sent back a thumbs up in reply, letting him know you would be ready when Robby arrived.

You poured yourself a steaming mug of the freshly brewed black coffee, leaning against the kitchen counter as you took a slow sip. The heat felt incredibly grounding, slowly clearing the remaining cobwebs from your head. With your phone in your other hand, you opened up the group chat you shared with Trinity and Dennis, clicking through the notifications to see what you had missed while you were asleep.

You texted back and forth with them for a little while, sharing a few light updates about how insane the hospital had been after the raid and checking in on how they were holding up. It felt good to connect with them, a brief reminder of normal life outside of the intense bubble you had found yourself in with Jack and Robby.

Once the group chat quieted down, you set your empty coffee mug in the sink. You still felt completely gross and sticky, the lingering grime of the brutal double shift and the hours of sweaty sleep making your skin crawl. You went into the bathroom and had a long, hot shower, letting the steaming water wash away the physical tension and the stress of the previous twenty four hours.

When you finally came out, you felt like a brand new person. You got dressed in a fresh, comfortable outfit, feeling much more human than you had all day. Just as you were finishing up, your phone started ringing loudly from the kitchen counter.

You walked over and picked it up, seeing Robby's name flashing on the screen.

“Hey, Robby,” you said, answering the call and pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hey, I am outside,” Robby said, his voice deep and smooth over the line, accompanied by the faint, low rumble of his motorcycle idling in the background.

“Oh, I am coming,” you said.

You quickly hung up the phone and slid it into your pocket. Moving with a lot more energy now that you were rested, you put your shoes on, grabbed your backpack from the floor, and headed out the front door to go meet him.

When you got out of your house, you saw Robby waiting by his motorcycle. He looked tired from his own long shift, but there was also a brightness in his eyes when he spotted you walking down the steps.

“Hey,” you said softly as you approached him.

“Hey. Did you sleep?” he asked, his voice incredibly soft and full of genuine concern.

“Yeah, didn’t even change clothes. I just fell on the couch and woke up a little while ago,” you admitted, offering a sheepish shrug.

Robby chuckled at that, the sound low and warm. “You remind me of Jack,” he said with a fond smile, and you couldn't help but smile a little too at the comparison.

As he unstrapped his helmet and handed it over to you, the underlying anxiety about the whole situation started to creep back in. You hesitated for a second, holding the heavy helmet in your hands.

“What should I expect?” you asked Robby, looking up at him.

He looked at you, momentarily confused as he paused with his hands on the handlebars. “What do you mean?”

You looked straight at him and answered, “You and Jack want to talk, but I don't know what you two want to talk about with me. Is it bad?”

Robby’s expression softened completely, any trace of his own exhaustion fading as he looked at you. He waited patiently as you put his helmet on your head, making sure you were secure. “No, no. Nothing bad, I promise,” he said, his voice entirely reassuring.

You nodded, feeling a massive weight lift off your chest at his words. You climbed onto the back of the bike, wrapping your arms around his waist again, and the two of you started driving back to their house through the cool evening air.

When you arrived there and walked inside, the tense energy from the morning was completely gone. The moment the front door opened, Jack rushed over from the kitchen. He immediately hugged Robby, holding him tight for a brief second before pulling back to look directly at you.

“I am really sorry,” Jack said, his usual confident demeanor replaced by absolute sincerity as he looked down, genuinely remorseful for how he had handled things earlier.

“Don’t be,” you answered, your voice low and gentle, letting him know without a doubt that you weren't holding a grudge anymore.

Robby smiled at the two of you, breaking the quiet as he unzipped his jacket. “I am going to have a quick shower. When I come out, we are gonna talk, okay?”

You nodded, watching as Robby headed down the hallway toward the bathroom, leaving you and Jack alone in the living room.

“Want something to drink?” Jack asked you, turning his head back as he walked toward the kitchen.

“Yeah, a glass of water should be fine,” you said, stepping out of the entryway and following him into the brightly lit room.

The quiet hum of the refrigerator filled the space, and you swallowed the lingering nervousness in your throat, needing to get this off your chest. “Sorry for running out like that,” you said softly.

Jack stopped what he was doing and quickly shook his head, turning around fully to face you. “No, no, don't say sorry. I was wrong. I shouldn't have done anything without asking you first.”

You stood there, holding his intense gaze, and you didn't quite know what to say to that. He was taking complete accountability, his usual stubbornness entirely absent.

“Still, I acted like a child,” you managed to say, offering a small, self deprecating shrug.

Jack walked over and handed you the glass of cool water, his fingers brushing against yours for a brief, electric second. “Did you get any sleep?” Jack asked you, clearly wanting to change the subject away from the argument now that the air was clear.

“Yeah, a lot,” you said with a genuine smile, taking a grateful sip of the water.

Jack smiled too, a warm, relaxed expression breaking across his handsome face as he watched you relax.

After a while, as you and Jack were talking, Robby walked into the kitchen. He had changed into a pair of fresh, clean clothes, and both his hair and his beard were still looking a little wet from the shower, catching the bright light of the kitchen.

“Did you two make up?” Robby asked, a heavy teasing tone in his voice as he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, a playful grin on his face.

The exact same reaction hit both you and Jack at the exact same time. You both turned your heads simultaneously and looked right at him with a completely flat, unblinking dead stare, the absolute silence in the kitchen stretching out for a long second.

Robby’s facial expression changed so incredibly fast, the cocky smirk vanishing off his lips instantly as he held up his hands in surrender.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said quickly, his voice dropping as he realized his joke had completely bombed.

He moved away from the doorframe and came fully into the kitchen, rubbing the back of his neck as he joined the two of you at the counter, the playful mood shifting into something much more grounded and serious.

Robby walked over to the refrigerator, the magnetic seal breaking with a soft click as he opened the door and pulled out three cold beers. He popped the caps off in quick succession, sliding one across the smooth counter to you and the next one to Jack, before finally taking a long, slow sip of his own.

You wrapped your fingers around the cold glass, the condensation chilling your palm. You took a small sip, letting the crisp liquid cut through the remaining dryness in your throat before setting the bottle down.

“So, what did you two want to talk about?” you asked, your voice dropping to a low, quiet murmur that seemed to echo in the stillness of the kitchen.

The playful atmosphere from a moment ago vanished completely. Robby and Jack exchanged a long, heavy look, a silent communication passing between the married couple before they both turned their undivided attention back to you.

Jack cleared his throat, leaning his forearms against the counter as he locked his eyes onto yours. “You asked earlier why we call you those names. Why we are so touchy with you, why we care so much about whether you are eating, or resting, or burning yourself out on the floor.”

You stayed completely still, your heart beginning to thump a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you waited for him to finish.

“We just,” Jack started, his voice wavering slightly before he let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand over his face. “Fuck, why is this so hard?”

Robby stepped in closer, placing his large, solid hand firmly on Jack’s shoulder, a grounding gesture that seemed to instantly steady his husband. Robby took over, his deep voice incredibly gentle as he looked down at you.

“What Jack is trying to say is that from the very first day you started working with us at the hospital, you had this presence. This incredible dedication and warmth that just drew both of us in. Before we even realized it, we both started falling for you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat, your fingers tightening around your beer bottle.

“We weren't sure if you felt the same way, or if you would even be comfortable with us,” Robby continued, his eyes full of an intense, raw honesty that made your chest ache. “So we wanted to take it slow. We didn't want to scare you away or cross any professional boundaries. But seeing you open up to us over the last few months, seeing how well you fit into our lives, we decided it was finally time to tell you the truth.”

Jack picked up where Robby left off, his voice dropping to a softer, more vulnerable register than you were used to hearing from him. “That’s why the nicknames and all of that started. We wanted to make sure you were getting the hints, hoping it would make this exact conversation a little easier for you when the time came.”

You stayed completely silent for a long moment. Your gaze flicked between the two of them, your eyes searching their faces, desperately waiting for one of them to crack a smile, to start laughing, or to tell you that this was all just some elaborate morning joke. But their expressions remained entirely steady, filled with nothing but raw anticipation and hope. They were completely serious.

“Wait, you two are serious?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

The realization hit you like a wave, and a sudden, hysterical bubble of laughter escaped your throat. You set your beer down before your shaking hands could spill it.

“So I am not crazy,” you said, looking from Jack to Robby, the relief and shock spilling out all at once. “Fuck, for so long I felt so incredibly bad that I had feelings for both of you. Because you two are married, and I thought I was going to ruin everything you have. And you are telling me that you both knew?”

Jack offered a soft, incredibly relieved smile, shaking his head. “You are not crazy.”

“And you are definitely not ruining anything,” Robby added smoothly, his hand still resting on Jack’s shoulder, his thumb rubbing comforting circles against his husband's shirt.

The initial shock started to settle, leaving behind a massive, burning question that had been keeping you up at night. You looked at them, your brow furrowing as you tried to understand.

“But why?” you asked, your voice cracking slightly with emotion. “I mean, you have each other. You have this perfect life. Why would you both want to have me in your marriage?”

“Honestly, we don’t know,” Robby said, his voice dropping into a quiet, deeply honest tone as he looked right at you. “I mean, it’s the first time it’s ever happened to us. We never even thought about it or talked about it before you came along.”

Jack nodded in agreement, leaning his hip against the counter as he took over the explanation. “At first, we thought it was just a phase. I mean, you are younger and more beautiful than both of us combined, so we figured we were just captivated. But after months of feeling the exact same way, the feelings didn't go away. They just got stronger.”

Robby reached across the space between you, his fingers gently brushing against your wrist, a warm and grounding touch.

“So we finally sat down and talked about it,” Robby continued, his eyes holding yours with absolute sincerity. “We talked about the idea of wanting a third guy in our relationship. And as we spoke, we came to the exact same conclusion. We don’t want just a third person. We want you. I mean, if you want us too, of course.”

The kitchen fell completely still again, the weight of his words hanging beautifully in the air. They weren't looking for a casual distraction or a temporary addition to their lives. They were looking at you like you were the missing piece they hadn't even known they were searching for.

Your heart hammered against your ribs, a wild mix of absolute disbelief and overwhelming joy surging through you. You looked down at your hands, the warmth of Robby’s fingers still lingering on your wrist.

“I… I mean, yeah, I would love to,” you stammered out, the confession leaving your lips before you could stop it. You looked back up at them, your eyes wide as the reality of the situation fully set in. “But I have never done anything like this before. I have barely had any relationships in my life at all. I don’t know how anything like this works.”

The confession felt incredibly vulnerable, a raw admission of your own inexperience laying open between you and these two established, confident men.

Jack’s expression softened completely, any trace of the intense, brooding boss disappearing. He stepped closer, coming around the counter until he was standing right in front of you.

“Hey, look at me,” Jack said, his voice entirely gentle as he waited for you to meet his eyes. “None of us know how this works. Robby and I have never done this either. We are figuring it out as we go, right along with you.”

Robby moved closer too, stepping up to your other side so that you were completely surrounded by their warmth. He reached out, his large hand gently cupping the side of your face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear you hadn't even realized had escaped.

“You don’t need to know how it works,” Robby murmured, his thumb rubbing a soothing circle against your flushed cheek. “There is no rulebook for this. All you have to do is let us take care of you, and tell us what you need. We are going to take it exactly as slow as you want.”

“Can you… uh, can you both kiss me?”

The moment the words left your mouth, a furious heat rushed to your cheeks, and you blushed deeply. Panicking slightly at your own boldness, you quickly tried to backtrack. “If… if that's not too fast… I…”

Before you could even finish the sentence, Robby leaned down and kissed you right then and there.

The sudden warmth of his lips completely cut off your words. You felt both of his large, steady hands cupping your face, holding you gently as he deepened the kiss. The coarse, soft texture of his beard tickled your skin, sending a shiver straight down your spine as you completely melted into him.

Just as your head began to spin from the sheer intensity of it, a strong, solid arm wrapped firmly around your waist from behind, pulling you securely against a broad chest. Robby broke the kiss with a soft, lingering sigh, his eyes dark and full of affection as he smiled down at you.

Before you could even catch your breath, Jack leaned in from the side. His hand slid up the back of your neck, his fingers tangling into your hair as he claimed your lips with the exact same burning passion. It was a completely different kind of kiss, firm and possessive, yet unbelievably gentle, leaving you utterly breathless as the two of them held you tight between them in the middle of the kitchen.

When Jack broke the kiss, he pulled back just enough to look down at you, that signature smug grin spreading slowly across his face. He watched with absolute satisfaction as the bright pink color crept right back up your neck and flooded your cheeks.

“You know, you look so beautiful when you blush,” Jack murmured, his thumb lightly stroking your burning jawline.

His words only made you blush harder, the intense heat radiating all the way to the tips of your ears. You felt completely overwhelmed, caught between the two of them as Robby kept a warm, steady hand resting on your waist.

Robby looked between you and his husband, his expression softening into something deeply tender. “Do you want to go to the bedroom?” he asked softly, wanting to make sure you felt entirely safe. “We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to. We can just lie down.”

You shook your head hard and fast, the sheer desperation to be close to them completely overriding your lingering nerves. “No, no, I want to. I… I really do,” you said, your voice breathless but entirely sure.

A shared, genuine smile broke across both of their faces at your confession, the earlier smugness melting away into pure affection. Robby reached down and slid his fingers through yours, wrapping his hand securely around yours, while Jack took your other hand. Together, holding you tightly between them, they started leading you out of the kitchen and down the quiet hallway toward their bedroom.

All three of you walked into the bedroom, the soft light from the hallway casting a warm, gentle glow across the large bed. You climbed in first, settling right into the middle of the mattress, with Robby sliding onto your left and Jack moving to your right.

Before he fully got under the covers, Jack sat on the edge of the bed to take his prosthetic off. He paused for a moment, the heavy metal and carbon fiber resting in his hands, and looked over his shoulder at you. His eyes held a flicker of vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.

“Are you… okay with this?” Jack asked, his voice quiet as he waited for your reaction.

You shifted on the mattress and looked at him, really looked at him, letting all the warmth and acceptance you felt show in your eyes. “Jack, of course I am,” you said softly, completely dismissing any doubt he had.

A genuine, relieved smile broke across his face. He placed the prosthetic gently onto the nightstand, climbed completely onto the bed beside you, and immediately leaned over to kiss you again, hard and deep, pulling you flush against his side.

At the same time, Robby shifted closer on your left. He started trailing his large, warm fingers lightly down your chest, his lips finding the sensitive skin of your neck to press soft, lingering kisses there.

“Is that alright? Do you want us to stop?” Robby murmured against your skin between kisses, his breath hot and sending shivers straight down your spine.

Jack broke his kiss just enough to look down at you, his hand sliding up to cup your cheek securely. “Just say the word and we are stopping, sweetheart,” he added, his tone entirely serious about making sure you were comfortable.

You didn’t even hesitate. You didn't want them to stop, not for a single second.

“No, no, please don't stop,” you breathed out, turning your head slightly to look at Robby.

You reached up, your fingers sliding into his short hair and gently scratching at his beard. Robby let out a low, pleased hum at your touch, leaning in to capture your lips in another deep, passionate kiss while Jack’s strong arm wrapped securely around your waist, holding you tight between them.

As the three of you shared a dizzying tangle of breathless, heavy kisses, the lingering hesitation in the room completely melted away. Boldness took over, and you slid your hands down, letting your palms press against the heavy cotton of Jack and Robby’s sweatpants, slowly rubbing over the thick, hard lengths straining beneath the fabric.

A sharp, ragged gasp tore from Robby’s throat at the sudden contact, his hips twitching upward into your touch.

“You are killing us, sweetheart,” Robby groaned against your lips, his breath shaking violently as your hands kept up the deliberate, torturous friction.

Jack let out a dark, low growl against your neck, his fingers completely losing their patience. His large hands gripped the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up and over your head in one swift motion, leaving your bare skin tingling in the cool air of the bedroom. Wanting them just as close, you reached out, your hands slick with sweat as you grasped the fabric of Jack’s shirt and then Robby's, pulling the cotton up over their broad shoulders and tossing them blindly over the edge of the bed.

The heat radiating off their bare chests was intoxicating. Robby immediately pressed back in, his calloused hands sliding up your bare torso, gripping your waist so tightly his knuckles turned white. He kissed you with a sudden, feral intensity, his tongue tangling with yours while Jack shifted over you, his heavy, muscular frame pinning you into the mattress. Jack’s mouth trailed a path of burning, wet kisses down your throat to the center of your chest, his teeth nipping lightly at your skin until you were arching your back, completely trapped and burning up between them.

A soft, breathy moan escaped your lips as your fingers tangled deep into Jack’s hair, pulling him closer while you kept your mouth locked with Robby’s in a deep, dizzying kiss.

Beneath the heavy covers, Jack’s large hand slid down to the waistband of your pants. He slowly started sliding them down your hips, but true to his word, he paused the movement completely, looking up to meet your eyes in the dim light just to make sure you were still completely comfortable with how fast things were moving.

You gave a small, breathless nod, completely reassuring him.

With your approval, you turned back to kiss Robby again, deeply distracted as you felt your pants and boxers being slid completely off your legs and tossed aside. The cool air of the bedroom hit your bare skin for a split second before your hard dick popped free, throbbing with a desperate need for contact.

“So beautiful,” Jack breathed out, his eyes darkening with absolute appreciation as he stared down at you.

He didn't waste another second. Jack reached down and stripped out of his own sweatpants and boxers, kicking them to the bottom of the bed before crawling back up the mattress. He pressed his heavy, bare chest right against yours, capturing your lips in a messy, passionate kiss that left your head spinning.

On your other side, Robby got completely naked too, shedding his clothes in one fluid motion. He slid back beneath the sheets, his massive, heat radiating frame pressing tightly against your left side, completely surrounding you in their warmth as the three of you came together completely bare on the sheets.

“So good for us,” Robby murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly rumble as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. The coarse texture of his beard scratched against your sensitive skin, a rough, masculine friction that turned you on in ways you didn't even know were possible, sending a hot shiver straight down to your toes.

Jack broke his kiss, his breathing ragged as he looked down at you, his eyes dark with a fierce, protective intensity. “Will you let us take care of you, sweetheart?”

You tried to speak, but your throat was completely dry, the words catching in your chest. You just nodded your head quickly against the pillows.

“Use your words, baby,” Robby coaxed softly, his lips brushing against your jawline, demanding to hear it from you.

You looked up at him, your chest heaving. “Ye… yeah,” you breathed out, the submission in your voice entirely real.

Robby smiled in that incredibly soft, tender way that always managed to completely break you down, stripping away any last bit of your defense. He leaned down and kissed you, gently at first, before the passion took over and the kiss turned hard and demanding. His tongue explored every single inch of your mouth, and you met him stroke for stroke, completely lost in the taste of him.

While you were consumed by Robby, you felt Jack’s hand slide down your torso. His fingers touched your throbbing dick, slowly wrapping his firm palm entirely around your length. A loud, unchecked moan tore from your throat at the sudden, electric contact, your hips jerking instinctively into his hand.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Jack whispered, a low smirk in his voice.

You broke the kiss with Robby just to look over at Jack, nodding your head quickly as he began to stroke you with a slow, agonizingly perfect rhythm. He watched your expression blow out with pleasure before he leaned in closer.

“Turn on your stomach for me, darling,” Jack said, his tone dropping into a commanding, quiet murmur.

Without a second thought, you did exactly what he asked, rolling over onto your belly. The cool sheets felt incredible against your flushed front, but the air didn't hit you for long before you felt Jack’s heavy weight shifting down between your thighs. His large hands settled on your hips, slowly spreading your legs further apart to give himself full access.

Up at the head of the bed, Robby shifted to accommodate you. His hands reached out, cupping your face, his thumb pressing lightly against your wet lips. Needing something to anchor you, you opened your mouth and took his thumb inside, swirling your tongue around it, licking and biting down gently on the pad of his skin.

You heard Robby let out a sharp, ragged hiss at the sensation. “Fuck, baby. What is this beautiful mouth can do?” he groaned, his eyes burning as he looked down at you.

You pulled your mouth away from his thumb, your gaze shifting down his bare torso to where his dick was resting. It was large, thicker and bigger than you had expected, and a sudden, primal wave of desire washed over you. You wanted him.

You reached out, your hand slick as you wrapped your fingers around his length, pulling him gently down toward your face.

“You don’t have to do that, baby,” Robby said softly, his voice full of care, wanting to make sure you weren't forcing yourself.

But the need inside you was too strong. You looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Please, Robby. I really want to.”

His expression softened, a dark, heavy smile breaking across his face as he nodded his approval, shifting his weight forward. You parted your lips and took him inside. At first, your mouth stretched tight, unable to fit the full depth of him, but after a moment, your saliva coated his skin, allowing you to slide him deeper, taking him all the way to the base. You could feel the thick head of his dick pressing right against the back of your throat, the fullness of it incredible, and you absolutely loved it, your hands gripping his thighs as you began to suck him in a steady rhythm.

Just as you settled into the pace, you felt Jack move behind you. He leaned over your lower half, his broad chest pressing against the backs of your thighs as he moved down between your ass cheeks.

Suddenly, the soft, scratchy hairs of his face brushed against the sensitive skin of your entrance. You didn't even have time to gasp before you felt the hot, wet stroke of his tongue painting over your opening, starting to lick you with a firm, deliberate pressure.

A muffled, high pitched moan escaped around Robby’s dick as Jack’s tongue worked over you from behind, the dual sensation of both men owning your body completely overloading your senses.

You continued to suck Robby with that same slow, deliberate movement, completely consumed by the taste of him. His pre cum tasted sweet against your tongue, and the intense heat of him filling your mouth was intoxicating. At the very same time, you could feel the wet, firm pressure of Jack’s tongue working expertly inside of you from behind. The dual sensation was almost too much to bear, sending electric sparks of pure pleasure directly to your core.

After a few more heavy moments, you felt Robby’s thighs begin to tremble slightly against your hands. His breathing hitched completely, and he let out a choked, ragged gasp.

“Baby, I am so close... pull out,” he pleaded, his voice cracking with the strain of trying to hold back.

But you didn’t want to stop. You wanted to taste him completely, to swallow every single drop of his warmth. Locking your eyes directly with his, you gripped his thighs tighter and started moving your mouth just a little bit faster, taking him even deeper.

“Fuck, baby,” Robby growled, his voice incredibly rough and primal. You could feel his entire body shaking from the sheer intensity of the pleasure you were giving him. “I’m cumming, baby, fuck!”

His hips twitched forward automatically as his dick shot a thick, hot load of cum straight into your mouth and down your throat. You hadn't expected to swallow all of it without gagging, but the raw desire driving you made it easy. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, your throat working around him until he was completely clean, all while looking up at him with a breathless, triumphant smile.

“Fuck, baby... so incredible,” Robby panted, his chest heaving as he slowly and gently pulled out of your mouth, looking down at you with absolute adoration and awe.

Before you could even catch your breath, Jack’s deep voice cut through the quiet of the room from behind you. “Do you think you can take me, sweetheart?”

You shifted slightly, looking back over your shoulder at Jack. He was up on his knees now, completely towering over your hips. His dick was throbbing, noticeably thicker than Robby’s, and while it wasn't quite as long, it was incredibly large and intimidating.

“Yeah, please, Jack,” you pleaded, your voice a desperate, needy whisper.

Jack smiled down at you, his eyes dark with a fierce tenderness. “I am gonna go slow, okay?” he promised.

You nodded fast, your heart pounding with anticipation. Jack leaned forward, shifting his weight over your body. He brought his hands down right beside yours on the mattress, his fingers interlacing softly with your own to anchor you. His bare chest pressed firmly against your back, the heat of his skin sending a fresh wave of goosebumps over your flesh.

Using the slickness from his own saliva and the work he had done with his tongue, Jack guided the heavy head of his dick right against your entrance.

“Are you ready, darling?” he murmured directly into your ear.

“Yes… yes, Jack,” you gasped out.

He slowly, carefully started pushing his way inside. You felt your entrance stretching tightly around his immense thickness, and a sharp line of pain flared through your hips. It hurt, but you didn't want him to stop, you wanted to be filled by him. You breathed through it, pressing your face into the pillow, and after a few agonizingly perfect moments, the tightness gave way. The pain completely dissolved, and a rush of overwhelming, full pleasure took its place.

“So tight, baby. You sure you're okay?” Jack asked, pausing his movements entirely to let you adjust to his size.

You nodded quickly, letting out a ragged sigh as he rested fully inside of you.

Once he felt you relax, Jack slowly started thrusting his hips. He moved in and out in a smooth, agonizingly slow motion, learning the rhythm of your body. A loud, uninhibited moan escaped your lips with every deep stroke. His fingers tightened securely around yours, locking your hands to the bed. Then, his right arm came around, his massive, solid bicep gently cradling your face and pulling your head back slightly against his arm so he could hear your whimpers. The feel of his flexing muscle against your cheek as he buried himself inside you was the hottest thing you had ever experienced.

Robby watched the two of you with a dark, satisfied smile. He had shifted back against the headboard, his long legs spread wide with your lower half still nestled securely between them. One of his hands was resting on his own dick, idly stroking it in a slow, relaxed rhythm as he enjoyed the view. Your free hand slid up his torso, your fingers digging into his thick, hairy chest and scratching lightly against his warm skin. Robby let out a low rumble of approval, his other hand coming up to gently cup yours against his breastbone.

“You are doing so good, baby,” Robby praised, his voice dripping with pride. “So fucking good for me and Jack.”

Right on cue, Jack leaned down, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of your ear as his breathing hitched. “So good, sweetheart... want me to go faster?”

You nodded frantically against Robby’s chest, completely desperate for more. You felt the dangerous slide of Jack’s lips curving into a smirk against your skin just before he picked up the pace. He started thrusting faster and harder, his weight slamming against your hips in a relentless, possessive rhythm. His teeth sank gently into your earlobe, biting down just enough to send a sharp jolt of electricity straight to your core, while soft, broken moans escaped his lips and echoed yours.

Sensing your friction, Robby shifted his hips a little lower on the mattress, aligning himself perfectly with you. Delirious from the pleasure, you pressed your face right into the soft hair of his pubes, nuzzling against his dick as Jack’s heavy thrusts began hitting your prostate with brutal accuracy.

The internal pressure was unbelievable. A white hot wave of pleasure washed over you, and you could feel yourself getting dangerously close to the edge without anyone even touching your front.

“I…I’m close,” you managed to choke out, your voice breaking as you arched your back into Jack’s heavy strokes.

Jack let out a dark, breathless chuckle behind you. “Yeah, baby? Overstimulating you without even touching your dick?” he asked, his voice filled with absolute, proud satisfaction.

You nodded frantically, your vision blurring.

“Cum for us, baby,” Jack commanded, his pace turning feral.

That was all it took. The final, hard thrust hit the perfect spot, and your body completely shattered. You came hard, a loud, ruined “Fuck, Jack!” tearing from your throat as your orgasm shot all over the bedsheets. Your entire body spasmed, squeezing tightly around Jack’s thick length.

The intense, milking friction of your release completely broke Jack’s control. He let out a deep, guttural growl, delivering three more heavy, desperate thrusts before his hips locked tightly against your ass. He groaned loudly against your neck as his dick throbbed inside you, painting your insides with a thick, burning load of his own cum.

The three of you stayed completely still for a few minutes, the only sound in the bedroom being your heavy, synchronized breathing as the rush of adrenaline slowly began to fade. The heat of Jack’s bare body was pressed flush against your back, still deeply connected to you.

As your mind started to clear, a sudden realization hit you, bringing a wave of mild panic with it. Robby hadn't gotten to fuck you.

“R… Robby, you didn’t…” you started to say, your voice laced with worry as you tried to look up at him.

Robby instantly caught your drift. His large, warm palm found your cheek in a gentle gesture, stroking his thumb under your eye to soothe you.

“Baby, we have all the time in the world,” he said with a warm, easy smile. “Besides, I’m getting old. I didn’t have that much power left in me today anyway.”

You couldn't help but smile back at his reassurance, the tension leaving your shoulders.

“Oh, but I have,” Jack spoke up from behind you, a cocky, amused ring to his voice. “But not right now,” he added quickly, letting out a soft laugh that made his chest rumble against your back.

A light, comfortable laughter rippled through the three of you.

“Did you enjoy it, sweetheart?” Jack asked softly. He carefully and slowly pulled out of you, a wet, sliding sensation that made you shudder slightly, before he shifted his weight to climb further up toward the head of the bed.

You were still positioned between Robby’s legs, but he gently pulled you up until you were resting directly on top of his torso. You relaxed your back straight against his broad, hairy chest, your head nestled perfectly beneath his jaw as he rested his chin right on the top of your head. Jack climbed up beside you, and Robby immediately opened his free arm, pulling his husband into the embrace so the three of you were completely tangled together in a warm pile of limbs.

“Do you want to smoke?” Robby asked, his deep voice vibrating right through your back.

You tilted your head back slightly to look up at him. “Is that okay with you guys?”

Robby nodded, but just as you went to say something, you remembered you had left your cigarettes out in your own clothes. Before you could even explain, Robby reached over to his side of the bed, opened the nightstand drawer, and pulled out a fresh pack of cigarettes and a glass ashtray.

He tapped a cigarette out of the pack, gently placed it between your lips, and flicked his lighter. A small flame illuminated his handsome face as he held it up for you. You inhaled deeply, the familiar harshness of the smoke filling your lungs before you blew a slow cloud toward the ceiling.

After taking another drag, you lifted your hand and offered the cigarette to Robby’s mouth. He wrapped his lips around it and took a long, satisfied drag, blowing the smoke away from your face. Then, you leaned forward slightly and offered it to Jack, who took a drag of his own with a quiet grunt of appreciation.

The cigarette was passed between the three of you in a quiet, intimate rhythm until it was eventually stubbed out in the ashtray.

With the smoke cleared, the intense exhaustion from the sex finally caught up to you. A heavy, peaceful tiredness washed over your entire body, and your eyelids started to feel impossibly heavy. Wrapped securely in their hold, your eyes slowly began to close. You drifted off to the comforting, steady rhythm of Robby’s heartbeat beneath your cheek, and the warm, grounding weight of Jack’s hand resting securely over your stomach.