My heart skips. Company. I know exactly what kind of company he means.
"Door's unlocked," I say, surprising myself with my boldness.
The door opens and Zayn steps in, followed by Dmitri. The steam swirls around them, and I'm suddenly very aware of my nakedness despite the bubbles providing minimal coverage. Zayn's eyes flick over me, sharp and assessing, while Dmitri's gaze is steady, almost reverent.
"Room for two more?" Zayn asks, leaning against the counter.
I raise an eyebrow. "In this tub? Probably room for the whole hockey team."
Dmitri's mouth quirks in what might be a smile. "It's a good size. Custom build."
"Of course it is," I murmur, watching as Zayn pulls his shirt over his head in one fluid motion.
I should look away. Should probably feel some modicum of shyness. But after the morning's activities, it seems ridiculousto pretend at modesty now. So instead, I watch as they undress, taking in the differences between them.
Zayn is all lean muscle and sharp angles, with a swimmer's build despite his hockey training. Dark tattoos wrap around his biceps and across his chest, forming patterns I want to map with my fingers. His movements are deliberate, performative even, like he knows exactly how good he looks and doesn't mind the appreciation.
Dmitri is broader, more solid. His chest and shoulders bear the kind of muscle that comes from years of hard work rather than careful sculpting. Scars mark his pale skin, and a particularly jagged one across his ribs catches my eye. He undresses efficiently, no wasted motion, no show.
Two distinctly different men. Two distinctly different approaches to life, to pleasure, to me.
"You gonna make room, beautiful?" Zayn asks, now gloriously naked and clearly not bothered by it.
I shift forward, bringing my knees to my chest to create space behind me. "Help yourself."
Zayn slides in behind me, water sloshing over the edge as he settles. His legs bracket mine, chest warm against my back. Dmitri takes the opposite end, his large frame somehow fitting comfortably as he stretches his legs alongside mine.
"This is cozy," I manage, hyperaware of Zayn's breath on my neck and Dmitri's intense gaze.
"We're just getting to know each other," Zayn says, his hands finding my shoulders and beginning to knead the muscles there. "It's important for pack dynamics."
I snort. "Is that what we're calling it now?"
Dmitri's eyes crinkle. "He has many names for it. Most not appropriate for polite company."
"Good thing I'm not polite company then," I reply, leaning into Zayn's touch as his fingers work out knots I didn't know I had.
"You've had quite the day," Zayn murmurs, his lips brushing my ear. "Jax, Darren, now our young goalie. Enjoying yourself?"
Heat floods my cheeks. "Seems like you already know the answer to that."
"Want to hear you say it," he insists, hands sliding from my shoulders down my arms.
"Yes," I admit, watching Dmitri watch me. "I'm enjoying myself."
"Good," Dmitri says, the word heavy with meaning in his accented voice. His large hand finds my ankle under the water, thumb pressing gently against the arch of my foot. "Some things should be enjoyed."
The simple touch sends shivers up my leg, surprising me with its intensity. I've never considered my feet particularly sensitive, but the careful pressure of his fingers has me fighting not to squirm.
"We were thinking," Zayn continues, one hand now running over my stomach just below the water's surface, "you might be interested in some unique preparation."
My breath catches. "Preparation?"
"For knotting," he clarifies, direct as always. "It takes time. But there are ways to help the process."
Oh.Oh.
"What kind of ways?" I ask, curiosity mixing with arousal.
