“You’re ridiculous,” Jett says, but he’s already yanking me into his arms like I weigh nothing, holding me tight against his warm, bare chest. “You scared the shit out of me,” he growls into my hair, but it’s not anger. It’s pure terror that’s been alchemized into love.
“Princess,” he says raw, “that was the bravest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
And now I’m sobbing.
I’m wrapped up in towels and muscles and mouths, my arms tangled around Jett’s neck, Benji’s hands petting my thighs, Rhys’s fingers carding through my wet hair.
They carry me to the lounge chairs like I’m royalty.
Benji plops down first and tugs me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me with that human furnace heat that makes my bones sigh. Rhys sits beside us, elegant and composed but his hand never leaves mine. Jett paces like a caged beast for two seconds before flopping down at my feet and dragging my legs into his lap.
I’m swaddled in boys and towels and warmth.
I’ve never felt safer.
Benji presses kisses to my wet shoulder. “You’re incredible.”
“She is,” Rhys agrees, rubbing slow circles over my wrist. “Fearless and maddening and mine.”
Jett snorts. “Mine too.”
“Oh my god,” I groan, “please don’t start measuring dicks again, I just learned how to not drown.”
Benji laughs. “Let her breathe, guys.”
“I’d rather taste her,” Jett says, and then the bastard leans up and steals a kiss right from my mouth. It’s filthy. Tongue and teeth and possession.
“I was gonna feed her chocolate,” Benji says, his voice is all sunshine and smitten and so in love it hurts.
Rhys rolls his eyes and pulls out a small tupperware. “Fortunately, I planned ahead.”
It’s chocolate-dipped strawberries, because of course it is.
He offers me one, but before I can take it, Benji licks a stripe down my neck like he’s taste-testing my salt. “Gotta prep the palate.”
“Jesus,” Jett groans, but he’s not fooling anyone. He steals the strawberry from Rhys’s hand, takes a bite, then feeds me the other half with his mouth.
I moan.
Rhys sighs.
Benji looks like he might combust from joy.
This is my life now.
These ridiculous, beautiful men. This tender, bickering chaos. This pile of love so wide and weird and ours that I want to roll around in it forever.
“I love you all,” I say, dizzy and warm and so, so full.
“You better,” Benji whispers into my neck.
“Every fucked-up inch of us,” Jett says.
“Especially mine,” Rhys says, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
I smile like I could float again.
Because I think I could.
