Page 130 of Filled

“You’re ours.” A whisper. “Our girl. My princess. Ours to protect. Ours to worship. Ours to love.”

The words crack something open in my chest. “Yours. I’m yours, Daddy.”

“And I’m yours.” He drives deeper, finds the spot that sparks white behind my eyelids. “All of me. Everything I am. All of yours.”

I come again, clenching around him, and it drags him over the edge with me. He buries his face in my neck and spills into me with a muffled groan, marking me his even though I belong to three other men too.

We stay like that, breathing together, his hands still gentle on my face.

“I’m falling in love with you,” I whisper. “With all of you. But you—Daddy, I’m so in love with you.”

His eyes close. When they open, the corners shine wet.

“I’m in love with you too, princess. Have been since the day I fucking saw you, I think. Was just too scared to admit it.”

“Don’t be scared.” I kiss him. “Not of this. Not of us.”

“I’m trying.” He eases out of me, helps me down from the counter. “It’s new. Being this vulnerable. But I’m trying.”

We clean up together with warm water, a washcloth, his hands careful between my thighs. We move around each other in the small space like we’ve done it a hundred mornings. Before we leave, he pulls me back against his chest and just holds me,his heartbeat steady under my ear. “We should get back before they wake up and panic.”

“They’re probably already awake.” I grin into his chest. “Cruz doesn’t sleep past seven-thirty. Ever.”

I’m right. The bedroom door stands open and voices drift from the kitchen. Cruz’s laugh, Dante’s low rumble, Brady saying words that make them both answer at once. The rich scent of coffee hangs in the air.

We find the three of them in various states of undress. Cruz leans against the counter in boxer briefs, mug in hand. Dante fights a pan of eggs in nothing but sweatpants. Brady sits at the small table fully dressed, like a man ready to bolt.

“There they are.” Cruz’s grin spreads wide. “Bathroom plumbing working okay, Eli?”

“Shut up, Bennett,” he replies.

Cruz shrugs. “Just checking. You two were in there for a while.”

Heat climbs my face, but I don’t apologize. I cross to the coffee pot, pour a cup, add cream and sugar with four sets of eyes on me. The attention should make my skin itch, instead I feel so safe.

Brady stands and comes to me, presses a kiss to my forehead without a word. His hand rests on my lower back a beat before he moves to refill his own mug. Two months ago this man couldn’t look at any of us. Now he touches me like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Dante plates the eggs that are only slightly burnt, and we crowd around his tiny table, knees bumping, forks raiding each other’s plates. Cruz makes a joke about water conservation and shared showers that earns him my heel against his shin.

Domestic. Mundane. Perfect.

The rest of the morning dissolves into logistics. Showers get arranged—Cruz and me first, then Brady and Dante, Eli last.We dress, gather bags, scrub the apartment of evidence like criminals leaving the scene of a felony. Which, professionally speaking, we kind of are.

When it’s time to go, we end up standing in Dante’s living room in a loose circle, and nobody moves for the door.

I grab my gym bag, and when I turn back, Eli’s there, pulling me in for one more kiss.

“Be careful today.” His mouth brushes mine. “No lingering looks.”

“That was one time,” I protest.

“Once is enough to get caught.”

“I’ll be good, Daddy.”

“I know you will, princess.”

I drive to Oath alone and park in a different section of the lot. Inside, Cruz is already warming up, and we trade the briefest nod—teammates, nothing more.