Page 87 of Forged

Snake Charmer:Did you make contact?

I’ve beenawake for a while now watching them sleep. Neomi’s back is curled against me, her forehead against Lars’ chest. Lars has his arm across her, hand on my hip.

He looks so peaceful like this, relaxed, breaths soft and even. I’ve watched him for weeks and he’s always guarded and focused. Part of me loves the power and composure he holds when he moves through his world. But right now, I want to imprint this version of him somewhere deep inside me.

Neomi takes a deep breath, moving between us, stretching herlegs. She discovers Lars asleep, then glances over her shoulder at me.

“Hey,” she whispers, voice soft.

I brush her hair back to expose the soft skin of her shoulder. I place a kiss there. “Good morning, Siren.”

She hums. “I slept so good.”

“You didn’t move all night.” I kiss her skin again. “Are you a coffee drinker?”

“Coffee would be amazing.”

She rolls onto her back, and the movement causes Lars to stir.

He squeezes my hip, smiling eyes meeting mine as he aligns his body against Neomi’s.

“Did I hear someone say coffee?” he says, voice rough with sleep.

“I’m about to make some. There are towels, robes, and extra toothbrushes in the bathroom closet if you need them.”

I pull back the duvet and plant my feet on the floor. The air is cold compared to the warmth of them in my bed. In one night, all boundaries were crossed and now my body craves to be near them. Before I leave the room, I lean down, kneel on the bed and place a soft kiss on Neomi's cheek and then to Lars’ neck.

They both grin, Lars sighs with the contact of my lips on his skin and I soak in the sound. I walk to the kitchen and go through the motions to start the coffee. I check my phone and there’s another message.

Snake Charmer:Eye on the prize. The faster you get the key, the sooner we’re both free.

I hear footsteps approaching and lock my phone, placing it face down on the marble. Lars and Neomi enter the room, wrapped in fluffy terry cloth. I take a deep breath to calm my pulse. I need the next contact set before they leave, I know this.

But right now, seeing them in my kitchen, I know I’m completely fucked.

I shruginto my shirt and finish buttoning it as I step out of the bedroom, back in the same clothes from last night. Neomi sits at the island beside Gabriel, finishing her coffee while I move through the living room collecting the evidence of last night. Her dress lies pooled near the edge of the rug, the delicate straps twisted from where she tugged them down her shoulders, and her lingerie is abandoned beside the piano where we left it. Gabriel’s slacks are folded neatly over the back of a chair—far too orderly for a man who lost control only hours ago. I scoop Neomi’s things into my arms, a grin tugging at my mouth.

Fuck, what a night.

Waking up with both of them tangled around me should feel reckless. Instead, it felt far too good. I spent so many years not being able to wake up next to someone and feel peace. Now, not only have I found Neomi, but Gabriel didn’t cause the voices in my mind to grow loud or restless.

Then, this morning, he moved easily through his kitchen—barefoot, in nothing but boxer briefs—educating Neomi about the only acceptable way to brew coffee. Something about bloomtime and water temperature and beans imported from Guatemala that cost more per pound than some men’s monthly rent.

There’s one thing that won't leave my mind, though. This apartment with its view, the understated furniture that I know must be expensive, it screams money. And when I passed his pants earlier, I saw the Brunello Cucinelli label stitched inside the waistband. He has subtle, quiet wealth. And I don’t know where it comes from.

I sling Neomi’s dress over the back of the couch and join them at the island. Neomi drains the last of her coffee and sets the mug down with a satisfied sigh.

“I’m going to go get dressed.”

She rounds the island and presses a soft kiss to my cheek before brushing her fingers over Gabriel’s shoulder on her way past. I track her without meaning to, watching the sway of her hips beneath the robe. She disappears down the hallway toward the bedroom, and the air shifts the second it’s just him and me.

This is the part that usually unravels. The morning-after etiquette. The careful distance men create when the heat cools and reality settles in. But Gabriel doesn’t retreat, instead, he reaches across the counter and glides a single finger over my exposed forearm. The touch is testing, his eyes lifting to mine.

“Last night was a lot of fun,” he says, voice quiet while I hold his gaze.

“It was,” I answer. “These situations can go south fast with the wrong person—someone who’s selfish or has a misplaced ego. But you handled it all perfectly.”

A faint smile pulls at his mouth. “Somehow, it all felt natural.”