Page 86 of The Dead Don’t Scream

SLOANE

The bedroom belongs to all three of them. I know before anyone explains. A bed large enough for four dominates the room. Three nightstands line the wall. Rhys’s watch rests beside a medical kit. Dante’s phone charges beneath a pile of candy wrappers. A worn photograph of Callum’s mother sits beside a dried stalk of corn tied with black string. Chosen family.

Separate histories occupying one shared space. Now they bring me into it. Callum places me in the center of the bed. Dante drops my overnight bag beside the dresser. Rhys kneels in front of me.

“You’re exhausted.”

“I’m horny.”

“Both can be true.”

“They are.”

“No more penetration.”

“Agreed.”

“No impact play.”

“Fine.”

“No restraints.”

I look at Callum.

“His self-control counts as a restraint.”

Rhys’s mouth twitches.

“Physical restraints.”

“Fine.”

Dante climbs onto the bed beside me.

“What is allowed?”

I lie back against the pillows.

“You can use your mouths.”

Three men become very still.

“And your hands.”

Dante kisses my inner thigh. Rhys takes the other. Callum stands at the foot of the bed. Watching. Still fighting himself. I crook one finger. He comes closer.

“Lie beside me.”

Callum stretches out along my body. I turn toward him and take him into my hand. His eyes close. Dante’s mouth finds one breast. Rhys kisses slowly up the inside of my thigh. Callum grips the headboard instead of touching me without permission.

“Touch me,” I tell him.

His hand slides into my wet hair. I stroke him. Rhys’s breath moves across my most sensitive skin. Dante bites my breast. I gasp. Callum’s hand tightens in my hair.

“Color?”

“Green.”