Page 146 of Piece Us Together

For him to take me apart, piece by piece, and figure out how I fit with the two of them.

I freeze in the wrong kind of way when I feel his hands grab the hem of my shirt. He doesn’t lift it, his breath warm on the back of my neck as he just stands there and breathes for a moment. Then another. And another.

“You’ve never put this as a hard limit,” he says softly. I keep my eyes closed. It’s so much safer with my eyes closed. “Do you want to add it?”

I thought about this already. I know what I want, even if it scares me.

The words still stick a little in my throat though, so I shake my head instead.

“Can I take it off then?”

I force myself to open my eyes. Nolan is watching me, looking nervous. My hands twitch at my sides as I fight the urge to grab at him for comfort.

“It won’t disappoint me, Maison. The only way that will happen is if you lie. Can I take your shirt off? Or do you need it tonight?”

I look into Nolan’s big blue eyes and remind myself that these two men love me. I’m safe here. I’ve never been any safer.

“You can take it,” I whisper.

He doesn’t treat me like someone who can’t keep his word. Like someone who would lie. He doesn’t hesitate. The moment I’ve spoken, his hands are working the fabric up, up, up and over my head. I flinch when I hear it hit the floor.

His breath is still warm on my neck, but it’s also on the area between my shoulder blades now. I can’t decide if it’s just in my head or if he’s breathing harder now. Maybe it’s just me. I’m definitely breathing hard, nearly as hard as my heart is pounding.

“Oh, my boys…” he whispers, bringing his mouth to the nape of my neck and pressing a kiss there. “Nolan, darling, get on the bed. Maison, go join him. Let him sit in your lap. Kiss him. Touch him. I’m going to grab a few things. You just focus on that beautiful boyfriend of yours, okay?”

I take a step toward the bed before pausing, turning to look at Hunter. He freezes. “Okay?” he asks, his eyes starting to scan me like he’s searching for what could be wrong.

“Ours,” I correct. “Beautiful boyfriend ofours.”

His breath hitches, his chest heaving with it. He laughs almost breathlessly before nodding. And nodding again. “Yeah.Ourbeautiful boyfriend.”

I rock on my feet, wanting so badly to kiss him. He knows. He smiles, his tongue darting out to wet his lips.Fucking tease. “Not yet. Go. Kiss our boy. I’ll be there in a minute.”

That’s not exactly a hardship, so I don’t hesitate. I grab Nolan up and press my mouth to his in a kiss that’s full of all the anticipation and nerves for what’s to come. He puts a hand on the back of my head, slowing the kiss down, filling it with the calm and confidence he always seems to find when Hunter puts him on his knees.

My awareness prickles just before I feel Hunter’s weight settling on the bed beside us. I pull away from Nolan’s greedy mouth, catching my breath as I look over at Hunter. His face softens when our eyes meet. He lifts a hand, cupping my cheek, his thumb dragging along my damp bottom lip. Keeping his hand there, he looks toward Nolan, bringing his other hand up to Nolan’s face in a mirrored touch.

“God, I love the both of you,” he murmurs. His hands slide down the sides of our necks, across the slopes of our shoulders. I bow my head, my forehead resting against Nolan’s chin, as his fingertips start across my shoulder blade. My breath catches when they find my spine.

I can picture what he’s seeing. What he’s touching. I know the crossed lines, white and pink, some smooth, some raised like angry welts. I know the story they tell, interspersed with healed knife wounds and puckered scars from bullets.

He runs a single fingertip over the lines, pouring gold into each crack, fusing all of my pieces together. He leans his face in, lips skimming over my temple and Nolan’s jaw. I see his other hand moving in my peripheral vision. He’s touching Nolan’s scars, too. Adding gold there. Piecing him together.

Piecing both of us together.

How did I not see it before?That he’s everything we’ve needed. That he’s the liquid magic that will make us whole again. Make us beautiful. Make our love story art.

He shifts on the bed, closer to me than Nolan, his hand having made its way to the small of my back. He holds it there as he says, “Move out of the way, darling. Maison is going to lay down.”

Nolan gives me one last kiss on the lips before climbing off of my lap and shifting to the other side of me. I glance at Hunter, wanting to remind him that I won’t bottom, but I trust him. I’m safe with him.

I lie down on my back, head settled on a pillow. My stomach is quivering with nerves. I’m suddenly very aware that neither of them is touching me. I curl my fingers into the sheets, clinging to them to try and ground myself. It doesn’t work, but Hunter’s hand is settling on my thigh before I have a chance to panic about that. I exhale, melting into the mattress beneath the touch.

I don’t want him to ever stop touching me. Touching us. The feel of his fingers on my skin is grounding. Freeing. It makes it possible to breathe. It makes the world feel manageable. Makes the world feel safe. Makes me feel safe.

When he touches me like this, when he looks at me, speaks to me, cares for me, I know he’d take on the world if it meant protecting me from it. No one has ever protected me like that before. Not the dad who walked out or the mom who had too much on her plate. Not my little brother who looked to me tomake things okay. Not the operatives or survivors who depend on me. Not even Nolan, as much as he loves me.

Hunter, though.

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