Page 216 of Double Daddies
“Little bird? Are you okay?”
“Yes. I’m just thinking. I’ll be out in a minute,” I shout back.
I quickly wash my hair and body and turn the water off. The shower door opens and the twins step in. My eyes rake over their naked bodies.
“What are you doing?”
“We are getting clean, little bird,” Elijah admits as he turns the water back on and begins to wash his chest.
“What’s wrong?” Ezra asks, noticing the look on my face.
“I’m just not used to sharing a shower with anyone. Richard never wanted to share a shower.”
Elijah growls at the mention of Richard’s name. I jump at the ferocity of the sound. “He is not allowed to have your thoughts.Ever.” He grips my chin and looks into my eyes. “Do you understand, little bird?”
“Y-yes.”
“Yes, what?” he demands.
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Brava ragazza.”His voice is a low murmur, filled with quiet approval. He releases my chin, his fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary before turning off the water. A shiver runs down my spine—not from the chill, but from the moment itself.
I stand there, dripping wet, steam curling around us like a lingering embrace. Elijah steps toward me, his hands deftly unfolding a towel before wrapping it around me, enveloping me in warmth. The plush fabric clings to my damp skin, absorbing the water while somehow making me feel cocooned, protected. Ezra follows seamlessly, his touch gentle as he presses anothertowel to my hair, rubbing in slow, careful strokes. The rhythmic motion is soothing, almost hypnotic, like he’s done this a hundred times before.
The intimacy of it—the unspoken understanding, the quiet gestures, the effortless way they take care of me—makes my chest tighten with something I can’t quite name. I swallow hard, letting the warmth settle into my bones. Elijah kisses my temple then he’s out of the bathroom.
“Why don’t you wear my clothes?” Ezra suggests, his voice soft, yet full of quiet certainty. “Yours are still in the dryer.”
I nod, and he takes my hand, leading me back into the bedroom. The sheets are still rumpled, a lingering reminder of last night. He moves with effortless ease, opening a drawer and pulling out a pair of boxers. Without hesitation, he kneels, slipping them up my legs, his fingers grazing my skin as he goes. The fabric is cool at first, contrasting with the lingering heat from the shower, but his touch, steady, deliberate, adds its own warmth.
Then, he grabs a shirt, the scent of him clinging to the cotton. It smells faintly of cedar and bergamot—something undeniably him. He lifts it over my head, pulling it down in slow, careful movements, his knuckles brushing my shoulders before smoothing the fabric against my frame. It’s oversized, draping over me like a protective shield, a silent claim.
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The weight of his hands lingers, the quiet intimacy thick enough to settle in my bones. His touch is steady, grounding, yet there’s something else beneath it—something unspoken, something lingering in the space between us.
Slowly, he cups my cheeks, his thumbs tracing soft, deliberate circles against my skin. The motion is featherlight, almost reverent, as if he’s memorizing the shape of me beneathhis fingertips. The warmth of his hands seeps into me, chasing away any lingering chill, and I find myself leaning into his touch.
“I like having you here,” he whispers, his voice hushed, intimate—a confession meant only for me.
I swallow, my breath catching. “Really?”
His lips quirk in the faintest smile, something tender, something certain. “Very much so.” He leans in slowly, giving me just enough time to catch my breath, to register the way his eyes search mine, like he’s waiting for something unspoken. Then his lips brush against mine, featherlight, tentative at first, like he’s testing the moment, savoring it.
Heat pools between us, the space shrinking to nothing as he presses in closer. The warmth of his breath mingles with mine, his scent, clean and familiar wraps around me like a second skin. His hands tighten slightly against my face, anchoring me there, and pulling me deeper into him.
I rise onto my tiptoes, my arms slipping up around his neck, pulling myself closer. The movement feels instinctive, like my body knows exactly where it belongs—against him. His hands find my waist, firm yet careful, steadying me as I press into him, our bodies molding together effortlessly.
Ezra’s lips linger for just a breath before pulling away, his forehead coming to rest gently against mine. His breath is warm, steady, and the space between us is still charged, humming with something unspoken. My fingers tighten slightly against the nape of his neck, unwilling to let go just yet.
Then, movement. A shift in the air.
Elijah steps into the room, his presence effortless, commanding, as if he’s always meant to be here at this exact moment. His gaze flickers between us, something unreadable passing through his eyes before a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.
“Ready for breakfast?” he asks.
I nod. “I guess I could eat.”
“Good. We’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready,uccellina.” Ezra kisses the tip of my nose and follows his brother.
