Page 158 of Triple Play
Grant’s touch is possessive. Claiming. The way his hands grip my hips, the way he looks at the other two touching me like he’s cataloging every moment.
“Mine,” he says. Not to me. To them. A statement and a reminder.
“Ours,” Jordie corrects with a grin.
Grant doesn’t argue. Just kisses me like he’s proving a point.
Wyatt’s different. Quieter. More controlled. His hands are steady as they map my body, relearning curves that have changed with pregnancy and time.
“Still so responsive,” he murmurs against my neck. “After everything. After all of it.”
Jordie’s enthusiasm hasn’t dimmed even slightly. “Can I just say—and I know this is probably not the sexy talk you’re looking for—but you’re handling motherhood like a boss, and it’s incredibly hot.”
I’m laughing. Can’t help it. “That’s the worst dirty talk I’ve ever heard.”
“Worth a shot.”
Grant’s mouth is on my collarbone. “Stop making her laugh. I’m trying to seduce her.”
“You’re always trying to seduce her.”
“And I’m very good at it.”
“Debatable.”
I’m still laughing when Grant’s hand slides between my thighs and—
Oh.
Okay. Not laughing anymore.
“That’s better,” he says against my skin.
What follows is—it’s different than it was five years ago. Slower in some ways. More intense in others. Like we’ve learned exactly what each other needs and how to give it.
There’s no rush. No desperation. Just the four of us learning each other all over again.
Grant’s possessive streak is in full force. The way he watches Wyatt’s hands on me, the way he positions himself, the way he says “mine” like it’s a prayer and a promise.
Wyatt’s praise never stops. Telling me I’m beautiful, perfect, strong. That watching me with our kids makes him fall in love all over again every single day.
And Jordie. Still all enthusiasm and playfulness and “holy hell, how did I get this lucky?”
They worship me. Take me apart piece by piece and put me back together.
And when it’s over—when we’re tangled together, breathless and satisfied and so full of love I can barely contain it—Grant pulls me against his chest.
“You okay?”
“Better than okay.”
Jordie’s already half asleep on my other side. Wyatt’s at the foot of the bed, one hand on my ankle like he needs the contact.
“We should do this more often,” I say.
“Date night?” Grant’s voice is rough.
“Yeah. Get out. Remember we’re people, not just parents.”
