Page 195 of What We Bury

He breaks away first, gasping. “Micah, be honest. Did you or did you not think our girl looked super fucking hot butchering that pig?”

I expect Micah to roll his eyes, but instead he shrugs. “I thought she looked confident,” he says. “And yeah, that’s pretty hot.”

I’m still pressed to the wall, Milo’s arms on either side of me, and suddenly I’m aware of both of them in this narrow stairwell—Milo close enough to steal my breath, Micah a few steps away watching my face like he can read every dirty thought I’m trying not to have. Their attention knots my nerves together until my skin goes hot, then cold, then hot again.

“I need a shower,” I say, voice not as steady as I want.

Milo pulls back just enough to flash me a wicked smile. “We should conserve water.”

“I don’t know if we’d all fit.”

Milo lifts a brow and turns to Micah. “Did you hear that? Our girl said all.”

Micah’s eyes burn into mine as Milo kisses me again—quick, hard—then grabs my hand and pulls me up the remaining steps.

“Hold onto kitten for me,” Milo says, passing my hand to Micah while he digs in his pockets for the keys.

Our fingers lock together, and we laugh because Milo is ridiculous, and honestly, because we’ve been laughing together all day. But then I notice a faint smear of something on his face and I reach for it.

“You missed a spot,” I say. He watches my face as I drag my thumb along his jaw to wipe it away. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink, just stands there with a half-shy, half-starved look.

The silence stretches.

Milo gets the key into the door but he pauses and leans against the jamb, watching us with unfiltered heat.

Micah’s hand finds the back of my neck. He is so gentle about it, so deliberate, that I almost shiver.

“You want this, baby girl?” he whispers.

I nod.

He waits, forehead tipping to mine. “Say it.”

“I want you to kiss me, Micah.” He doesn’t hesitate. Lips on mine—soft at first, then growing fierce as I grab the front of his jacket and pull him toward me. He shifts closer, all hips and hands and tongue, kissing like he’s been dying for this all day.Maybe forever. A noise escapes him—a soft, almost wounded whimper that makes me feel like a living secret.

I don’t know what to do with the way he’s holding me, how the world tilts sideways every time I taste the heat and sorrow on his tongue. There’s no room for hesitation but all the time in the world for the kind of wanting that means both of us are going to come apart before we even get inside.

“Wow,” Milo says, a little awed, a little jealous, and a lot turned on. He opens the apartment door and gestures us inside. “After you, my lovely deviants.”

Micah and I tumble past the threshold together, still fused at the mouth as Milo swings the door shut behind us. Then he crowds me from behind, hands on my hips, pinning me to Micah, who’s still kissing me like the world will end if he doesn’t steal every last breath from my lungs.

Milo’s arms wrap around my waist and he buries his face in my shoulder, biting down through my shirt hard enough to make me yelp—half arousal, half surprise. His hands slip under my T-shirt, up my sides, deft and greedy, the heat of them stabbing straight to my core.

I’m pressed between both of them, Milo at my back and Micah in front of me, and the way Micah devours my mouth, slow and savoring, makes every cell in my body clamor for more.

“Milo,” I gasp, arching back into him even as I fist Micah’s jacket tighter, “I want you?—”

Someone clears their throat.

Loudly.

I freeze. Micah freezes. Milo keeps trying to take my shirt off until I nudge him with my elbow.

Then he freezes too.

As one, we turn our heads to find two people sitting on the living room couch.

Amy.