Page 22 of Dreadful

“Yeah,” my brother rumbles from the other side of her. “In my fucking bed. What the fuck, Gage.”

Bell’s lips roll inward and her shoulders tremble with muted laughter.

“Oh, good. You’re awake. Then I don't feel bad about this.”

“You fucking should…”

I tune out whatever else he said when I fit my mouth to hers. It’s slow, a deliberate re-learning of a shape I used to know by heart. The soft give of her lower lip, the faint taste of mint and sleep.

For the first time since she’s been back, the years between us dissolve in the space where our lips part and meet again, in the quiet sound of her breathing me in, in the warmth of her palm settling against my jaw.

Her hand slides into the hair at my nape, gripping tight, and her leg hooks higher over my hip, pulling our bodies flush.

On her other side, Cruz’s arm stays locked around her waist—not that I expected him to. And yeah, fuck him for that, but it’s not going to stop me.

Cruz rolls over, tearing Bell off of me and dragging her with him. She yelps as the comforter and sheet get dragged along with her, tangling around her legs while Cruz half-pins her underneath him.

“What are you doing, Cruz?” She huffs out a laugh, her voice muffled against his chest.

“Shh, we're sleeping, Bells.”

I tuck one hand underneath his head and do my best impersonation of a patient man. I alternate my gaze between them and the ceiling fan swirling slowly above us.

“Absolutely not. I can't sleep with you on top of me.”

Cruz shifts. “That’s not what you were saying earlier.”

My dumbass little brother is taunting me, but I’m feeling fucking generous tonight, so I let that shit roll off of me.

“You’re too big, Cruz.” She’s squirming, shoving at his shoulders.

Amusement dances along my skin, tugging up the corners of my mouth.

“See, now that’s exactly what you were saying—oof.”

“You’re crushing me,” she half-pants, but there’s laughter in her voice.

“Tag me in, Bells.” My brother may act like he’s above the rest of us, but that asshole loves a challenge just as much as any Calloway.

The blankets rustle and sigh as he rolls onto his back in one fluid motion, bringing her with him until she’s sprawled across him. He glances at me with a brow raised as he settles his hands on her thighs.

“There.”

Bell plants her hands on Cruz's chest and pushes herself upright. Now she's fucking straddling him, and judging by the self-satisfied smile on his face, my asshole brother got exactly what he wanted.

His hands slide higher along her thighs, slow and deliberate, dragging the hem of his shirt with them. The fabric bunches, inching up her legs until more of her skin catches the moonlight filtering through the curtains-pale against the dark room, against his hands.

Then his thumbs disappear beneath the cotton.

I catch the flash of them sliding into that perfect notch where her thigh meets her pelvis, the hollow I've mapped with my own hands, my mouth. A place I know the exact shape of in the dark.

Something hot and familiar coils low in my gut. It’s quieter than rage—deeper. The specific burn of watching someone else touch what your body still thinks belongs to it, even when your head knows better.

It's there, but it's low and manageable. I exhale slowly and let my gaze drag over her once more.

“And how, exactly, are we supposed to sleep like this?” Bell folds her arms across her chest, the collar of her shirt dipping low to expose her shoulder.

Cruz closes his eyes, a smirk widening on his face as he settles in. “I don’t know, Bell. I’m feeling pretty fucking comfortable right about now.”