Page 27 of Dreadful

Out of the corner of my eye, Gage’s hand shoots out and shoves Cruz’s shoulder. “You’re a dick.”

Cruz doesn’t so much as blink, his focus still locked on me. “Am I? I let you slide into my bed, hog my girl, and enjoy her for breakfast.”

“Let me?” Gage asks, but there’s more amusement than incredulity wrapped around those two words.

My brows lift higher at the possession. “Your girl?”

“You’re in my bed, aren’t you?” he counters.

I feel my expression tighten, eyes narrowing. “Is that the only prerequisite?”

The corner of his mouth hitches, that damn dimple appearing like a punctuation mark to his certainty. His thumb tugs gently at the center of my bottom lip. “Do you want an itemized list?”

A stubborn heat flares bright at the laughter dancing around his questions. “Why are you answering every question with a question?”

“Why are you still asking me questions when we could be doing… other, more engaging things?”

“Cruz.” It’s a ridiculous warning considering my borrowed sleep clothes are shoved up or over, exposing all of me.

“I don’t know, brother.” Gage’s fingertips trace idle patterns against the dip of my hip, his touch warm and proprietary. “Doesn’t really seem like she wants to be your girl.”

“I didn’t say that.” The words are out before I can think—a reflex, a truth I haven’t fully let myself feel.

Cruz’s grin widens, a slow, dangerous curve that mirrors the low chuckle rumbling from Gage’s chest.

“Honestly, am I dreaming?” I whisper under my breath, nails digging into the meat of my own thigh just to feel the sting of it. “Because what the actual fuck. How did we get here—to this… truce? Last week you two were ready to rip each other’s throats out over who got to sit next to me at dinner.”

Gage’s lips brush the sensitive skin along the inside of my knee. “We called a truce last night.”

“A temporary agreement,” Cruz adds, voice dropping as his gaze flicks from my mouth back to my eyes.

“After we saw you bleeding after the warehouse,” Gage murmurs into my skin, and as if summoned by the memory, a dull throb pulses through the bandage on my arm.

Cruz’s thumb strokes my jaw. “My brother and I realized we were both profoundly glad you were still breathing.”

“Okay.” I draw the word out, trying to picture these two having that conversation without someone throwing a punch. My tongue swipes over my bottom lip. “So how long does this last?”

Gage chuckles, the vibration traveling up my leg. “Ready for another round?”

“Not long.” Cruz’s mouth grazes the corner of mine, his breath warm. “Are you going to kiss me, or should I kiss your pussy instead?”

A choked sound escapes me—half-laugh, half-gasp—and my fingers twist into the sheets. The casual filth in his tone shouldn’t surprise me anymore, but it still does.

Cruz doesn’t wait. His mouth covers mine, insistent and skilled, and my free hand fists in the soft cotton of his shirt like it belongs there.

“Breakfast of champions,” Gage murmurs, his palm sliding higher along my inner thigh.

Cruz kisses me until the world narrows to the slide of his tongue, the scrape of his stubble, the weight of Gage’s hand drifting closer to where I ache. The morning light glows gold behind my eyelids.

When he pulls back, it’s only far enough for his thumb to rest against the hinge of my jaw, his eyes dark and focused entirely on me.

“And you guys?” I ask, biting the inside of my cheek until I taste the faint copper tang of blood.

In all my fantasies—and yeah, okay, there were a lot—I was all confidence and sultry composure, handling multiple partners like it was nothing. But here, in the unforgiving morning light, with the scent of sex and sleep still clinging to the sheets and the distant sound of someone moving around in the hall, my voice comes out thin.

Gage rolls off the bed with a low chuckle that rumbles through the mattress. “Don’t worry about that, Bell.”

I turn onto my side, my shirt slipping down to my waist. From under my lashes, I watch him—the play of muscle across his bare back as he stretches, the dark hair messy from sleep and my fingers, the sharp line of his jaw. My stomach tightens just looking at him.