Zoe woke first.
The bed was warm and heavy with the familiar weight of both men. Lucas’s arm lay across her stomach. Ryan’s breath stirred the hair at the back of her neck. Morning light had already strengthened past the early grey stage; it lay in clean bands across the floor and the foot of the bed. Her body still carried the deep, settled ache from the night of restraints and the quieter night that had followed. She slipped out from under their arms carefully, pulled on the oversized shirt she had left on the chair, and went downstairs barefoot.
The living room was tidy. Someone—Ryan, probably—had straightened the cushions and folded the throw blanket. She stood there for a moment, taking in the ordinary quiet of the house that had started to feel more like hers than the one two doors
