The safehouse was silent, lit only by a single lamp and the flicker of lightning still dancing across the windows. Colson was resting—bandaged, shirtless, unconscious—but alive.
Sienna sat on the edge of the bed, rain-drenched clothes clinging to her skin.
She couldn't stop shaking.
Nico leaned in the doorway, his eyes dark and unreadable, watching her.
"I thought we lost you," he said softly.
"You almost did," she whispered.
He crossed the room slowly, every step deliberate, his gaze pinned to hers. "You saved him."
"I did."
"But I'm the one still bleeding."
She stood. Her breath caught.
"I don't want to choose," she said. "Because every time I look at you… I burn. And every time I touch him… I break."
Nico stepped close, inches away.
"Then stop choosing," he said.
His hands slid around her waist, lifting her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around him, moaning into his mouth as he carried her to the wall.
Clothes peeled away like lies.
Her back hit the cool plaster, his mouth moved to her throat, then her breasts, then lower—each kiss a promise and a punishment.
"You think he's the only one who knows how to set you on fire?" he growled. "Let me show you my heat."
She gasped his name as he sank into her—slow, deep, devastating.
The thunder outside was nothing compared to the storm inside.
She clawed at his back. He bit her shoulder. They moved together like they'd done it a thousand times, like they had forever.
And just as she cried out, body trembling, teeth sunk into his neck—
A voice spoke behind them.
Rough. Low. Dangerous.
"Hope there's room for one more."
They froze.
Turned.
Colson stood there.
Barefoot. Bleeding.
Hard.
Watching.
Sienna's lips parted.
She didn't say no.
And neither did Nico.