The rain outside kept falling. But inside the safehouse, it was inferno.
Colson stepped forward, shirtless, blood drying on his shoulder, his eyes never leaving them.
Sienna, still pinned to the wall, naked in Nico's arms, locked eyes with him.
"You sure about this?" she asked, voice trembling—not from fear, but from desire.
Colson didn't answer.
He dropped to his knees in front of her, hands sliding up her thighs.
Nico didn't let go.
She gasped—Nico behind her, Colson in front of her—two men, one woman, no rules.
Their mouths touched—her neck, her chest, her stomach.
She was soaked in need, every nerve on fire.
Colson's tongue found her heat just as Nico thrust inside her again.
She arched between them—moaning, trembling, coming undone.
It wasn't jealousy now.
It was devotion.
It was years of love and loss and fury, crashing into the present with no space left for shame.
She cried out their names, again and again, as they worshiped her—two soldiers, one goddess.
Colson lifted her into his arms next, laying her across the bed gently, while Nico trailed kisses down her spine.
Then they switched.
Again.
And again.
Every inch of her body was claimed, kissed, devoured.
When they finally collapsed, tangled and sweating and spent, the air was thick with sex and secrets.
Colson whispered against her skin, "I died with you once. I won't lose you again."
Nico kissed her shoulder. "Then we fight together. The three of us."
Sienna looked at both of them—lovers, warriors, liars.
And her voice was pure flame.
"Let them come."