The night is thick with heat, the kind that clings to skin and soaks into linen, making every brush of contact feel amplified. The inn you stumble into is modest at best, worn floorboards creaking under your booted feet, the scent of spilled ale and dust heavy in the air, but it’s close, and that’s all that matters. Drunken laughter from the tavern still echoes faintly behind you, a distant chorus of revelry that fades the moment the door slams shut.

Rowan’s breath is hot against your neck as he presses you against the wall just inside the narrow hallway, his mouth seeking the pulse fluttering wildly beneath your skin. Lorcan stands close behind, his body radiating the same liquid heat that surges between all three of you. His hands are already roaming, tracing the curve of your waist, gripping the swell of your hips as if grounding himself in the reality of you.

You move as one, hungry and reckless, a tangle of limbs and heat and need. There’s no plan, no patience left between you. Rowan’s laugh, low and rough, vibrates against your collarbone as he tugs at the laces of your bodice, while Lorcan bends to kiss the slope of your shoulder, his fingers working deftly to slide your skirts up with shameless intent.

By the time you reach the dim room upstairs, the air is stifling. The small window does nothing to relieve the warmth; instead, it traps the scent of sweat, wine, and anticipation. Moonlight slants across the bed in a thin, silver line, highlighting the mess of sheets and the promise of what’s to come.

Lorcan catches your mouth in a bruising kiss, his hand threading into your hair, holding you there a moment longer than you expect. Then he pulls back, not far, just enough to let Rowan guide you to the mattress. Lorcan’s breath is still rough against your cheek as he releases you, stepping away, slow and deliberate, until he’s standing at the foot of the bed. His eyes follow every movement, dark with hunger, jaw tight with restraint he clearly doesn’t plan to keep much longer.

The bed creaks beneath you as you sink into it, silk and linen tangling beneath your bare thighs. Rowan is already kissing down your ribs, mouth hot, breath ragged. The lantern flickers, casting gold across flushed skin, across Rowan’s silver hair where it falls messily over his brow, across the way your chest rises and falls like you’re already undone.

Lorcan steps closer, running the backs of his fingers along the inside of your thigh—slow, maddening—while Rowan grazes teeth along the underside of your breast, dragging a sound from your throat that makes Lorcan’s eyes flash.

“How do you want us, little one?” Lorcan murmurs, his voice low and steady, humming like a promise as he leans down to speak against the shell of your ear. His mouth brushes your neck, fingers curling just beneath your knee. “Because I have plenty of ideas.”