“For heaven’s sake, Benedict, must you be so insufferably greedy?” Anthony exclaims, his tone edged with exasperation as he reaches out to clasp his brother’s shoulder, pulling him away from the curve of your neck. Benedict lets out a huff of protest as he tumbles back onto the mattress, his lips flushed and kiss-bruised.

You lie between them, breath shallow, gaze flitting from one to the other. Anthony kneels at your side, his expression laced with mild impatience, while Benedict sits opposite, his hand still resting rather boldly upon the inside of your thigh.

For the past two months, you had been entertaining both Bridgerton brothers—at first, unbeknownst to them, separately. Yet, upon their inevitable discovery of your divided affections, rather than outrage, it had led to something far more unexpected. An understanding. A silent accord that had now placed you precisely here—caught between them in the most deliciously precarious of positions.

Anthony’s fingers slide over yours, his grip warm, reassuring. He lifts a brow, his dark eyes fixed upon you with quiet expectation. “Well then?” he murmurs, his voice low, steady.

Benedict watches you just as keenly, though his expression is laced with amusement, a slow smirk curling at the edges of his lips. “Come now, dearest,” he murmurs, his voice coaxing, rich with mischief. “Surely you do not mean to leave my dear brother in such agony a moment longer?”

A hush settles over the room, thick with anticipation, as both men await your response—one with restless impatience, the other with a knowing amusement. Will you indulge Benedict’s ever-insatiable appetite a while longer, or at last grant Anthony the turn he has so desperately awaited all evening?