You woke up warm. Very warm.

Your shirt was bunched up around your ribs, two different sets of legs tangled with yours, and the soft scent of shampoo and trouble lingering in the air. Violet was curled against your chest in your oversized shirt, the hem barely covering her thighs. Her face was buried in your neck, mumbling sleepily.

“Mine,” she muttered again, half-asleep, clinging like a sleepy octopus.

Then came the stretch.

From behind you, Helen yawned—arms sliding over both of you as she pulled herself close. Her voice, as always, was smooth morning silk. “Mmm. You boys always run this warm?”

You turned just enough to see her—also in one of your shirts. It slid dangerously off her shoulder, hugging her curves like it was in a committed relationship.

“I didn’t even—when did you get here?” you mumbled, eyes wide.

Helen smirked and placed a soft kiss on your temple. “You were too busy snoring to notice. Now hush, sweetheart. Let Mama cuddle.”

You were officially trapped.

And you weren’t sure if you ever wanted to escape.