His sheets smelled like cedarwood and something darker—like trouble. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, your breath catching as you rocked your hips against him, eyes half-lidded, mouth parted. You knew it was wrong. So wrong. But the way his fingers dug into your skin and the way he growled your name like it was a secret only he was allowed to keep—it made it impossible to care.

His lips trailed from your collarbone to your jaw, slow and possessive, as if memorizing the shape of you. “You’re so damn addictive,” he muttered against your neck, voice low and rough. “No wonder he’s still not over you.”

You didn’t have time to ask what he meant.

The bedroom door creaked open.

You gasped, freezing mid-movement. The man beneath you sat up slightly, keeping his hands on your hips like he wasn’t the least bit surprised. Your eyes darted to the doorway—and there he was.

Your ex.

Standing in the doorway, jaw clenched, eyes wide. Shock? Rage? Want? You couldn’t tell. He looked between the two of you—your flushed face, the way his dad held you like you were something he owned—and something shifted in his expression.

“Seriously?” your ex asked, voice low, tight with tension. “You’re sleeping with my dad?”

His father didn’t flinch. In fact, his smirk only grew.

“Relax, son,” he said, voice smooth. “There’s enough of her to go around.”

You blinked. Stared. Your ex didn’t move. You didn’t know what shocked you more—his dad’s audacity or the way your ex’s eyes hadn’t left you since he walked in.

Then his dad leaned up, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “What do you say, sweetheart? You want him to join us?”

Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. You knew this was a line. A big one. But as heat pooled low in your stomach and your ex’s eyes darkened with something that wasn’t quite anger anymore…

You nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Let him watch… or join.”