Stitches

“Want some company?” she asks, bouncing slightly on the balls of her feet.

My gaze drops to her breasts as she does, the way they bounce. I just got off a couple hours ago, but my dick still responds. If it ever stops responding to her perfect fucking body, I’ll just assume I’m dead.

Pulling back the blanket, I pat the empty side of the bed. “Always room for you.”

With a little smile, she climbs in beside me and snuggles right up against my side. “I guess Sebastian was right.”

Just hearing her say his name causes me to tense. “About what?” I ask, a little too harshly.

Watching me closely, she says, “He didn’t think you’d want to sleep together in our bed tonight. I figured you wouldn’t want to be alone.” Shrugging, she says lightly, “Good thing we didn’t put any money on it.”

“I’m not alone,” I point out. “I have you.”

“You’re not alone because you have us,” she corrects, immediately. “Both of us. I’m the only one in this bed right now, but make no mistake, you have us. Why are you pushing him away?”

“I’m not,” I mutter, since she clearly does not approve. “I just needed some space from him tonight.”

“He wants to be there for you, too, you know,” she offers, her tone a bit softer.

I roll my eyes. “Sure, now he does.”

“He’s been there for you all along, Griff. Sebastian has been doing everything he could to help you sort this mess out. I understand you’re upset, but I don’t understand why you’re taking it all out on him. That’s not fair.”

“You think that because you don’t know everything,” I mutter.

“I know he loves you. I know he wants what’s best for you, for all three of us, and whatever you think he’s done to hurt you, I am sure that was not his intention. Occasionally, he steamrolls over feelings without noticing, but it doesn’t happen a lot. He doesn’t mean to do it. I’m sure he’s sorry, even if he hasn’t said so.”

Even though I’ve done the same damn thing many times before, it irks me that she’s making excuses for him. He can literally get away with murder, and still he has Moira fooled into admiring the hell out of him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of his shit?” I demand. “Don’t you ever feel like telling him to just fuck off? He oversteps boundaries all the fucking time and we just deal with it, so he takes a little more. He doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone else wants.”

Her brow furrows as she either processes my frustrations or tries to formulate a response to them. Finally, she says, “I’m not sure that’s a fair take away, but... Personally, no, I don’t get sick of his shit. Sebastian fits me like a glove, perfectly designed and stitched together to accommodate my every bend, every nook. I think I’m very blessed in that. I’m not sure most people ever find that. It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need the same things from you he gets from me. We all have different needs, and together, I think we meet all of them. Right?”

“He can’t just take over the running of my life,” I tell her. “Sharing you, moving in here, doing all this… it only works for me if there are some boundaries. If he at least consults me before he makes big fucking decisions about my life.”

She rubs my chest with casual tenderness. “Then talk to him about it. Or I can, if you don’t want to. Sebastian is a reasonable man, but he’s not a mind reader. This is like any other relationship, Griff. If something is troubling you, we have to know or we can’t fix it.”

I can’t help scoffing. “How can you, of all people, say that? He controls every aspect of your life. I asked you if you wanted to have a baby with me, and you told me it was up to him. Come on, Moira.”

“Because that’s what we like,” she states, looking at me like I must be oblivious not to see that. “Sebastian likes to have control, and I love to give it to him. Yes, he makes the big decisions—because I trust him to. I get so much out of it, I would hate for things to be any other way. An intimacy runs between us that’s so intense, so much more fulfilling, so much more important to me than weighing in on every little mundane thing. I don’t need that. I’m secure with myself and very happy with my decision to let him deal with the heavy lifting. He always does what’s right for us, so I don’t need to. Sebastian is a wonderful, capable man. He’s strong and smart, and he loves us. He wants to protect us. Sometimes… sometimes obstacle

s get in the way, and it takes a ruthless leader to make the hard call. I don’t want to make the hard calls. Do you?”

I cock my head, frowning at her toward the end of that little speech. “Do you know?”

“Know what?” she asks, innocently.

I watch her for a moment, searching for some indication of what’s going on inside that pretty little head of hers, but she gives me nothing. A canvas of pleasantness. For the first time, I wonder if I haven’t underestimated sweet little Moira. She’s so mild-mannered in her habits, so sweet in her disposition, soft spoken and unapologetically domestic. She’s a nurturer who cooks and practices yoga. She reads books and doodles pictures of snowflakes for pleasure, for Christ’s sake. Sure, some of the things she likes sexually are pretty fucked up, but I assumed she liked what Seb taught her to like, despite her insistence that her likes were her own. Is Moira just kinky, or is there a hint of darkness in her I’ve missed? Just how much has Seb corrupted her?

“Is there anything he could do to make you stop loving him?” I ask her.

Her answer is immediate and firm, though her tone remains pleasant—like a schoolteacher reprimanding a pupil who stepped out of line. “No.”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” she verifies.

“What if he cheated?”