Chapter 3

Chapter

Three

AVA ANDERS

I’ve loved my husband since I was fifteen years old and too young to really understand what love meant. We married as soon as we were both eighteen, and for a while, we were happy. So blissfully happy I had no idea we both felt the need for more. It wasn’t until the kids were spending a weekend at my mama’s house and Huck and I were on a staycation at a local hotel with an indoor pool and swim-up bar that we learned what a hotwife is.

Huck made me his hotwife. For a few years, he’d brought men around and watched them fuck me. It hadn’t quite scratched the itch we both felt, though. I needed more. I wanted the same excitement Huck got watching another man make love to me, so when he found us a play partner, who was as into my husband as he was me, that was the key. We knew then what we really wanted was a long-term third to add to our relationship, someone we could both love and who would love us equally in return.

Once the kids grew up and moved out, we tried finding a third for a few years. Together, we’d vacationed and even hit up specialized clubs, looking for someone who would be the right fit. When fate brought Silas home with Jameson for the first time, it had felt like the universe slapping me in the face. Huck and I had taken one look at each other and we knew.

Knowing things doesn’t always make them happen, though, and at twenty-one, Silas had some growing to do. Rock and roll was his focus, and his upbringing had created a half-feral wild man who wasn’t ready for the sort of commitment Huck and I dreamed of with him.

The self-destruction and dangerous crap he’d pulled broke my heart so many times. Huck swore when Silas was ready for us, we’d be there. I really thought when we went with Jameson, Quinn, and Rhodes to pick up Silas from rehab it would be the right time. If nothing else, I figured it would be obvious how much we cared about him when we tagged along to pick him up.

He’d just hugged us both and shyly thanked us for giving a shit about him, as if it was a kindness and not a demand our hearts had insisted on. I knew he wasn’t ready yet.

Huck and I found a poly-friendly counselor who is in the lifestyle, too, and she helped us understand how important it was that Silas focus on his sobriety and inner strength before starting a new romantic relationship. So we waited longer.

As much as I hate what happened to Silas last night, and the risk being accidentally drugged poses to his sobriety, I can’t deny how happy I was to hear his mumbled confession.

I arch my upper body away from him, so I can see his face. The move rolls my hips against the iron bar of his erection where it’s mashed between us, and I bite back my moan. His precum slicks my skin where the head of his cock pokes at my lower tummy and makes a slippery slide that must feel good for him, too, because he grinds into me with little, staccato thrusts.

“How do you feel this morning?” I ask.

Frantic brown eyes meet mine, his pupils blown wide with fear and arousal. His hips keep rocking into me, but I feel the flex of Huck’s hands at his waist, guiding his body against mine.

“C-c-confused,” Silas stutters. He may be Quinn’s partner in writing all the lyrics for The Assembly, but his shyness and stress-induced stammer have always ensured he stays far away from the vocals.

“Do you want us to let you up?” Huck’s rumbly, just-woke-up voice sends a shiver of need through me. Morning sex is my favorite way to start the day, and the rasp of his sleep-roughened words feels like a physical caress over my sensitized skin.

Hardly a night goes by without my husband making love to me, whether it’s the two of us alone or not. Last night was one of those rare exceptions, for obvious reasons. Though the medics assured us Silas would be fine before we brought him up here, last night was way too scary to focus on anything other than making sure he was okay.

“No?” Silas says, the lilt at the end of the word turning it into a question.

“Do you remember anything after the show ended last night?” It hurts my heart to have to ask. Watching Silas own his recovery and sobriety has made me more proud than when the boys went platinum for the first time. I could kill the asshole stalker who put Silas at risk while trying to get to Rhodes.

“I think I remember getting into bed? Did I…um… Did I take your shirt off?” His blush as he asks if he demanded I take off my shirt to cuddle with him, which he probably barely remembers, is adorable. His cheeks are dusky red from the curve below those dark brown eyes down into the thick beard that felt so shockingly soft against my cheek when I snuggled into him.

“Yeah, you insisted on naked cuddles,” I share.

“Yet, here you are wearing panties.” His grin proves, as surprised as he is to be in bed with us, his admissions last night weren’t lies.

“You can take them off if you want to. Now that you’re sober and awake.” I’ve never wanted anyone to accept an offer more than I do right now.

Silas doesn’t disappoint. After a quick glance over his shoulder for Huck’s permission, both men’s hands go to the lacy elastic at my waist.