Piece Us Together (Monstrous Survivors #3)

9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

Nolan

Maison is quiet after our night at Hunter’s. At first, I chalked it up to him just needing to process everything. It was a lot to take in, from the incredible night we had where I know for a fact Maison had a mind-blowing orgasm—and possibly a slight taste of subspace, though I’ll never bring that up to him—to the following morning where we made some decisions over breakfast, all of which Maison seemed to be on board with at the time.

We first decided that we’d see each other every Saturday for the next month, not including this next one because he has a prior engagement. After that, we will discuss how things are going and possibly make a more permanent arrangement. Maison had added that we’ll keep sleeping over, even though Hunter said we didn’t have to after the first night. I liked the idea, and Hunter had seemed surprised but pleased. We all exchanged numbers, too. Hunter said he wants to be able to check in with us on the days after scenes and wants us to be able to reach him whenever we need.

Maison had asked if we were allowed to have sex during the week. Hunter had liked that question, I could tell by the way his eyes flashed and his nostrils flared with a sharp inhale. He hadn’t taken advantage, though. He gave Maison complete control of me during the week. Or, more accurately, gave me complete control of myself, since Maison has no desire to be in charge whether Hunter is there or not. He made it clear to me that my orgasms were my own during the week, too. I had pretended that didn’t make me a tiny bit sad.

Overall, the decisions we made were relatively small and nothing surprising, but I still understood when Maison seemed to need time and space to digest everything. Honestly, I thought he was focused more on processing the scene itself than the decisions we made after. I think it caught Maison by surprise how much he enjoyed it.

So, I was okay with him distancing himself a little. I was okay with him going quiet.

I was okay the first night when he mumbled something about needing to make some calls and didn’t even bother to brush a kiss across my forehead before disappearing. I was okay the second night when he skipped dinner and locked himself away with a bottle of whiskey before coming to bed tipsy and handsy, whispering, “I love you,” and, “You’re mine,” and, “Don’t need anything but you,” as he kissed me and touched me and brought me to a soft orgasm that he happily licked up before passing out beside me with worry etched on his face.

Day three, I’m over it.

“Eat.” I all but slam the plate of food on his desk, crossing my arms over my chest to let him know I’m serious. He frowns at the plate like he’s never seen an omelet before. “Now. Before I grab that laptop and throw it out the window.”

His lips twitch as he raises an eyebrow at me. “Feeling bossy this morning?”

“Yes.” I nudge the plate. “When you decide to be an idiot who doesn’t take care of himself, I get bossy. We’ve learned this already. I don’t know why you insisted on another lesson.”

His almost-smile falls, as does his eyebrow. He drops his gaze too. “I’m sorry.”

I sigh, feeling bad now that he’s all defeated. I move his arm out of the way and climb into his lap. He makes a happy little humming sound as I start running fingers through his hair, his arm coming back around, this time to hold me close.

“Eat,” I say, this time much more gently. I wait until his right hand darts out for the fork before ripping the metaphorical Band-Aid off. “What’s been going on these past few days?”

His shoulders tense. “I’ve been busy.”

“Bullshit. Try again.”

“I—” He stops himself from trying to lie again, sighing instead. I watch him stab a piece of omelet. Bring it to his mouth. Stab another. Bring that one too. On the third stab, he mumbles, “He wants me. Hunter. He told me, before we came out of the room, before breakfast, he told me…he wants me too.”

Oh.

Oh wow.

“As his sub?” I ask, unable to help the sheer disbelief in my voice. “I didn’t think you—”

“No, not as his sub. Just as…me, I guess.” He shifts so he can look at me better, the fork placed on the plate. I keep an eye on it. He’s going to have to eat after this conversation is over, but I’ll allow the pause for now. His blue eyes are swimming with too many emotions. The stubborn man has been bottling all of them up these past three days, hasn’t he? Maybe Hunter doesn’t want Maison as his sub, but I bet Maison could really use a dom. I suppose a bossy, worried boyfriend will have to be the next best thing. “He said we’d have to figure out what that even means, how I’d fit.”

“You fit with us already, though. You were there the whole time. He even gave you some instructions.”

He shakes his head with a soft, humorless laugh. “He wants to be able to touch me. He wants the three of us to be fully… together , I guess.”

Oh.

Oh, double wow.

“Like a throuple?”

“No,” he says a little too quickly. Then, with his shoulders slumping and his eyes falling to my lap, “Maybe? Fuck—I don’t know. I assume he just means when we’re all fucking? I mean, we don’t even really know the guy. He didn’t mean it romantically. He couldn’t have.”

I think I should be upset right now. Or at least a little jealous about the disappointment I’m fairly certain I can hear in his voice. Instead, I’m intrigued. I’m getting what I need from Hunter. I never even thought to consider the possibility of Maison getting something from him too. How perfect would that be? “What if he did mean it like that?”

Maison frowns up at me. “ We’re together. You and me.”

“I know. I was just wondering if you’d ever consider it.” When his frown only deepens, I laugh. It’s an easy laugh. Not fake. I enjoyed my time with Hunter as my dom, and I’m thrilled we’ve figured out this new system to give me everything I need, but it’s not like I’ve been sitting around fantasizing about the three of us falling in love or anything like that. My only disappointment would be that Maison is missing out, but I won’t force Maison into something he doesn’t want. “I was curious, that’s all. I haven’t been considering it, if that makes you feel better. Honestly, with the amount of death glares you were giving the guy, it didn’t cross my mind that the two of you would ever really want to be together like that.”

“I mean, he’s hot, but yeah—I don’t think we will be.”

“Then why the weirdness?”

“Not… weirdness .”

“Mais.”

He sighs.

“It just fucked with my head, I think. The possibility. I mean, why, you know? Why would I want that? You’re there because you need to submit and Hunter is there because he needs to dominate and I’m there because I love you and want to be with you during this, but me and him?” He shakes his head, not meeting my eyes. “That’s not—there’s no need for that.”

Need and want are two very different things. I’ve learned that recently. I thought maybe he had too.

“I think if you want to participate more, you should be able to. I don’t think you have to need something to enjoy it, you know?”

“You’re with him because you need it.” He looks at me then, brow furrowed. He looks unsure now. “We don’t just go fucking around with random guys who are hot. That’s—it’s cheating. Or it’s an open relationship, which I’m not—I can’t do that. I don’t want to do that. Do I want sex with hot guys? Sure. Whatever. Who doesn’t, other than people on the rainbow spectrum who don’t dig guys or sex? But I love you. I’m not going to go fuck around just because it’ll feel good, you know?”

I do know. I also think it’s different, though. Something about Hunter is different.

I don’t think it’d be a good idea to say that. Not when he’s so wound up about this. It’s not like it matters anyway. How things are right now is perfect. I have the best of both worlds, having my cake and eating the hell out of it too. If he’s happy with that, there’s no reason to rock the boat.

“It was good though, right?” I ask, wanting to make sure he really is happy with what we have so far. “It was good for you?”

“It was good, baby. Real good.” His expression softens as he gives me one of my favorite smiles of his—the one full of fondness, where his whole face just seems to radiate stupid-in-love vibes, and the wrinkles around his eyes appear just a touch, and I swear his eyes change to a deeper shade of blue. “Was it good for you? Did you get what you needed?”

“Yes. It was.” I rest my head against the back of his chair and close my eyes. Just picturing Hunter standing above me as I knelt for him sends a wave of warmth through me. It’s not even arousal, really—though I felt plenty of that with him and would be able to feel it if I let myself think about him for a few more seconds. It’s just a sense of safety, like a warm blanket wrapped around me. It reminds me of the times Maison and I sat in front of the fire, back when we were first getting to know each other. Those nights had made me feel like I could be something whole again. They had made me feel safe for the first time in a very long time. Hunter brings out an echo of that in me, like another layer, like a binding agent, gold spilling between cracks in glass. “It was everything, Mais.”

“Me being there didn’t ruin it or anything?”

I nearly laugh. “You being there is what made it everything. Without you, it would have felt wrong, I think. Like something was missing. It was the best of both worlds. I was completely fucking spoiled and it was so amazing that I can’t even consider feeling bad about it. I felt—I felt so safe, Mais. And calm. And free. It was exactly what I needed. More than, even. It was just…”

“Everything,” he says, echoing my previous word use.

“Yeah. Everything.”

“Thank fuck.” He tucks his head against my chest, his other arm coming around so he’s squeezing me tight. “Because there’s no way I could let him do those things to you without being there.”

“It wasn’t hard for you? Seeing me hurt?”

“Strangely, no. I don’t know why, but with it not being me doing it, it was okay. It wasn’t a turn-on or anything, but it wasn’t a turn-off either. I liked when you sought me out for comfort, though. That was hot—but also, like, it soothed something inside of me, you know? I liked that a lot.”

I try not to squirm at the memory. “I did too. It was kind of the perfect example of how the two of you could give me everything at once.”

“Good. That’s really good, baby. I’m so fucking glad.” He makes a sound low in his throat though, making his words feel wrong. I understand why when he whispers, “Seeing him touch you was a turn-on. Is that fucking weird?”

I smirk. “No, I don’t think so. Or maybe it should be, but it’s not. It was hot, being touched by him in front of you. The way you two looked at me and some of the things you guys said.” My smirk fades as my face grows hot. I’m suddenly very thankful he’s not looking at me. “I think he was holding back, though. I got the feeling that night, but then when he said that stuff at breakfast about it being a trial run…I think he was going easy.”

“I think so too.”

“Do you think you’ll be okay with more?”

“You know, I…do, actually. I—well, full disclosure, I asked him not to kiss you before we started. I added it to my hard limits. I don’t want to change that, I don’t want to give him that, but…I couldn’t help but keep picturing him fucking you, Nol.” He looks at me then, his blue eyes wide with panic, his cheeks pink. “I think I wanted him to fuck you. It didn’t feel like enough, watching you blow him and then me getting to fuck you. It felt unfinished, maybe. Or just wrong somehow. I just…fuck, I don’t know—I’m not trying to say—I probably shouldn’t even want that, but I just—”

“I want him to fuck me too,” I say, rescuing him before he can spiral into a flurry of doubt. “It didn’t feel unfinished or anything, but I still wanted it. I couldn’t help but think about how hot it would have been for him to hurt me the way he did and then fuck me. Maybe with low prep. Maybe—maybe fuck me hard in a way you won’t.” Now it’s my turn to feel a little panicked and guilty. “That makes me terrible, doesn’t it? Our sex is still really fucking good, Mais, and you fucked me so hard that night, it was perfect. I’m sorry—”

“No.” Maison chuckles. “You’re not terrible and you don’t have to be sorry. I want to watch him do that to you, baby.”

I can’t help the shiver that runs through me at the thought of that. “I’d—I’d like that.”

“I don’t mind being guided like he did, either. Being told what to do a little bit. Like when he said I couldn’t come yet. That was fine. It was part of what he was doing for you, you know? I didn’t mind listening to him if it meant giving you what you needed.” He shrugs, looking away. I can see the pink on his cheek closest to me deepen in color. “I’ll make sure he understands I don’t want him touching me, though. I’m not interested in him like that.”

I roll my eyes since he’s not looking at me. It’s pretty obvious that Maison is affected by Hunter in a similar way to how I am. The man is gorgeous. He also exudes calm and control in a way that I think even Maison finds soothing, though I don’t think he’d ever admit it.

But if Maison wants to hang out in denial-land for a little while longer, I’ll let him. I have a feeling it’ll be Hunter who manages to pull him out of it anyway. I kind of can’t wait to see that.

“That all sounds really good, Mais.”

“Good.” He clears his throat before eyeing me. “Did you hear me say the kissing thing?”

I laugh softly. “I did. I don’t mind. I get that. Kissing is…intimate. It’s for us only, I agree.”

“Okay, cool.”

“Not as cool as you eating your damn omelet.”

He rolls his eyes with a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, yeah.”

“And no more hiding away or skipping meals.” I grab his chin, forcing him to look at me again. His face is relaxed, his eyes warm and empty of turmoil. He even gives me a little smile, sort of like an oh, hey, there you are smile. “If we’re going to keep doing this with him, we have to communicate. Promise me.”

“Promise, baby.” He wraps his hand around the back of my neck, guiding me into a soft, slow kiss. When he pulls away, he rubs the tip of his nose against mine a little. I laugh. If the men on his enemies list had any idea how much of a softie this man is, they’d never fear him again. “I love you, Nol.”

“I love you, too.” I lean back, wanting to look him in the eyes. I narrow mine in my best attempt to glare intimidatingly at him. “Now eat your fucking omelet.”

It’s weird at first, waiting for our next night with Hunter. It’s like a strange timebomb. A sexbomb . Tick, tick, ticking away—and no one in the house knows about it but us.

By the end of the first week though, it’s less weird and more…insanity-inducing. Like an itch I can’t scratch. An itch I know Hunter will scratch, once I wait long enough.

We’re all starting to finally sink into a routine in the house now that everything is unpacked and everyone’s gotten a chance to adjust. Casey spends most of his time in the pool. Bryce spends most of his time out of the house, usually stalking Carter at the pub he bartends at—it’s only a matter of time before he gets a job there himself, in my opinion. Max spends most of his time in his room, trying not to show how heartbroken he is being separated from the undercover agent who sent him off to live with us with no regard for his feelings about it. Matt spends most of his time with Ace in his office, with his nose buried in gardening books as he plans our house’s garden for spring, or in the kitchen trying to steal bites of my food whenever I look away.

When they aren’t spending time with me and Casey, Maison and Jake spend their time talking on phones, working out, and murmuring quietly to themselves. I try not to worry about that. I’m also trying not to worry about how often Travis has been over, both with and without Carter. I tell myself it’s because this house is much closer to him and Carter’s apartment than the safehouse, so it’s just easier for him to come by. That only gets me so far, though. Especially when the guys all stop talking whenever I walk in the room and that furrow between Maison’s eyebrows seems to get deeper every day.

I spend most of my time with the others, but when I’m alone, I spend it thinking about Hunter. About Hunter, Maison, and me. About our night together. About our night coming up. About the more that we could maybe have. About what that could mean. About kneeling. About sucking cock. About being fucked by both of them. About being a good boy.

I spend a lot of time painfully hard.

I spend a lot of time with Maison’s cock helping me alleviate the itch, the man usually smirking at me as he fucks me, confident enough in our love for each other that he even outright says things like, “Were you thinking about Hunter, baby?” and, “Did you get excited thinking about next weekend?” and, “Was my dirty boy thinking about all the naughty things Hunter and I are going to do to him?”

It helps a little, but the itch always comes back.

At least there’s the promise that was made about the cats to keep me distracted.

Matt—and therefore the rest of us—was promised cats at this new house. Which means that on a freezing cold day, when only half the house is awake—and that half is only half-awake—Matt suddenly appears with his coat, hat, and scarf already on and the sign for cat playing on repeat across his hands.

No one even groans, which is proof enough that Matt has superpowers that make everyone all soft for him. Which I can’t be upset about because if anyone in this world deserves such powers, it’s Matt. Still… it would have been nice to get to finish my coffee, at least.

There’s a lot of sleepy shuffling, some knocks on bedroom doors, wrinkled clothes pulled on, a call to Carter made, and then we’re off, separated into two vehicles, ready to go pick out some new members of our crazy crew.

Travis and Carter meet us at the animal rescue, Travis looking sleep-rumpled and grumpy and Carter looking flushed and pleased. It’s kind of nice to look at the two of them and not feel that old tug in my gut. There’s no lingering jealousy or want anymore now that Hunter has filled the gap inside of me. It’s a relief, like I can actually breathe around one of my closest friends and the man he loves.

The young woman working the front desk of the rescue looks slightly overwhelmed as we all filter in. It probably doesn’t help that Maison and Jake step forward, Travis and Ace lingering just behind them, and all four are—objectively—very fucking hot. From the way her eyes widen, she’s picking up on that.

“How—how can I help you?”

“Cats,” five of us say at once.

“At least two of them,” Bryce adds.

“Preferably little—like kittens,” Carter suggests.

“But we’ll take sad or grumpy old ones too,” Casey says with a wink at Jake that is so going to get him in trouble later.

Matt taps Ace’s shoulder, starting to sign as Ace speaks his words for him. “And they should be friends, or at least get along with other cats because we want them to be friends.”

“O-okay. Let me show you to the cat room. Um—you’ll have to take turns. There’s not enough room for all of you at once. It’s a six-person limit.” She gulps like we might riot at this news. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Bryce assures her with an easy, confident smile I’ve been seeing more and more from him lately. He even walks toward her with a slight swagger. She softens immediately, clearly charmed. “We’ll take turns, no problem. Anything else we should know?”

She dives into a quick rundown of washing hands and watching your step and avoiding loud noises. She’ll accompany us, since she has all the information on the cats in case we have questions. Her eyes nervously dart to the rest of the group, lingering a little on the operatives as if she can sense that they’re the dangerous ones. Funnily enough, I’m pretty damn sure Bryce could outdo all of us on danger levels, if he let himself fully unhinge. I’ve seen that man when he’s heated. If he’d had a weapon in his hand at the time, there would have been pure carnage.

“You can all wait out here. Look at any animals you want, but don’t touch or remove any from their cages, please.”

Ace gives her a mock salute that amuses him and his friends more than anyone else.

Without needing to discuss it, we survivors head into the cat room first. She follows with a clipboard and an easier smile.

There are a few cats that immediately flock to us, while others hang around the edges of the room or on top of their furniture to assess us from afar.

Despite being the one who wanted cats, Matt lingers near the door like he’s suddenly afraid. I sidle up next to him as Casey and Carter get their attention snagged by a small kitten playing with two bigger cats on the floor. Bryce is already in a staring contest with a fat, grumpy-looking orange cat perched on top of a cat tree.

“Don’t you want to play with the cats?”

He nibbles on his bottom lip, eyeing all of the cats in the room. He shakes his head before signing something close to, what if my cat doesn’t like me?

After I confirm that’s what he’s worried about, I turn to the girl who brought us in here. “Do the cats ever come to people, if they just kind of sit and wait?”

Her eyes light up. “Yes! Actually, that’s what we tell families with little kids to do. That way they end up with cats that aren’t particularly fearful and are more willing to be touched and played with. The cats that hang back are going to be the cats that will usually hide in the house most of the time or just kind of laze nearby, but not want to be cuddled. Though sometimes there’s a skittish one that becomes very affectionate once they feel safe at home, so it’s not a perfect test.”

It apparently seems like a good test for Matt because he immediately plops down on the floor with his legs crossed and just sits there waiting. I join him since I don’t really care what cats we end up taking home as long as he’s happy with them. Though, as I check on Bryce’s stare-down, I can’t help but think that maybe the grumpy orange cat should stay here. That cat is either going to kill Bryce in his sleep or become his second-in-command. Both are equally terrifying.

At least Carter and Casey seem to be enjoying themselves with the three kittens on the floor. The girl who brought us in is talking to them, mentioning something about a bonded pair that has Carter grinning. The fluffy white one has climbed up Casey’s shirt, licking at his chin.

A movement near my leg catches my attention. I look over just in time to watch a cat bump its forehead against Matt’s knee. It’s bigger than a kitten, but skinny, with fur looking like it was once white before someone splatter-painted it with brown and black and orange. Matt makes a soft sound that’s very close to an, “ Oh ,” and offers the cat his hand.

The cat immediately starts purring loudly, its tail swishing almost like a dog’s tail would wag.

“Oh! That one is one of our hiders,” the worker says with a smile. She squats down, giving us plenty of space. “She was found a few weeks ago in a barn, just as the weather was starting to turn really cold. She was all alone and a little roughed up, but she’s a survivor.” Her smile widens to a grin. “Seems she likes you.”

Matt swallows hard, burying his fingers in the cat’s fur. He glances at me with glassy eyes and lifts his free hand to sign, this one .

“We’ll take her,” I tell the worker.

“This one too,” Bryce adds. I look up and have to swallow a groan when I see the giant orange monster is overflowing out of his arms. The cat seems to squint its beady eyes at me.

“And these,” Casey declares, a cat in each arm—the bonded pair.

I don’t even have to look at Carter, but I still do. Sure enough. “And this one, please!” he tells the worker, holding up the white fluffball for us to see.

The worker laughs softly. I can tell she’s slightly overwhelmed by all of the people suddenly adopting at least half of the cats in the room, but she jumps right into explaining the next steps and asking us questions from the adoption checklist. We had bought plenty of things for the house in preparation—though we will probably need more considering the number of cats we’re apparently going home with. The one thing no one thought of was cat carriers.

She tells us to leave the cats behind, leading us to the front desk so we can sign papers and pay the fees. Apparently the shelter has carriers we can buy and then she’ll help us get the cats into them.

The guys are all excited, Matt practically bouncing while the rest of them start debating names. It seems they’re considering a food theme. Casey asks Matt if he’d be okay with that and Matt grins wide and nods.

Then the poor girl walks us into the lobby to find all of the operatives quickly turning to face us, hiding a cage behind them.

“Um.” She glances at us before facing them again. “Did you all want to look at the cats as well? These guys picked out a few of them already.”

“A few?” Maison asks in amusement.

“Five,” Bryce says proudly before his eyes narrow. He settles a glare on each operative for a few seconds before smiling like he didn’t just threaten them using his eyes. “Isn’t that great?”

“Fantastic,” Jake says at the same time Maison says, “Absolutely,” and Ace says, “Hell yeah,” and Travis says, “Carter, you didn’t get one, did you?”

There’s some chaos for a moment as Carter answers Travis and Maison answers the worker to let her know they don’t want any other cats and Jake informs her that they want one of the pets out here, apparently in the cage behind them.

A fucking tortoise.

“But we can change his name, right?” Ace asks. “Because Fred is a terrible name.”

The girl laughs, giving us all a look like she’s considering the possibility that she fell asleep at some point and is having a crazy fever dream or something. “Uh—yeah. You can change the names of any of the animals if you want.”

“We’re going to name him Bushmaster,” Maison informs everyone.

“Like the snake?” Max asks with a frown.

Maison blinks at him. “Like…the firearm.”

I’m pretty sure all of us survivors roll our eyes in unison, but the operatives look pleased as punch. Which is how we end up bringing home a ginormous angry orange cat named Stud Muffin, a multi-colored sweetheart named Chai, a white fuzzball named Dumpling, a bonded pair named Cookies and Cream, and a fucking tortoise named Bushmaster.

It’s not until the end of the day when Maison and I are enjoying a glass of wine in front of the fireplace, the cats peeking around the back of the couch at the flames like they might attack, that I even remember we’re waiting for our next night with Hunter.

Six days to go.

As long as they’re as busy as this one, I’m sure it’ll be fine, right?