𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄

ᴏɴᴇ ʜᴜɴᴅʀᴇᴅ ᴇɪɢʜᴛ

That question returned—that thought he couldn't fucking understand.

Why did Mason choose Kai?—why not him?—what was the difference?

It took this moment for him to receive the answer.

Maverick knelt down until he was at eye level with Mason's sleeping face. He examined the way his lips parted with exhaustion. Investigated the sight of his breath—the small puffs of air that kept him alive, but temporarily paused from the rest of the world.

His black hair, wispy and glorious, floated in the wind he created. It caressed the length of his nose, the dip that looked as if a skier had taken the time to design it themselves. Maverick touched his thumb to his lip and gathered a clump of spit, accumulating it on his finger. And then he pressed it to the pinkness of Mason's and smudged it—wreathed his dream with his reality.

The action had Mason shifting. His face moved, and his eyebrows tensed with the touch, but a sigh and a restless motion later, he was still sound asleep.

And it was then that Maverick noticed the slip of the comforter and the reveal of his skin.

His, and Kai's.

Mason chose Kai because he was glorious. Six foot four. Muscled. Talented, elusive, and every gay man's fantasy build-a-bitch. As Maverick leaned closer, and inhaled the tainted smell of sex and the soft remnants of a conversation he wasn't allowed to be part of, his fingers twitched and flung the blanket off their bodies.

Glory befell on his eyes.

Maverick didn't understand why he'd been so against Mason and Kai until now. He didn't realize that his obsession with Mason had nothing to do with Mason, but the game. And his obsession with their relationship wasn't because he hated Kai, or wanted him dead.

But because he was in love with them.

Maverick stood, head still at an angle, and observed. His eyes caressed every line that made up the depth of Kai's abs, at the same time they absorbed the permissive femininity that was Mason's. His hands cupped his erection through his jeans as he looked at their raw nakedness.

His mouth watered at the sight of their dicks—he'd never seen them before—Mason never let him, and Kai wouldn't let him close enough. His hand clamped, rubbing through the fabric, as he fisted his other, forcing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But the more his eyes rounded their delicious ruddy tips, and the more they devoured each inch of unadulterated power and intimacy, the less he could handle his thoughts.

Maverick gripped the thickness of his belt and pulled the leather from the latch, doing so gently enough that the ring from the metal was no lower than the sound of a pin dropping.

"I deserve this," he whispered.

He pushed his pants apart.

"I've always deserved this."

He dipped his hand into his boxers.

"I will take it."

Maverick pulled his cock out, stroking the hardness—his girth—with a subtle slowness because it was the only thing he could control. He padded the tip with his thumb, fondling and slathering his already dripping pre-cum across the length of it, pretending that it was the warm mouth of one of the men sleeping in front of him.

He took a step closer and angled himself perfectly above them.

He hovered his hand around the roundness of Mason's ass, and rubbed his hand down his cock, acting as if the feeling of heated skin was the unconscious version before him. His nails scraped the sides of Kai's dick, feeling enough that it twinged more than lust in his chest.

"You are so perfect," he said under his breath, "Both of you."

Maverick swallowed a lump of affection—he pushed away the tears lodged in his eyes at the fact that he was so close—as close as he'd probably get to the idea of having them both. And as he did so, his memory slipped back to Spain—to the phone call that unintentionally sealed the deal for him.

"One day, you'll see it," he shuddered.

He remembered the sound of Mason's moans.

He reminisced over the hardness in Kai's demanding voice.

"You'll see how right we are together."

Maverick tightened his grip on his cock, hand-fucking himself harder. The sound of their lungs emptying and filling in the quietness of the room. The sight of their chests moving. The view of their interlocked fingers, despite the fact that they were asleep—the way their rings glinted in the moonlight he was halfway shielding with his body.

All of it turned him on. Delighted him.

Engorged him enough that he hadn't realized he was going too fast until he emptied onto the mattress right next to Mason's spooned pelvis. Until flecks and droplets hugged their heated skins, and the burning wish that filled his body at the thought of cumming on them was gone sooner than he had the chance to worship within it.

Maverick breathed heavily, forcing his voice to remain silent under the pressure of his lungs.

But it wasn't until the closing of a door somewhere in the house appeared, did he realize he'd gotten what he came for, and he needed to leave. Buckling quickly, he righted himself as if he'd never become disgruntled in the first place, and started to head out.

But as he took a step, he shot another longing gaze at the couple.

And before he could stop himself, he reached over and dipped his finger in his still-cooling cum, and pressed it to his lips. He licked his finger clean, labeling genetics and DNA across the seeds he'd spouted for them, before spitting it back out and leaning over his men.

"I love you," he said to Mason, spreading some on his lips.

He turned to Kai, and repeated the same motion, "You'll be mine."

Without another word, Maverick darted from the room and closed the door in a way that presented it as undisturbed. A smile pulled across his cheeks as he began to whistle a gentle tune under his breath. A chuckle bubbled in his throat as his pants tightened all over again.

He'd finally got his answer.

Because even if the two of them never found the balls to admit their attraction toward him, he would always win. No matter how much time he spent attempting to groom them, he'd still win. Despite choices and negations—He. Would. Win.

Because even an assassin couldn't hide from the power of a sleeping pill—especially not one who was too busy fixing the problems he didn't even cause to pay attention to their drinks.