He cheated i chose two firefighters novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83 Not Pregnant

Scar’s POV

Dear Diary,

The night before Thanksgiving.

The nerves are a live thing, twisting deep in my gut. A quiet, desperate chant beats inside my skull: please let this go well. Please.

I have spent the day in a cloud of steam and spice, feeding my men and every other firefighter in the house. Now, as evening bleeds into night, the kitchen is finally still. The work is done. For the next shift’s Thanksgiving, I have prepared every side dish, leaving precise instructions taped to the

refrigerator.

The turkey, brined for a full day and stuffed with herbed bread, waits in its pan, ready for a stranger’s oven tomorrow. I made pies, too–their scent of sugar and cinnamon still hanging in the air–and

endured the theatrical groans of the men around me.

“Come on, guys,” I told them, wiping my hands on a towel. “The next shift deserves a Thanksgiving

meal, too.”

Their grumbling was half–hearted, performative. I smiled and turned away.

Through the wide glass windows separating the kitchen from the apparatus bay, I watch the nightly

ritual of gear check. It is a silent, efficient ballet. Each man moves with a specific purpose, a piece of a

greater machine.

My eyes find Jace. He is coiling a thick length of hose, his shoulders rolling with the effort. His

uniform shirt pulls taut across his back, the fabric straining over the defined slope of muscle in his

arms. A low, involuntary sound escapes my throat. My thighs press together, seeking a pressure that

isn’t there.

I hate these nights apart. Their absence doesn’t calm me; it ignites a restless, physical craving. Out of

sight does not make the heart grow fonder so much as it makes the body grow desperate.

Turning from the window, I focus on the final mess of bowls and utensils in the sink. The warm water

runs over my hands.

Then, without warning, the world goes dark. Cool palms cover my eyes from behind.

I smile instantly. This playfulness is a language only the three of us share, a favorite secret.

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“Hmm,” I muse, leaning back into the solid warmth behind me. “Which hunky man could this be? Is it my very sexy, tattoo–covered firefighter with the impressive equipment? Or is it my other very sexy, slightly–less–tattooed firefighter with the same notable qualifications?”

I giggle, waiting for the kiss on my neck, the low laugh in my ear.

Silence.

It stretches a second too long. A thread of confusion winds through my anticipation.

“How about option number three,” a voice whispers. It is low, unfamiliar, and too close.

I gasp and try to spin, but the hands are gone as suddenly as they appeared.

“What in the fuck do you think you’re doing, Rowan?” Milo’s growl cuts across the kitchen tiles.

Rowan stands a few feet away, a lazy, predatory smile on his face. He shrugs. “Just messing around

with the little Sunshine over there.” He winks at me.

“The fuck you call her?” Milo steps forward, his body a rigid line of tension. “You do not get a nicknam

e for Scar. She isn’t yours.”

“And why not?” Rowan’s gaze slides over me, calculating. “She fucks you and Jace, right? Why not

share? You two pass her back and forth. Come on. Be generous. I’d show her a real good time. Then you and Jay–boy can go back to fucking each other.”

The words hang in the air, ugly and wrong. They strip me down to an object, a convenience. My face

flushes hot, then cold.

“Listen here, motherfucker.” The words snap out of me, sharp as a whip crack.

Both men stare, startled by the venom in my voice.

“I am not some fucking plaything. They don’t pass me around. We are in a relationship. A committed

one. I love them, and they love me.” I take a step toward him, my five–foot–five frame trembling with

fury. “You touch me again without my explicit, enthusiastic permission, and I will slice your balls off,

sauté them in garlic butter, and force–feed them to you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

For a moment, there is only the hum of the industrial fridge.

Then, applause erupts.

I flinch. I hadn’t noticed the audience–several firefighters paused in the doorway, grins on their faces.

Heat floods my cheeks.

Jace is suddenly beside me. He doesn’t look at Rowan. He cups my face and kisses me, softly but

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Chapter 83 Not Pregnant

with a firm, claiming pressure. “Well done, Princess.”

“Rowan! My office! Now!” The Chief’s bark echoes from the hallway.

Rowan’s glare sweeps over the three of us. It holds no apology, only a smoldering resentment. Then, inexplicably, his expression shifts back to that smirk. He winks at me once more before turning to follow the Chief.

I huff out a breath, folding my arms tightly across my chest.

The spectators disperse, the moment dissolving into the low murmur of resumed work.

Jace’s thumb strokes my cheek. “Hey. You okay? I’m sorry I didn’t see him come in.”

“It’s fine,” I murmur, the fight draining out of me, leaving a hollow anxiety. “He just covered my eyes. I thought it was one of you. I should have known faster.”

“Don’t. Don’t apologize. It was a natural mistake.” His voice drops, turning serious. “He had no right. No right to touch you without your permission.”

“Or yours,” I say softly. The question forms before I can stop it, born from Rowan’s crude insinuation. “Um… is that something you guys want?”

Jace frowns. “Want what, Princess?”

“To share me. With others.”

“No.” The word is immediate, absolute. He glances at Milo, who nods once, his jaw tight. “However,”

Jace continues, his tone careful, “that’s something we need to talk about. One of the clubs. The tenth

one. It’s called Obsidian.”

He pauses, choosing his words. “In that club, a group of people–women, a couple of men–are

secured. Shackled from the ceiling. Their legs are spread and anchored to the floor. Then another

group enters. The room is pitch black. Total darkness. You can’t see a thing. All you have is touch. You

never know who is touching you. Or who you are touching.” His eyes hold mine, unwavering. “If you

want to explore the rest of the clubs with us, you’ll have to decide if you want to explore that one, too.”

“Do you guys want to do that one?” I ask.

“It’s not about what we want, Scar. We’ve experienced all the clubs. Some we liked. Some we didn’t.

This is about you. You’re the one who wants to experiment, and we want to be the ones who help you.

Don’t think of it as cheating. It isn’t. Not if we all consent.”

“Can I think about it?” My voice is thin, uncertain. A part of me is already imagining the heat of it, the forbidden tangle of limbs, but a sharper, possessive instinct recoils. The idea of their hands on another woman–the thought is a cold blade twisting deep in my gut. I need time. I need to breathe.

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“Of course,” they answer in unison, their voices a soft harmony. Their lips find mine in tender farewelts before I step out into the day, the echo of their touch still warm on my skin. They insist I take the truck, saying they’ll summon a ride home. It’s a relief. It grants me the solitude I crave, the space to move through my errands with this new, weighty possibility turning inside me.

My first stop is the clinic for my shot. The sterile air smells of antiseptic and quiet anxiety. A nurse runs through the routine questions, her tone detached. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

The automatic ‘no‘ dies on my tongue. Truth surfaces, blunt and simple. “My partners and I don’t use protection.” The admission changes the atmosphere. Her eyes flick up, and she slides a plastic cup

across the counter.

I wait in a pale blue room, minutes stretching like taffy. Finally, the door opens and a man in a white coat enters, chart in hand.

“Hello, Scarlett. I’m Doctor Reed. I’ve reviewed your file. Everything’s in order for your shot.”

“So I’m not pregnant?” The words escape before I can stop them.

“No, sorry,” he says, glancing up. “Was that a concern?”

“Not exactly. The nurse had me test, that’s all.”

“Ah. Prudent of her.” He prepares the syringe, efficient and calm. “This will just take a moment. Then you can be on your way.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” A hollow disappointment blooms in my chest, surprising me with its intensity. I want a child. The desire is a sudden, physical ache. But I’ve never asked them. Never even whispered the idea to Jace or Milo. That conversation now looms, necessary and terrifying.

<He Cheated; I Chose Two Firefighters