The bleachers are cold under her, the aluminum biting through her jeans as she bounces on the seat, her voice hoarse from cheering. Marcus and Dylan are jogging off the field, victorious, their jerseys clinging to their bodies, and she's watching them with a grin that hasn't faded since the final whistle. A shadow falls over her, and she looks up to find a player from the visiting team—number 22, broad-shouldered, sweat-soaked—standing over her, his grin wide and friendly.
"Hey, you're the prettiest girl I've seen all season," he says, his hand landing on her waist like it belongs there.
She laughs, bright and unguarded, her hand touching his chest instinctively. "Thanks! You guys played great tonight—that last drive was insane!"
His fingers tighten on her waist, pulling her a step closer. "What's your name, pretty girl?"
"Ariana," she says, her green eyes sparkling. "Nice to meet you."
"Ariana." He says it like he's tasting it. "That's a beautiful name for a beautiful girl."
She feels warmth spread through her at his words, that pleasant flutter she gets whenever someone's nice to her. "You're sweet."
Across the field, Marcus has stopped mid-stride. His dark eyes are fixed on the stranger's hand on her waist, and something in his posture has gone still—predatory. Dylan's ice-blue gaze tracks the interaction from twenty feet away, his jaw tight, his steps already angling toward her with purpose.
"Princess." Marcus's voice cuts through the night air, low and cold, and she turns automatically, her face lighting up at the sight of him.
"Marcus! You were amazing out there! That touchdown in the third quarter—"
He doesn't smile. His eyes are fixed on number 22. "Who's your friend?"
She bounces on her heels, oblivious to the tension crackling between them. "Oh, this is… I actually didn't catch your name?"
"Jake." The visiting player's hand is still on her waist, his eyes meeting Marcus's with a challenge that makes the air thicken.
"Well, Jake, this is Marcus and Dylan," she says, gesturing at them as they approach. "They're my best friends."
Marcus steps between them, his shoulder brushing Jake's hand off her waist like he's clearing a path. His palm finds the small of her back, possessive and warm, and his fingers spread against her damp top. "We need to go, princess. Team's doing a cool-down."
Dylan moves to her other side, his arm sliding around her shoulders, his fingers curving over her collarbone through the transparent fabric. "Yeah, baby girl. Can't have you catching cold out here."
She shivers at his touch, the night air suddenly cool on her sweat-damp skin. "Oh, okay. It was nice meeting you, Jake!"
Jake's eyes linger on her, ignoring Marcus's glare completely. "Maybe I'll see you around, Ariana."
She smiles at him, bright and genuine, her body already turning with the pressure of Marcus's hand on her back. "Maybe!"
Marcus leads her away, his grip firm, his fingers pressing into her spine. Dylan's arm stays around her shoulders, his thumb tracing the strap of her top where it cuts across her bare skin.
"You were cheering pretty loud for us, princess," Marcus says, his voice rough in a way that makes her stomach flutter. "Could hear you over the whole crowd."
"It was so exciting!" she says, her eyes bright. "I was screaming when you made that touchdown—I think I lost my voice!"
Dylan's hand moves from her shoulder to the back of her neck, his fingers threading into her long black hair, tugging gently. "Watching you bounce around on those bleachers…" His voice drops. "Hard to focus on the game."
She laughs, leaning into his touch, the pull at her scalp sending pleasant tingles down her spine. "I was just having fun!"
They reach the edge of the field, the stadium lights casting long shadows across the grass. Marcus stops, turning her to face him. The victory sweat still glistens on his chest through his jersey, and she can see the hard lines of his abs through the damp fabric.
"You having fun is our favorite thing, princess," he says, his thumb brushing her jaw, tilting her face up. "But we don't like other people touching what's ours."
Her brow furrows, confusion flickering across her features. "What do you mean? Jake was just being friendly."
Dylan steps behind her, his hands settling on her hips. His fingers toy with the waistband of her low-rise jeans, finding the string of her thong where it peeks above the denim. "He wasn't being friendly, baby girl. He was staking a claim."
She feels a flutter in her stomach at his touch, the thin fabric sliding against her skin. "Staking a claim?"
Marcus's eyes are dark, intense, pinning her in place. "On you. Like we did."
She tilts her head, processing the words slowly. "But… you guys are my best friends. You hug me all the time."
His smile is slow, knowing, the kind of smile that makes her feel like she's missing something important. "Yeah, princess. We do."
Dylan's fingers slide under the waistband of her jeans, playing with the thin fabric of her thong, pulling it taut and letting it snap back against her skin. "And you like it, don't you?"
She shivers as his fingertips brush her skin, the sensation warm and familiar. "I… yeah. I love it. It feels nice."
Marcus steps closer, his body heat radiating against her, his chest nearly touching hers. "What about when we grab your ass when we hug? Or when we catch you when you stumble?"
Her cheeks flush, a tiny smile forming on her lips. "I like that too."
Dylan's mouth is close to her ear, his breath warm against her skin. "What about when I pull on your little thong like this?"
He tugs the string gently, the elastic snapping against her skin in a way that makes her gasp. Her body instinctively presses back against him, her ass brushing against the front of his jeans.
"Play with it all the time," she breathes, the words falling out without thought.
Marcus's hand cups her cheek, tilting her face up to his. His dark eyes search hers, and she feels seen in a way that makes her heart race. "Because we love touching you, princess. Every inch."
Her eyes are wide, trusting, full of that innocent warmth she gives everyone. "I love you touching me too."
Dylan's fingers continue their lazy exploration, tracing the edge of the fabric, dipping just barely beneath it. "That's our good girl."
She feels a warmth spreading through her body, a pleasant buzzing sensation in her skin where their hands rest, where their bodies press against hers. The stadium lights flicker above them, the crowd thinning out around them, the night settling in cool and damp.
"The thing is, princess," Marcus says, his voice low and deliberate, "we don't share."
Her brain struggles to catch up, her thoughts moving slow and syrupy. "Share?"
Dylan's hand tightens on her hip, fingers pressing into the soft flesh above her jeans. "You. We don't share you."
"But I thought… we're all friends."
"We are," Marcus says. "Best friends. But we're more than that now, aren't we?"
She looks between them, her green eyes earnest, searching. "I don't understand."
Marcus's thumb traces her lower lip, the calloused pad rough against her soft Skin. You don't have to understand everything, princess. You just have to stay with us."
"And let us take care of you," Dylan adds, his teeth grazing her ear, making her shudder.
She presses closer to him without thinking, her body responding to the warmth. "I like being with you guys."
"We know, baby girl." Dylan's hand slides lower, cupping her ass through her jeans, squeezing firmly. "That's why we're not letting anyone else have you."
Her head is spinning, a pleasant dizziness from the dual sensations, the warmth, the voices. "Okay."
Marcus's smile is slow, satisfied, a predator's contentment. "Good girl."
He pulls her into a hug, and his hands immediately find her ass through her low-rise jeans, gripping the full curves, kneading the flesh through the denim. She melts into him, her arms wrapping around his neck, her breasts pressing against his chest through the sheer fabric of her top.
"Congrats on the win," she murmurs against his chest.
He kisses the top of her head, his lips lingering. "Thanks to our good luck charm."
Dylan presses against her from behind, sandwiching her between their hard bodies. His hands find her breasts through the damp, transparent fabric of her top, cupping them through the thin material, his thumbs finding her nipples immediately.
"You got us wet just from cheering, baby girl," he murmurs against her ear.
She giggles, the sound bright and unguarded. "I was cheering really hard."
Dylan's fingers find her nipples through the thin barrier, rolling them between his thumb and forefinger, pinching gently. "We noticed."
She gasps softly, her body responding automatically, her nipples hardening under his touch, pressing into his palms.
Marcus's hands squeeze her ass, pulling her harder against him. "Time to go, princess."
They walk toward the parking lot, flanking her on both sides. Dylan's hand stays on the small of her back, his thumb hooking into the waistband of her jeans. Marcus's arm drapes over her shoulders, his fingers brushing the side of her breast through the sheer fabric.
The lot is mostly empty, the other players already gone. The streetlights cast pools of orange light across the asphalt, and their footsteps echo in the quiet.
"Your car or ours?" Marcus asks, his voice casual.
She blinks up at him. "I thought we were getting food?"
He grins, that slow, knowing grin. "We are. Just picking it up at my place."
Her stomach rumbles, a reminder that she hasn't eaten since before the game. "Oh, okay! That sounds good."
Dylan opens the back door of Marcus's SUV, gesturing her inside with a smirk. "Ladies first."
She climbs in, the leather seat cool against the back of her thighs. Marcus slides in after her, and Dylan gets in on the other side, sandwiching her between them once more. The doors close with a solid thunk, sealing them in the warm, leather-scented dark.
The engine rumbles to life as Marcus pulls out of the lot. The night blurs past the windows, streetlights casting shadows across their faces in a steady rhythm.
Dylan's hand finds her knee, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her bare thigh. "You really didn't notice that guy trying to hit on you, baby girl?"
She shrugs, her mind genuinely blank on the matter. "I guess I just figured he was being nice."
Marcus glances at her in the rearview mirror, his dark eyes finding hers. "He was being nice to get into your pants, princess."
Her brow furrows. "Really?"
Dylan's hand slides higher up her thigh, his fingers grazing the hem of her shorts. "Really. You're too sweet for your own good."
She squirms under his touch, not from discomfort, but from the pleasant sensation of his fingers on her skin. "I just like people."
"We know, baby girl." Dylan's fingers dip under the leg of her shorts, tracing the edge of her thong where it cuts across her hip. "That's why we have to watch out for you."
Marcus's eyes are still on her in the mirror. "He was probably thinking about bending you over the bleachers."
She gasps, her cheeks flushing. "Marcus!"
"What? It's true. A girl who looks like you, bouncing around in a wet see-through top…" His voice drops, rough and low. "Every guy out there is imagining what you'd sound like when you come."
Her cheeks are burning, but something hot and excited curls in her stomach, a warmth spreading through her thighs. "You guys are bad."
Dylan's mouth is at her ear again, his breath hot against her skin. "You like it."
She doesn't deny it.
"Pull over," Dylan says suddenly, his voice sharp.
Marcus's eyes flick to him in the mirror. "What?"
"Pull over."
The SUV slows, pulling into an empty parking lot next to a closed strip mall. The lights are off, the only illumination from the streetlights a block away. The engine idles, the only sound in the sudden quiet.
Dylan's hand is on her thigh, his knuckles brushing the damp heat between her legs. "Get in the back."
She looks between them, her heart pounding. "What?"
"Get in the back seat, baby girl." His voice is calm, commanding, leaving no room for argument. "We want to celebrate our win properly."