Honestly, the only thing I appreciated about their dramatic possessiveness were the massages. Kyle had magic hands — the kind that made me moan out loud without shame. His foot rubs could rival dark sorcery. Keegan had the strongest grip and knew exactly how to work the knots out of my shoulders and neck like some kind of touch-obsessed wolf god.
Kendrick, on the other hand, had made it his personal mission to become both my chef and nutritionist. He prepared every meal like I was a sacred vessel — which, I guess, I kind of was — and had zero chill when it came to sugar or caffeine.
“Do you want the pup to come out jittery and pissed off?” he snapped once when I reached for a second cup of coffee. “No? Then drink your smoothie.”
Kingsley spent most of his time curled up next to me whene
