“Shhh. I got you, love. I got you.” He rocks me slightly as my tears stain his shirt.
Once I’m certain I’m no longer a blubbering, inarticulate mess, I pat his shoulder. “I’m okay now, Krystian. You can let me go now.”
At first, I think he’s going to refuse, but after a few seconds, he releases me with a reluctant sigh.
I settle back in the booth, wiping at the tears beneath my eyes with the pads of my fingers.
“Sorry, guys.” I chuckle mirthlessly. “I’m not used to this.”
“Having friends?” Zaid inquires softly.
“Having hormones.”
A throat clears at the foot of the table, directly behind Zaid, and I lift my head to see Darla standing there. In her hands is a piece of chocolate cake.
“For you,” she says shyly, sliding it my way. Concern etches lines into her forehead. “Are you okay, hon?”
“She’s fine,” Everett barks.
One of his hands forms a fist on the table.
“She’s okay,” Zaid reassures her. “She’s just…” His lips twist. “Hormonal.”
That seems to be enough explanation, because Darla hurries away without any follow-up questions.
“I’m really, really stuffed,” I murmur, digging my fork into the fluffy cake layered in icing.
“Then why are you eating the cake?” Krystian asks, amused.
“Because I like food.”
I close my lips around the fork, and holy fuck. Lust streaks through me, and heat floods my body in an addictive, all-consuming rush. My eyelids begin to flutter as a moan catches in my throat.
“Oh god.” Pleasure consumes me—a tide that rises and ebbs, gathering strength until it devours the shoreline. “This is fucking delicious.”
I moan again as I take another bite. I don’t want a single piece to go to waste. If that means licking each prong of the fork, then so be it.
I continue to devour the cake—unable to stop the moans that escape me—as the guys watch me silently, their eyes heated. Atfirst, I think they’re jealous that I got a piece of cake and they didn’t, but then I realize it’s not the dessert they desire.
It’s me.
Need throbs lower in my belly as I take in all four of their expressions. The space between us feels as precarious as kindling and just as ready to burn. I’m a flame personified, blistering hot.
“Was that good, love?” Krystian asks.
His voice is husky, sounding like it’s been scraped over coals.
All I can manage is a whimpered, “Hmmm.”
Rafael leans across the table, his hand extended, and I hold my breath. His finger catches on the edge of my lip, gliding across it like roughened silk, before he pulls away. Chocolate balances on the tip of his finger, and as I watch, transfixed, he brings it to his own mouth. His tongue flicks out to catch every last drop of chocolate.
“Delicious,” he agrees raspily.
My ribs squeeze my heart like a vise.
Everett clears his throat, a muscle in his jaw fluttering. “We should get back to the hotel.”
“Motel,” I correct automatically.
