“The heat.” I'm gripping the tub so hard my knuckles turn white. “It's... really hot.”
Everett's thumb finds my clit.
“Is it?” His voice is perfectly casual. Perfectly innocent. “I hadn't noticed.”
“The heritage angle could work,” Roman's saying. Somewhere. In a universe where I'm not slowly losing my mind. “Sierra's been documenting the historical stuff all week. We could tie that into the rebrand.”
“Sierra.” Everett's voice pulls me back. “What do you think?”
What do I think?
I think you're a bastard.
I think I hate you.
I think if you stop I'll scream.
“About what?” My voice is strained. Breathy. I clear my throat. “Sorry, I—the heat's really getting to me.”
“The heritage rebrand,” he says, calm, smooth, the words practically melting on his tongue. “Whether we should lean harder—” he pushes deeper “—into the historical angle.”
“Yes. God. Yup, that.” Too eager. “Definitely. The heritage stuff is—” He flexes his fingers, teasing me with what he’s capable of, but coming nowhere close to delivering. I swallow a moan. “—important. Very important.”
“See?” Everett turns back to my brothers with an easy smile. “Even Sierra agrees. And she's the expert.”
The expert at not screaming while you finger me in front of my family.
What a goddamn skill.
Caleb's circles back to the hairbrained “sexy Santa photoshoot”—shirtless but classy, like firefighter calendars but with more pine trees—while Roman shoots it down and Nolan looks like he wants to drown himself.
Normal sibling chaos.
Meanwhile, Everett's hand shifts. His fingers finally—finally—slide exactly where I need them.
And then he presses.
The orgasm detonates without warning.
I slam my mouth shut so hard my teeth ache. Every muscle in my body locks. The world goes white at the edges, and I'm drowning, flying, dying—all while my brotherssit directly across from me, not five feet away, debating marketing strategies.
Three seconds. Five. Ten.
An eternity of silent screaming.
When I finally come back to my body, Everett's hand gentles. Stroking now. Soothing. Like he's proud of what he just did.
His expression is perfectly neutral.
But his eyes—his eyes are blazing with triumph when he looks over his shoulder at me.
I risk a glance at the women's tub.
Holly's jaw is on the floor. Charlie has her hand pressed over her mouth. Eve looks like she's witnessed a crime. Dixie is gripping her champagne glass so hard it might shatter.
They can't seewhat—the bubbles hide everything below the surface—but they can see my face. My flushed cheeks. The way I'm gripping the tub edge like it's the only thing keeping me from flying apart.
Theyknow.
