"I do not?—"
"You do," Grayson says quietly, his thumb pressing harder against my thigh. "Your scent spiked the second we sat down. You're aroused, Bea. We can all smell it."
I want to argue. To tell them they're wrong, that I'm perfectly composed, that I'm not sitting here thinking about Grayson's mouth between my thighs while wondering what Seth and River would feel like.
But my scent is already betraying me, going sweeter by the second.
"This isn't fair," I manage.
"What isn't?" Seth asks, and his voice is strained. Like he's affected by this conversation too but doesn't quite know how to navigate it.
"You three, ganging up on me?—"
"We're not ganging up," River interrupts. "We're being honest. You said you wanted honesty, remember?"
Our drinks arrive. I take a gulp of wine that's definitely too large and nearly choke.
Grayson's hand moves higher on my thigh. Not far enough to be inappropriate, but enough that I'm suddenly very aware of every inch between his palm and where I'm already aching for touch.
"Here's some honesty," River continues, his voice dropping lower. "I've been thinking about you all day. About what Grayson got to do. About how you tasted, whether you made sounds, if you pulled his hair."
"River—"
"About whether you'd let me do the same thing. Whether you'd let all of us learn what makes you fall apart."
My thighs clench involuntarily. Seth's scent thickens beside me, going darker with want, but when I glance at him his neck is flushed red and he's staring very hard at his water glass.
"You can't just—we're in public," I hiss, but my voice comes out breathy instead of firm.
"Then tell us to stop," Grayson murmurs against my ear. His lips brush the sensitive spot just below it, and I shiver. "Tell us you're not thinking about it too."
I can't. Because I am thinking about it. Have been thinking about it since I woke up this morning with Grayson's scent all over my sheets.
"That's what I thought," he says, satisfied.
The waiter returns for our order. I can barely focus enough to say "ravioli," and I don't miss the knowing look on his face when he leaves. Great. Even the staff knows I'm dying here.
"Okay," Seth says, his ears going pink as he glances between me and the other two. "Maybe we should ease up before Bea actually melts into the booth."
His voice is gentle but there's an edge of protectiveness there—like he's worried they're pushing too hard, but he's not quite confident enough to actually order them to stop.
"Where's the fun in that?" River asks, but he pulls his knee back slightly. The loss of pressure makes me want to whimper.
Grayson's hand stays on my thigh, though. A constant reminder that he's right there, that he knows exactly what he's doing to me.
"Fine," River says. "Regular date conversation. I can do that." He pauses. "So, Bea. On a scale of one to ten, how good was Grayson?"
"I'm going to kill you," I say flatly.
"That's not a number."
"Twelve," Grayson supplies helpfully. "She came twice."
"Oh my god." I bury my face in my hands. "I hate all of you."
"Liar," all three say in unison.
Despite everything—despite the mortification and the arousal and the fact that we're having this conversation in public—I laugh. It bursts out of me, surprised and genuine, and suddenly the tension breaks into something different. Still charged, but playful now.
