A towel hit her lap, startling her back to the moment.
Trent nodded, then turned to look at the bed, as if deciding if he needed to change the sheets. It drew her attention to the scratches on his back. Scratches Alison had put there, a need that had terrified her resulting in them.
She wiped her thighs, though she didn’t do a thorough job. Just enough to get the obvious streaks. As soon as she’d done it, she got to her feet, needing to getout of the room. It smelled like sex, and she hadn’t evenhadsex.
“You’re supposed to sleep here,” he said, though his words lacked firmness.
“I feel like we’ve sort of wrapped up the sleeping thing.”
He twisted his hand to peer at his watch. “It’s three-twenty. You aren’t ready to get up.”
“If it means I don’t have to get back in that bed? Sure, I’ll get up now.”
He offered a low growl, as though backed into a corner. “At least let me look at your shoulder.” When he reached for her, Alison jerked backward. He froze, his hand dangling in the air before lowering slowly. “Right.” The word was full of a lot, but Alison was too close to the edge to decipher any of it. “You’re not sleeping alone. Daniel or Kyle. Your choice.”
Alison wanted to argue, but more than that, she wanted to leave. The choice wasn’t a hard one, really. Daniel was sweet, but Kyle kept things nice and surface level.
“Kyle’s.”
Trent nodded back, but didn’t come closer, didn’t move, when he let Alison flee. She didn’t go to Kyle’s room right away, first going to the restroom. It gave her a moment to collect herself.
This was a stupid plan. Did I really think I could resist three alphas? This is why I’m never around them.
She went to Kyle’s door afterward, but as she lifted her hand to knock, it opened. Kyle stood there, his hair messy from sleep, the same smirk he always had on his lips. It tightened when his gaze landed on her shoulder, but didn’t slip away.
He probably thought she didn’t realize.
“Come on in.” He made space for her, and past him she spotted the bed, unmade and all together inviting.
On the nightstand sat an open first-aid kit, which meant Trent had already spoken to Kyle. At least she wouldn’t need to repeat the story.
Kyle set a hand on her lower back, leading her to the bed. When she sat, he picked up a packet from the kit. He tore it open, then pulled the small cloth out. A grip on her chin set off those old feelings, and she yanked back.
“Easy, sugar,” he whispered and released her. “Tilt your head for me, would you?”
Alison shuddered out a breath but did as he asked. She hissed at the first pass of the alcohol pad.
“Sorry, but we should clean this,” he explained. “The less of his saliva in the wound, the less it will scar.”
“Well then, scrub it raw,” she whispered.
He huffed a soft laugh, though there was still an edge to it. He covered the wound with gauze, then took a wipe from the packet beside the kit.
It was then she looked at her thighs and heat covered her cheeks. She hadn’t cleaned up that well, and it was obvious from the stickiness still there. Getting into a man’s bed with another man’s cum on her thighs wasn’t the sort of thing she’d done before, and certainly didn’t make her feel all that good.
She expected Kyle to hand her the wipe, but instead, he worked to clean her himself. He was thorough and careful, not showing a bit of disgust or discomfort. He slid the cold wipe along her skin, catching each tacky area, even spreading her legs and dropping to his knees to clean her inner thighs.
How the hell can this turn me on again? Wasn’t earlier enough?
Yet, there she was, as though she hadn’t learned her lesson from the last time.
Worse, Kyle inhaled once, released a low groan—one that sounded as though he wanted things and was disappointed to not get to have them—before he finished and took the kit and trash into the bathroom, leaving her alone.
Alison’s collar and cuffs seemed awfully heavy at that moment, the gauze made her shoulder itch and she had no idea how to recalibrate her body.
She could have been truly mad if Trent had pushed a boundary on purpose, if he’d forced her into something. Instead, as proven by her own orgasm, she’d been a willing participant in their little dream-session.
What the hell am I supposed to do with that?
