I also know, deep down, that Mirabelle isn’t the type of girl to just pick one of us. She’s never shown any sign of favorites.
“N—no, I don’t want to pick,” Mirabelle says softly, fisting her hands into the silk fabric of the robe. “But I don’t want to not pick... So—so should I kiss all of you?”
My hands fist at my sides and I freeze under her gaze as turns her wide eyes to me.
“If that’s what you want, Shortcake, I’m not gonna stop you.” The words taste like fucking ash on my tongue.
But they’re the words she needs to hear.
“O—Okay,” She says, nodding like a little bobble head, her eyes darting between Rage’s and Griffin’s cages like she doesn’t knowwhich one to pick.
Rage’s dominance is suffocating. He’s surprisingly quiet, but his chest is heaving and his face is twisted into a grimace, almost like he’s in physical pain.
He stares at Mirabelle with a look so intense I don’t think anyone but her could just stand there and take it. Everyone else would probably wither under its strength.
“I can wait,” Griffin says, his voice deceptively even. “Go take care of Rage.”
The new guy is using every last ounce of control he has to make the decision for her.
Kudos to him.
I obviously don’t have that sort of willpower, considering the moment I saw her in that lingerie I knew I had to have a taste of her, consequences be damned.
She takes slow and hesitant steps towards Rage’s cage. The bars creak as his knuckles go white, but he doesn’t move.
“Do you—do you want a kiss, Rage?” She asks softly, reaching up and resting her hand on top of one of his.
He stiffens under her touch, but his chin dips in the barest hint of a nod.
“Okay!” She smiles brightly up at him.
God, that fucking smile.
I think all three of us can agree that smile does something to our brains.
Actually, make that four.
Rowan’s eyes are locked onto everything happening with the intensity of someone who’s interested in Mirabelle as more than a friend. His feelings for her obviously go beyond the normal protective kind. It’s written across his face right now.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to be your first kiss, right? It’s kind of funny how technically, I’m the more experienced person since I just had my first kiss a minute ago,” Mirabelle says, doing that nervous babbling she does.
Alow growl leaves Rage’s throat at the mention of my kiss with her before he lowers his head down.
Their kiss is a little awkward at first, given the height difference, inexperience on both ends, and the fact they’re kissing through bars. Even with Mirabelle’s sky high heels, Rage has to bend down a considerable amount to make things work.
I don’t think he’s complaining, though, if the possessive, satisfied growl that leaves his chest when the two of them find a sloppy rhythm together is anything to go by.
Mirabelle’s perfume swirls around the air, sweet as candy. It coats the back of my throat, mixing with the lingering sweetness of her on my tongue.
If there weren’t a cage between us, I’d have her pinned down beneath me, driving her as crazy as she drives me.
When their kiss finally breaks as they come up for air, their chests heave almost like they were both holding their breaths the entire time. It’s cute.
For whatever reason, the territorial part of my brain isn’t nearly as upset as I thought it’d be.
Maybe ‘cause I got there first. Maybe ‘cause Rage was the closest thing I’ve had to a friend in this shithole for a long fucking time. Or maybe it’s just ‘cause I see how happy Mirabelle is.
Her smile is wide and lazy. Rage leans down and presses his forehead against hers, making his cheeks press into the bars, like he’s trying to breathe her in and soak in the moment.
