At least the smell of the scones helps.
“Sooo,” I cut through the tensioned silence. “If Briella Darling is Snow White, we’re the dwarves.”
Vincent snorts behind me. “There were seven, dumbass. Not five.”
“I don’t mind,” Briella chimes in, her eyes occasionally flicking to Rory, who shifts uncomfortably against the counter. No idea what’s eating him. “I like to bake.” She shrugs. “I’m living in the woods with a bunch of clueless assholes with an actual mine.”
“I claim Dopey!” I thrust my hand up, waving it. When Briella shakes her head with a breathy laugh, my cock jerks in my pants. “Vincent is totally Grumpy.” I jerk my head back to him, and he grunts, which is confirmation enough.
“I’ll be Happy.” Jude lifts his hand in a salute on the side of his head, winking at her. Fuck, how she blushes for him.
“Who’s Raphael?” she wonders, staring at our alpha who doesn’t so much as blink.
“DOC.” All of us say in unison.
Her eyes sparkle when she looks at Rory. “Bashful.” He lifts his upper lip, baring his teeth in a silent snarl, but she tips her hat to him. “Red hair. Red beard. Red cheeks when he’s mad about his redear.”
God, I need inside her. But one look at her chest and throat with all the teeth marks is a reminder of what I’d never do. I’m too wired. Too hot, I could give Rory a run for his blood. I have to adjust my pants. Then, the oven timer pings.
Thank fuck.
The four of us head for the table. It’s blindfold time. Gives me the perfect opportunity to shift my boxers. Raphael is the only one who doesn’t use a blindfold. He’s the most unbiased monster in the world.
“Move, Lass,” I hear Rory bark after we’re in the dark.
“What’s the magic word, Ginger Snap?”
Shit, I’m gonna come in my goddamn pants at this rate. Jude chuckles nearby.
Next is the sound of two plates set before each of us.
“Choose whichever one you want to,” Briella says sweetly.
“Doesn’t matter. In the end, they’ll choose mine, Firecracker. I’ll love watching ye on yer knees.”
“Me too.”
There’s a knowing hint in her voice. Like, even if she loses, she’ll still get him on his knees. I hear him clear his throat a few times while I pick up the scone on my left.
The sweet flavor bursts in my mouth. It’s nice and fluffy, with just a hint of zesty orange and cinnamon. Perfect balance. Not too heavy, not too sweet. I can’t help but feel the tiniest twinge of approval. And I sure fucking hope it’s hers.
I try the one on the right. Meh. It’s a little too sweet, especially with the thick glaze on top. It’s almost cloying, and while the texture’s good, it’s definitely trying too hard.
“The left one,” Vincent is the first to say.
“Same,” I add.
“I like the right one,” Jude mentions. He’s always liked things a little sweeter.
We all wait on Raphael. His vote counts as two, so he’s the deciding factor. I can practically feel the suspense so thick, I could cut it with my dullest axe.
And then… “The left is the winner.”
Before we even get our blindfolds off, Rory belts out a victory wallop. My eyes adjust in time to see him grab her hair and lick the side of her neck. She doesn’t even flinch.
For fuck’s sake. I rise to my feet as he croons, tapping into his flirty drunk side, “Seven PM sharp, Firecracker. Ye better be naked and on your knees by my chair like a good little Lass.”
He lets go of her hair way too quickly. Doubles over like he’s got a mother fucking PMS cramp. His eyes widen.
