Noah chuckles quietly, then crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re no kid. And I think we’re all getting to know each other just fine. I trust you, pal.”
Pal.
Mercer called me that earlier, and I hated it. But there’s no condescension behind the moniker when it comes from Noah.
The sound of scraping wood cuts through the quiet, and a second later, Mercer strolls into the room dragging a kitchen chair behind him.
“Come on, Merce,” Noah grouses. “You know these are original hardwoods.”
The professor ignores his friend and positions the chair on the yellow honeycomb rug in front of the fireplace so that it faces the plush couch against the opposite wall.
He regards the three of us, then cocks one brow and homes in on me. “Sit,” he demands, waving toward the chair with a flourish, presenting it like it’s a highly sought after prize.
Every cell in my body screams to argue with him. Is that what he wants? To make this experience so unbearable that I break, proving I really can’t do this?
Not going to fucking happen.
Resolve galvanized, I straighten my spine and suck in a deep breath.
After a quick kiss to the crown of my girl’s head, I loosen her hands from around my waist and walk toward my fate.
Once I’m seated and Noah and Sawyer have made their way over to the couch, Mercer lords over me from a few feet away.
“You don’t get up for any reason. You don’t move from this chair. The only exception is if you use a safe word, in which case all activity stops and we regroup. Your safe word should be something easy to remember. A word you wouldn’t typically say during sex.”
Okay. Fuck.
This is really happening.
I’m competitive by nature, but right now, the only person I’m competing with is me. I can do this, for myself and for Sawyer. I’m going to fucking rock this.
Hands gripping my knees, I give myself a minute to think. Then I nod up at Mercer. “Got it.”
He stares back, like he’s waiting for me to answer a question in class. “Well?” he finally says. “What is it?”
My heart falters as my stomach jumps into my throat.
“I have to tell you?” I stammer.
He scoffs in his typical, haughty way. “Yes, you have to tell us. Withholding the safe word from your partners defeats the purpose of having a safe word in the first place.”
Partners.
That single word now has my stomach plummeting.
Is that—is that what they are?
Gulping past a fresh wave of insecurity, I survey each of them. “Just so we’re clear, I’m not keen on having multiple partners. I’m only interested in being with Sawyer.”
“I apologize,” Mercer says immediately. “That was poor word choice on my part. I think we all know the score here.” He cants his head to the side thoughtfully. “But for the record, I’m bisexual. Like Sawyer. But my sexuality doesn’t dictate this dynamic. I assure you—I want to fuck you about as much as I want to slather my cock in honey and slide it between two unsanded frames of a beehive.”
Noah groans. “Really, Merce?”
They do this a lot, the two of them. Mercer says something ridiculous, then Noah pretends to be exasperated. It’s a subtle reminder of how long they’ve known each other. It’s also a reminder that I’m the outsider here.
Shaking my head, I strike that thought from my mind. While Noah and Mercer may have a long-established relationship, I share years of history with Sawyer. And based on my understanding of her relationships with them, we all became romantically involved around the same time.
I’m an outsider in some ways, but I’m lapping them in other areas. I have something to contribute here. I bring value to this group in my own ways.
