“Smile,” I whisper. His whole face lights up with a megawatt smile, and I fall apart in his arms, a scream tearing from my chest. I can feel him shaking on top of me; I can hear Glen’s low groan at my feet, and Kenta’s sudden intake of breath against my chest. But all of that is just background noise. In my head, I’m flying, shooting like a comet through the bright blue sky and burning through rings of stars. Pleasure batters me, surging through all of my veins like light. I feel like I’m barely inside my body as I ride out the waves, floating far, far above the rest of the world.
When I finally come back down, I find myself being gently rolled over. Glen and Kenta have climbed back onto the bed, and all three of my men are covering every inch of me with soft, reverent little kisses. I feel like I’m being cocooned, wrapped up in blankets and cuddled up in layers and layers of love. Matt slides slowly out of me, and I moan weakly at the sensation of thick, hot wetness seeping down my thighs. Someone asks me a question, and I mumble something nonsensical in response. I’m kind of out of it; I’m still exhausted from last night, and the endorphins have fried my brain. Now everything is soft and hazy. I just lay there, limp and satisfied, as hands pat over me, stroking and caressing. There’s a cool sensation down my legs as someone gently wipes off my skin. Low voices murmur over my head.
I’m soon cleaned up and settled down in fresh sheets, tucked between three hot, muscled bodies. Sunshine pours into the room, and I snuggle up against Glen’s chest, stroking the fine sprinkling of hair curling over his pecs. We’re quiet for a long time, just holding each other as we settle back down.
“Do you guys wanna be my boyfriends?” I whisper, turning to brush a kiss to Kenta’s wrist.
Three laughs rumble around me. “If you’ll take us,” Matt says. “We know you can be quite picky.”
“You’ll do in a pinch.” I pat his shoulder. He pinches my arm, making me yelp. We lie in silence for a few more minutes, listening to the birds tweeting outside. Our breathing slowly matches up, our chests rising and falling in sync.
“Are you sure, though?” I prod. “My life is… well. You’ve seen how hectic it is. There will be paparazzi, and journalists and photographers. You’ll probably be put into magazines.” I turn to look at Glen. He watches me, his grey eyes serious. I tilt my head to nuzzle down his scarred jaw, then press a kiss to his lips. “I understand if that puts you off.”
“We’ll work with it,” he says, lifting a big hand to cup my stitched-up cheek. “We’ll do anything. Anything to be with you.”
I shiver. “Really?”
“Yes,” Matt and Kenta both say immediately. I close my eyes. How the Hell did I get this lucky? I swallow down the tears before they start to fall.
“Then I want to go on a date. All four of us. Together. Somewhere nice. Maybe a picnic in a park, or on the beach.”
Kenta picks up my hand and starts massaging it. “You sure about that? The tabloids are going to have a field day.”
I snort. “I’m counting on it.”
“It might make you a target for hate, lass,” Glen points out. “We’ve seen your social media comments. Those people are cruel. I doubt the public will enjoy seeing you with three men.”
I shrug. “Haven’t you heard? I’m Britain’s Biggest Bitch.” I look out of the window, at the LA skyline glittering and shimmering under the midday sun, and smile. “I can do whatever the fuck I want.”
Fifty-Eight
Epilogue
Two Years Later
Hands slide down my body, cupping the curve of my bare hip. I gasp and tilt my neck back as warm lips press gently against my throat. “God,” I whisper, rocking my hips slightly. “Baby… please.”
“Please what?” A low voice grumbles. The light sea breeze drifts between our joined bodies, ruffling my hair and trailing goosebumps over my skin. In the corners of my vision, camera lenses flash, but I ignore them, focussing on the man in front of me.
“I need you,” I murmur, grabbing ahold of his jaw and yanking his mouth to mine. I close my eyes and part my lips, waiting for a kiss.
Nothing happens.
My eyes flutter open.
“CUT!” Our director calls.
I frown at Thom Petty, who’s gone stiff underneath me. “You’re supposed to kiss me, you knob. Is it really that hard?”
He doesn’t respond. He’s looking over my shoulder, wide-eyed. I sigh, slipping off his lap and brushing my thighs clean as I look around.
We’ve been filming this beach sex scene since dawn this morning. I’ve still not gotten over how pretty the location is. The sea is churning in and out just a few metres away, and the morning sky is marbled pale pink and baby blue. A white pavilion is pitched in the sand nearby, where various crew members are sitting in folding chairs, watching the action unfold through the screens.
As I watch, our director Gina storms out of the tent towards us. She looks haggard and tired, her hair falling out of its sloppy ponytail and her glasses slipping down her nose. The last few days of filming are always gruelling, as we reshoot all of the scenes that we somehow messed up. None of us have slept much this week.
“Briar,” she practically begs. “Please.”
“Please what?” I blink up at her. “AmIdoing something wrong?” I thought Petty was the problem.
