My mind flashes to a very specific image, chocolate cake on her bare stomach, maybe drizzled over her perfect tits, or smeared lower, between her thighs, right near that sweet spot I’ve been dying to taste. I can see it so clearly—Eva, breathless beneath me, her body arching as I lick up every last crumb, slow and thorough.
But I wouldn’t stop there. I’d eat her until she was trembling and saying my name like a prayer.
Suddenly, I’m not just full, I’m restless. Uncomfortably hard under the table and doing everything in my power not to shift or groan or make a damn fool of myself in front of her and our friends and especially in front of the McNeal’s.
Even though I know I need to stop this train of thought, I don’t.
Call me a masochist or crazy, but I glance at her mouth and raise an eyebrow.
“Are you offering to be the plate?” I ask, my voice low enough that only she can hear it.
Her lips part in surprise, then curve into a slow, wicked smile. She leans in, her hand still in mine, and whispers, “Depends… are you planning to lick it clean?”
Fuck.
I grip her hand tighter under the table, trying to stay composed while my imagination runs wild. “Every inch,” I murmur.
Her breath catches, and I swear her pupils dilate just a little. We’re flirting with fire, and she knows it. But neither of us backs down.
Not yet.
She knows exactly what she’s doing. And I’m not sure if I should thank her or beg her to stop before I say something that can’t be taken back.
Noah clears his throat from across the table. I glance up and see him watching us again, eyes narrowed just slightly.
I sit up straighter, squeeze Eva’s hand again, harder this time, and give her a look that saysthis isn’t over.
Because tonight, we’re sharing a bed.
And if she keeps looking at me like that, I won’t last the night.
I know I shouldn’t. I know my friendship with Noah is on the line, but I can’t help myself.
Eva is a weakness I didn’t see coming.
It’s not just her body, though that alone could undo a man, it’s everything else. Ilikeher. The way she smiles when she’s thinking, how she lights up when she talks about something she loves, how her mind moves so fast and sharp it leaves me trying to catch up. Sometimes I think she’s too good for me, too smart, too driven, tooher. And yet, here she is… flirting with me, teasing, looking at me like I’m the only man in the world.
She’s becoming my favorite person. The one I want to listen to, laugh with, and wake up next to.
And that scares the hell out of me.
We’re about to share a bed for two nights, and I don’t know if I can keep pretending this is fake. Every time she’s near, I feel my self-control slipping. She knows exactly what she’s doing, how her voice drops when it’s just us, how herfingers graze mine and linger, how her eyes burn into me like a dare.
She flirts like she wants to be caught.
And I’m not strong enough to keep pretending I don’t want to fuck this up.
But I’ll be a gentleman, at least until she tells me not to be.
As the afternoon fades into early evening, I feel content. Full stomach, good conversation, a slight buzz from the beers and margaritas, and Eva sitting beside me like she belongs there.
I’m lounging back in one of the patio chairs, legs stretched out, laughing at something Austin said about the chaos of parenting. Mr. McNeal, who insisted we call him Hunter, has been surprisingly chill all day. No business talk, no pressure. Just easy questions about family, life, how we got into construction. The man is sharp, observant, and clearly testing the waters before diving into any kind of deal.
I admire that. And it’s been nice to see Noah and Austin let their guard down too.
But the peace doesn’t last forever. As the sky darkens and the string lights overhead start to glow, the babies start to get fussy. Everly lets out a high-pitched wail and Ethan rubs his eyes, whining softly into Violet’s neck.
Hunter glances at his watch, then says with a smile, “Alright, I think that’s our cue to wrap it up. Let’s get these little ones to bed.”
