“Don't. Time isn't on our side here, Haze. Don't waste it by holding onto false hope. It's only gonna hurt us.” He nods slightly before the sound of heavy footsteps approaches us.
“Guys!” Beau shouts, his voice panicked.
“What’s the matter?” Haze responds, immediately on alert, and I turn to face Beau. That's when I notice he's standing with one of the island staff. His shirt is plastered to his chest, his dark hair stuck to his forehead, and he’s panting like he’s sprinted the whole way from the other side of the island to get to us.
“Hello, sorry,” the man calls, barely catching a breath before he keeps going. “There’s a bad storm coming. Fast. Youmusttake shelter. The furniture is being secured at your accommodation as we speak. Please. You have to go back to the housenow.” His chest is rising and falling in a panic,his eyes darting toward the horizon peeking through the tall, tropical trees, then back at us, wide with urgency. Haze and I follow his gaze. The clouds aren’t just heavy, they’re moving, rolling in like a wall of dark, thick smoke. The wind lashes at me, the waterfall’s spray starting to drench us, stinging my arms and face. Haze steps forward, and I immediately miss our connection. “Thanks. We’ll leave now.” Haze rests his hand on the small of my back, steadying me as we step carefully across the jagged, slick rock.
“West is probably stressed the fuck out we’re still out here,” Beau mutters.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” Haze says, his voice unbelievably calm, and I grip his arm for balance as we trek back to the house.
“At least the lizards are nowhere to be seen,” I say nervously, my eyes darting in every which direction because one can never be so sure.
“Animals usually know what’s up before humans do. Wait. Don’t panic, or anything, but is it a hurricane?” Beau says, voice cracking slightly as he jerks his head and gazes questionably at the sky.
“I’d rather not stick around to find out,” I reply, just as rain starts hammering down. Beau swears under his breath, pressing in closer to me before he says, “Looks like we’re in for a long night.”
The wind screams against the house, a relentless, wild howl that rattles the windows in their frames. Glass vibrates under the force, sending a low, whining hum through the walls. Rainlashes sideways, pounding the roof and pelting the windows so hard I can barely make out the dark shapes beyond the streaked glass. We arrived back at the house about two hours ago, just as the staff was tying down the last few pieces of outdoor furniture, though I don’t know if the straps will hold in this wind.
West has gone a little overboard. He insisted we “hide out in the middle of the house,” which led to a twenty minute debate over which room that was. After pacing, arguing, and nearly storming into every hallway, we finally landed here, the central living area on the ground floor. He stands near the coffee table where he’s laid out dozens of water bottles and a bunch of supplies we might need. Arms crossed, he stares out at the storm through the glass that wraps around half of the room.
“Looks thick enough. I’m assuming it’s weatherproof, judging by the way the glass is set into the frame,” he says, his voice clipped. Beau lets out an impressed whistle, pressing closer to me on the curved sofa in the center of the room.
“You’re so hot when you talk shop,” he teases over the roaring chaos outside. West rolls his eyes, unimpressed with Beau’s antics. I happen to think Beau is hilarious. He’s their balance. The perfect counterweight. The sunshine in their otherwise dark and broody little trio.
We’d broken away for a quick shower before the storm hit, and I grabbed the nearest thing I could. Well, the most comfortable, which just so happened to be my silk nightie. Did I care that it would probably remind West of the other night? Not really, and I didn’t have time to second-guess myself with all the commotion. Now, I’m curled up on the sofa, draped in a light throw blanket, and Beau chooses this moment to sling an arm over my shoulders. I bury into him, loving every bit of how his skin feels against mine. He smells like the sun. Like amber and driftwood. Like he’s standing alone in a windswept desert, letting the summer kiss every inch of his skin. I crave this man.Every dangerous ray that I know could burn me, but I ache for his warmth anyway.
He leans in closer, then moves his hand underneath the blanket when no one’s looking, then glides it upward and along the skin of my thigh. He traces slow paths with a gentleness that only a man like him could possess, and I can’t help the way my breath catches, becoming uneven with every stroke.
I glance over at Haze, stretched out in a recliner a few feet away, a glass of something amber resting in his hand. His eyes are alight with fire, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though he doesn’t say a word. He tilts his head and watches me with that unamused, calculating stare, as if he can see everything that’s happening beneath the throw but is very deliberately pretending he can’t.
Beau’s fingers continue to trail upward, teasing along my skin, and I shift instinctively, opening for him without thinking. I need to feel him. I have been teased. Tormented. Dragged closer and closer to the edge each passing day, and I am fucking desperate to feel him.All of them.
Will there ever be a time that I don’t? Will I always think back to right now and compare any guy I meet to them? Even though I haven't had sex with them, just their presence alone has made it pretty fucking impossible to unravel from. They’ve set the bar ridiculously high.
His touch lingers a moment longer, resting just above my panties, and I bite back a gasp when his fingertips move, brushing the thin fabric covering my pussy. West and Haze’s voices are nothing more than a distant hum of incoherent murmurs, swallowed by the chaotic weather and the thrum of my own pulse.
Haze hasn’t taken his eyes off me. Not once. The intensity of his gaze burns into me as Beau starts to stroke me through the fabric.
“You’re so fucking wet, Babydoll,” he whispers, causing heat to pool low in my stomach. My every nerve is on fire right now because of what he’s doing. It’s wrong. Especially with West, who hasn’t so much as looked at me since I sat down here, staring out at the storm a few feet away. “Is this for me, baby?” Beau murmurs, gliding his fingers up and down, making it impossible to think of anything else but the way he’s making me feel, and the need to come.
Haze’s ominous eyes track every move, as if he can see everything that’s happening beneath this blanket. His lashes flutter slightly as it shifts with each flick of Beau’s fingers. He bites his bottom lip, his jaw clenching, before lifting his gaze to meet mine. The storm has nothing on the intensity in his stare, and I shift beneath Beau’s touch when he pulls my panties to the side and slides a finger along my wetness. Haze’s pupils dilate, and I don’t miss the subtle flush coloring his cheeks. Every flick of Beau’s hand makes us both squirm, and my mouth parts on a silent moan because I can’t fucking help it. This feeling. Everything about them leaves me breathless and sets me on fire.
Haze rises from his seat, stretching casually and clears his throat. “Anyone want a drink?” His voice is calm and devoid of any proof of the trance we had just been under. I can, however, see the bulge in his black sweats, and that makes me smile an accomplished smile because ha! Beau continues to play with me, and I can’t help sneaking a glance at his face. Smug and confident and so clearly turned on, it makes me weak in the knees.
West nods, and so does Beau and me. Haze smirks and disappears to the drink caddy located in the corner of the room behind where we’re seated. He returns with three glasses, one for Beau, one for West… and himself. I stare, my eyes narrowed as he takes a seat beside Beau.
“Sorry, Princess. Only got two hands.”Asshole.I immediately realize what he’s doing. Not only does he get to interrupt what Beau and I were doing, but he’s also going to force me to get up and get my own. Wearing this. I tug at the blanket, though Beau and Haze clutch it firmly, preventing me from taking it with me. Unbelievable. If I don’t get up, it’ll look awkward, and West will catch on that something is going on. So, I clear my throat, shoot them both a death glare, and rise from my comfortable spot on the couch. I walk toward the caddy and I swear I can feel West’s stare searing into me with every step. My cheeks flare as heat climbs up my spine and when I notice that Haze did, in fact, pour me a drink, I let out a soft, tired sigh. I reach for the glass and spin around, only to catch Beau and Haze locked together on the couch, kissing each other’s faces off. Nice, guys. As if things weren’t already hot around here.
I look up at West. His beautiful, blue gaze roams from my feet to the tops of my thighs, where the nightie clings, and then slowly up to meet my own. He falters for just a second, and I can tell he’s remembering the last time he saw me wearing this. Drink in hand, he walks away from the window and sits in the recliner Haze was sitting in just moments ago. That leaves me with no choice but to sit beside a very lovey-dovey Beau and Haze. I let my gaze lock with West’s as I lower myself into the seat, not bothering to hide. This is me in all my damn glory. Besides, it isn’t as if he hasn’t seen more of me before. And if it bothers him, he’s going to have to say something. He doesn’t and neither does anybody else. In fact, no one says a damn word about anything.
The storm is practically abusing the outside of this house, and nobody has anything to say about it. What am I supposed to do, sit here in silence? Fuck that. Who knows how long the storm will last? Not to mention the obvious storm brewing in this room. I lift the glass and take a sip. I regret it instantly,because it tastes like absolute shit. I clear my throat, letting the burn subside, and force as much calmness into my voice as I can, even though my pulse is still hammering and every nerve in my body is still on edge from what Beau was doing to me, literally minutes ago.
“Trip’s almost over, huh?” I murmur, which was a stupid thing to say because that’s not something that requires a response, and I am desperate for this not to be awkward. For a moment, no one speaks, which is what I was afraid of. Then West shifts, his gaze still on me, but there’s nothing soft about it.
“Yeah,” he says at last, voice rough and sexy, and fuck, I want him. “It is.” When it’s clear he’s finished speaking, I bite the inside of my cheek.Yeah, it is?That’s it? Is he kidding me right now? Then just like that, he looks away. Turns toward the window and gazes back out at the storm. He’d rather look at anything but me. As if I’m dismissed. What is it about this man that makes me want to please him? To let him call the shots and obey his every command, because I’m almost ready to let the fact that I am bothered go. Even though that’s the opposite of what I want. My chest feels heavy with frustration as I take another sip of the lighter fluid Haze poured me and stand, crossing the room and slowly stop in front of the window closest to West. It’s pitch black outside. The storm has swallowed everything, and it’s nothing but a wet mess out there.
Relatable.
