Tessa's eyes darkened as Dixon's fingers stroked her neck. "Well, since you mentioned it..." She set down her spoon and turned to face him fully.
I swallowed hard, watching them. The air in the kitchen shifted, like someone had cranked up the thermostat ten degrees. The failed dessert was already forgotten, replaced by something far more enticing.
"I think I need to change," Tessa announced suddenly, her voice husky. "My dress has egg white on it."
Dixon's grip on her neck tightened slightly. "Changing implies you need new clothes.”
"It does,” she breathed out. “Do you have a different definition?”
“I’m a show, not tell kind of guy.” Dixon released her neck, snaking both hands down the curves of her body until he could slip his fingers beneath the hem of the short dress.
My breath caught in my throat as I watched Dixon's hands disappear beneath the fabric of Tessa's skirt. He pulled the length of it up slowly, deliberately, revealing the lace panties that did little to conceal the skin beneath. Higher, higher. Until Tessa raised her arms and let Dixon lift the dress from her body. No bra. Just gorgeous, plump breasts and pale pink nipples, already gone hard with desire.
The kitchen suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. My heart hammered as heat flooded through me. Would this feeling ever fade?No, never, I decided. What we had between us all was fucking forever.
"Maybe we should—" I started, but my voice cracked slightly. I cleared my throat, trying to regain some composure, but it was useless. The sight of them together, the way Tessa's eyes fluttered shut as Dixon's hands explored, made every rational thought scatter.
"Should what, Mac?" Tessa's voice was breathless, but her blue eyes found mine across the kitchen. There was something in her gaze—invitation, maybe. Or challenge.
Ryder moved closer, hand still holding a spoon coated in chocolate. He licked his lips, chasing away the last flecks of food from his mouth. "I think Mac was going to suggest we take this somewhere more comfortable."
"The kitchen's plenty comfortable," Tray chimed in, appearing at my shoulder. "Besides, we made this mess together. Seems only fair we clean it up together."
He was right.
Careful, stoic Mac would have cleaned as he worked. He’d never let so much mess accumulate.
But,fuck, something about the dirty bowls and the cracked eggs abandoned on the counter, and the drips of chocolate left from Tessa messily transferring the mixture into the ramekins, made me feel alive.
This was how it was meant to be sometimes.
Imperfect.
Uncultured.
A beautiful damn mess.
My mother's voice tried to wedge itself into my consciousness again—something about propriety and sin—but I shoved it down hard. This wasn't sin.This was home.
I rushed forward, and something about the way I moved and the way I looked must have translated to my pack brothers. Dixon shifted to the side, letting me get close to Tessa. I needed to feel her. Needed the promise that had been swirling around us while we baked.
I lifted her by the waist and set her on the kitchen island. She stared at me with trusting, impossibly blue eyes.
“Scoot back a little,” I told her, voice thick with my suffocating need for her.
She shifted wordlessly, until she was nearly at the island’s middle. I pushed things off the counter quickly, desperately, letting them fall wherever they would, not caring that I was making more of a mess. I just wanted only her to be in view. Her face. Her body.
“Lay down,” I could barely manage to say it. My throat felt thick as she lowered herself to the cold marble.
She sprawled back without protest, letting her head dangle off the edge, hair brushing the polished wood cabinets below. The angle stretched her body long and lean, every inch of her exposed to our hungry pack.
“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” I breathed out.
Though I couldn’t see her face well now, I knew she wouldn’t blush.She believed us know, when we told her how amazing she was. How beautiful and worthy.
I waited. Just drinking the sight of her in.
“You going to keep staring, or—?” She didn’t lift her head to look at me, but her hands began exploring over her own body. Her fingers moved slowly, teasingly. As she traveled over the mounds of her breasts, I felt myself losing control.
