Caitlyn hit him playfully across the shoulder.
She wore a sheepish grin as she thrust her hand into the pouch of her overalls. When she pulled it out, something small was clutched in her palm. She flicked me an apologetic glance before saying, “Sorry, Ambrose. I only ordered one pair because, y’know... didn’t know I’d need two.”
She opened her palm to Blaise. Nestled there was a small box, the wordsHushbuds+ – drowns out all magical noise as well as snoring!written across it in swirling, glittery letters.
Blaise chuckled, his hand lifting to cup Caitlyn’s cheek. She flushed as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead before pulling back. Still smiling, he plunged a hand into the pocket of his sweatpants and produced an identical box.
“I ordered them after the first night,” he admitted. “They arrived while you were out gathering supplies.”
Caitlyn snorted softly. “Of course,” she muttered, handing her box to Blaise. “Guess Fate was planning ahead.”
Blaise reached past me to set the boxes on the nightstand. His arm brushed against mine as he did, close enough that I felt the heat of him, close enough that his breath curled against my neck when he straightened.
His gaze met mine.
And just like that, the sexual tension snapped back into place.
Blaise’s golden eyes lingered on me, dipping to my lips, then my chest, then the unmistakable outline of my cock strainingagainst my pants. He finally tore his gaze away and shot Caitlyn a look—an unspoken invitation. An opportunity for her to decide.
Was she ready for this?
Did she need more time?
Did she want to watch?
Did she want to join?
Caitlyn, cheeks flushed and breath catching, took a seat on the edge of the bed, her eyes flickering between the two of us.
Our mate wanted to watch us.
Fuck.
Her sweet, heady desire flooded the room, lacing through Blaise’s scent, and all I could think as I drank my mates in was that I could fuckingdrownin them.
I couldn’t resist any longer. Bracing myself against the nightstand, I lifted a shaky hand to the buttons of my shirt. My fingers fumbled for a moment—
And then Blaise pushed my hands away.
His lips brushed along my jaw as he worked my buttons, trailing down my neck, over my chest, coming to a stop above my heart as his fingers pushed my shirt from my shoulders.
And then he stopped.
Just as I was on the verge of begging him to keep going, he picked up my crumpled shirt from the nightstand behind me—and folded it.
Fuck.
Fuck.
There had to be something wrong with me, because Blaise folding my clothes should not turn me on this much. But, Gods, there was a very real chance I’d come in my pants before he ever reached them if he kept this up.
And as if he could sense exactly how much it affected me—which, I reminded myself, he absolutely could—the corner of his mouth twitched into a teasing smile.
Then he dropped to his knees.
I didn’t even care that he placed the neatly folded shirt on the floor beside him instead of on a clean, untouched surface, because his hand was already sliding down the back of my thigh, tracing over my calf, before lifting my leg to rest my foot on his knee.
He undid my laces, easing the too-small boot from my foot, then my sock. He repeated the process with the other foot, setting my boots neatly side by side. He gathered my socks, aligned the hems, and—Gods, why was this so fucking erotic?—folded them into one another—andfuck, if he folded my pants along the seam next, I wasdefinitelynot going to last.
