Her brows quirked up. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah, it feels good being claimed.”
Her smile nearly reached her eyes.
In between the festival and playoffs, the two of us had spent the bulk of our time learning each other’s bodies, playing out our wants and fantasies. Like my praise kink—just last night, she had lauded me with compliments while riding my face to orgasm—and her interest in rope play—I had already booked us a privateshibariclass for her birthday in December.
“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Dani said. “I already have to hear this shit through the wall every night.”
Nero nodded. “Tell me about it.”
Nessa giggled and tucked herself under my arm. “Maybe you should get out more. You know, make new friends. Or maybe—” She nodded across the room. “Hang out with old ones.”
My attention followed hers across the room, eventually landing on June, who was nursing a drink alone by the bar. My eyes ping-ponged between her and Nero. There was no missing the longing clouding his pupils.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Ne, aren’t you tired of pretending?”
Nero sipped his drink and turned his attention back to the stage.
“You’re going to miss the show, Ness.”
“But—”
“Angel.” She looked up at me, leaving her brother to make an escape in the opposite direction. “Remember what you told me? About friends in relationships trying to set you up?”
She frowned.
I traced figure eights around her shoulder. “Let it happen when it happens.”
“Ifit happens,” she grumbled.
I shook my head. “When it happens.”
She settled back into my side just as Kaylani banged her gavel once more, this time closing the deal between Tucker and . . .
“That’s the podcast guy,” Nessa said. “Brock Heller.”
It sure was.An interesting development indeed.
Bennett was up next. For the next few minutes, he swayed side to side, looking both excited and terrified to be there. As it turned out, there had been no need for his trepidation. People from around the room volleyed increasing dollar amounts toward our catcher.
Seven hundred, eight hundred, one thousand dollars.
“Holy shit.” Dani clinked her nails against her wineglass. “Benny’s got game.”
Nothing could have prepared me for the familiar voice that sounded out above the rest. The same one that had called me “Jare-bear” for the first two decades of my life.
“Eighteen hundred dollars.”
My eyes widened like saucers.
“Belles, what are you doing?”
Not two seconds later, she raised her bet. “Two thousand dollars.”
“Sold.”
