“Okay, well, part of that work islisteningto me when I say what I want. Not overprotecting me and treating me like I don’t have a voice.”
“You’re right,” he replies with a nod. Touching the side of my face, he adds, “You’re so right. Be patient with us, Chef. We’re trying.”
With a loving smirk, I lean into him. “He let you pee on him, but I can’t seem to even get fucked in the kitchen.”
Archer laughs loudly. “Let’s go upstairs. I will gladly fuck you in the kitchen.”
“No,” I say as I pull away. “I have to go make dinner.”
“Make it clear to him you want to be fuckedwhilemaking dinner,” he says, standing up from the bench.
“I’ll try,” I reply as I stand up and place a quick kiss on his cheek. As Archer picks up his gloves and starts swinging at the bag again, I take the groceries in my arms and turn back to watch him a moment. “Hey, Arch.”
He turns and looks at me expectantly.
“I liked you teaching me. Will you do it again sometime?”
His face stretches in a crooked grin as he nods. “Yes, Chef.”
I’m filled with warmth and a hint of excitement as I finish my trek to the penthouse. I unlock the door to Julian’s apartment, pausing when I hear the soft sound of him playing the piano. Smiling to myself, I open the door and walk inside.
“It’s just me,” I call to him, and the music stops.
Carrying the bag of groceries to the counter, I see him sitting on the piano bench with his fingers on the keys.
“Don’t stop,” I complain.
While I unpack the ingredients I picked up for dinner, he continues playing. It’s something I’ve never heard before. Not like anything classical or familiar.
“Did you write that?” I ask as I place the butter and cream in the fridge.
“My mom did,” he replies.
“It’s beautiful.”
For the past few months, I’ve been at Julian’s more than my own apartment. So has Archer, although his place is just a couple of floors down. We’ve grown comfortable with this life. Even I’ve learned to accept it as the norm, although I haven’t had to actually put that to the test yet.
My mom has been dropping requests to come visit for the restaurant opening, but I always manage to talk her out of it. I tell her I just need time. Or that it would be better to come when I’m not so stressed and busy. It fills me with guilt every time.
I’ll get there. I will.
Setting the pot on the range and turning on the heat, I walk out of the kitchen and over to the piano. Julian is still playing mindlessly, and I take a moment to admire how perfect he is. He’s still the same steely-cold man I first met, but now I see so muchmore. There are dimensions and layers to Julian. Far more than what’s on the outside.
While he plays, I climb onto his lap, putting myself between his body and the piano. It makes him chuckle to himself before he moves his delicate fingers from the keys to my body.
As I lean back, my elbows rest on the ivories, playing an unnatural sound. Julian drags his fingers up the length of my body and over my breasts.
Since having sex with them the first time, I feel almost feral for more. I can’t seem to get enough. I want sex all the time. In the morning, in the middle of the day, at night.
The bond between me and each of the guys is strong, but with each other, they can be more uncensored. They’re so busy protecting me half the time that I don’t get that same treatment.
Yes, this is new to me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t consent to what I want. I’m expressing it, and they should trust me when I say I’m ready.
Julian tugs me toward him, and I kiss his lips, slipping my tongue in his mouth to slide delicately against his. He moans softly as I grind against him. The evidence of his arousal is growing harder under my ass.
The oven beeps in the kitchen, meaning it’s preheated, so I pull away from our kiss.
Looking him in the eye, I remember what Archer said downstairs, and I try to convey exactly what I’m offering when I whisper, “I’ll be in the kitchen.”
