“Does it matter?”
No. No, it did not.
“Goddamn,” he muttered again, stepping closer so he could touch.
“Is that chocolate syrup?” Nico asked, dragging his finger through a puddle of dark liquid pooling in Stevie’s belly button.
She inhaled sharply. “Yes.”
Stone touched a mound of white that was steepled over Stevie’s nipple. “And whipped cream?”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“What were you goin’ for?” Nico asked, but even Stone knew the answer didn’t matter.
Before he realized what he was doing, Stone was rolling up his sleeves, gearing up to dig in. This was gonna get messy.
Hours later, as the three of them were taking turns in the shower, Stone found himself grinning like an idiot. He never did get a chance to give either of them the gifts he’d gotten them, but he hoped the hours of pleasure and multiple orgasms made up for it.
It was a Valentine’s Day that would go down in the history books, that was for damn sure.
Thirty-Five
Thursday, February 15, 2024
“Are you gonna eat that?”
Reilly peered down to see Tate pointing at the last piece of bacon on her plate.
She pushed it toward him, shaking her head.
They’d met at the diner to discuss at length the real possibility of a double wedding. Since Tate’s excited phone call the night he finally agreed to marry Donovan, Reilly had been waiting for this conversation. Up to this point, they’d exchanged bits and pieces but nothing concrete. She wasn’t even sure he was serious when he agreed that a double wedding would be cool.
Only now, he seemed to be avoiding the conversation. Every time she tried to ask him something, he shoved more food down his gullet.
“You’re avoidin’ me,” she said, leaning back in her seat and glaring at her best friend.
“What?” His mouth was full, so the word came out muddled.
“You heard me.” Her eyes shifted to the plate, then back to his face. “Are you gonna eat that next? Choke down some glass to avoid talkin’? If so, I’m gonna record it. It’ll look good on TikTok.”
Tate grabbed his napkin and wiped his mouth before reaching for his pineapple juice.
Her nostrils flared when he took a sip. She didn’t know how he could even drink that. Eating pineapple was one thing—especially since she’d read somewhere that it made oral sex better because it changed the taste of vaginal fluid, which in turn made it taste… Wow.Way to go off the rails, Jameson.She really shouldn’t be thinking about Brady licking her pineapple-flavored vagina while Tate was sucking down that juice with a straw. It was weird.
She shook her head and picked up her chocolate milk, forcing away thoughts of what flavorthatmight change it to.
“If you don’t want a double wedding, just say so,” she snapped, her tone harsher than intended.
Tate slowly set his glass down and sighed. “I do, actually.”
Hope bloomed in her heart. “Really?”
He nodded.
Reilly had known Tate all her life, so she had the opportunity to memorize every one of his facial expressions. And he had a lot—like too many. This one … it was either his constipated face, or he was open to something but knew the cons outweighed the pros.
She wasn’t going to like the answer, but she asked anyway. “But?”
