Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 500(@200wpm)___ 400(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
“Just a minute longer, Banks,” Tobias murmurs, watching my face carefully. “She’s holding back, but she’s so bloody close.”
“We’ve got you, Elise,” Gabe says, kissing my temple. “You’re safe.”
Banks nods at me, communicating the same with his eyes.
Am I…holding back? I examine the thoughts racing through the back of my head and realize, yeah, underneath the wonder, there’s a subtext of worry. That I’ll get too close to these men and won’t be able to follow through. That I’ll abandon whatever is happening here halfway through and be the reason for another disappointment.
Banks leans down and kisses me hard, trapping Tobias’s hand and creating an abundance of pressure to my clit. Then he says, “You’re ours. No matter what you do, you‘re ours.” And then he presses Tobias’s fingers down tighter and I implode. A scream emerges from my mouth that hurts my own eardrums, electric gratification plunging to the deepest parts of me and lighting me up from the inside. My clit throbs while I’m hit again and again by waves of toe-curling decadence. The act of being restrained and worshipped while having an orgasm is unlike anything else. I shake and writhe and babble about the intensity refusing to ebb, my body in beautiful turmoil, three pairs of eyes watching my every move and loving them.
Finally, Banks stiffens and falls down on top of me, bellowing into my neck, his lower body jerking with every ribbon of release, the other two men groaning, as if imagining what Banks is feeling. How it feels to release while inside of me, our bodies slip-sliding together.
“Elise,” Banks says between shallow breaths. “What you did to me…I can’t even put it into fucking words.”
“We’ll fight anyone who comes for it,” Gabe vows in a resonant tone. “Ours.”
“Ours,” Tobias rasps, visibly trying to hide his awe.
We plunge into what I can only describe as a catatonic state. Banks drops down, face up on one side of me, Tobias sandwiches me in from the opposite side, still appearing very deep in thought. And Gabe joins us, throwing himself down onto the mattress beside Tobias.
“Try to cuddle with me, Gabe, and you’ll regret it,” Tobias snaps off, reaching down to hold my hand. But when I squeeze it, he sighs and says, “Not that you don’t seem like a good cuddler. I’m just not the warm and fuzzy type, yeah?”
I’m shocked when Tobias reluctantly looks at me for approval.
I give him a dazed smile and he stares, his Adam’s apple visibly caught beneath his chin.
At least until Gabe bear hugs him from behind.
Tobias hastily disengages. “What in the hell did I just—”
“Gotcha,” Gabe yawns, rolling over to face the pillows.
Banks bursts out laughing and after a moment, we all join him.
Despite the encroaching panic that I was able to temporarily shed while we…made love? Is that what happened here? It feels like much more than sex, as much as I’m scared to admit it.
I take a long, silent breath.
Regardless of the panic I’m experiencing, I force the drowsy smile back onto my face, determined to enjoy the boneless peace and sense of safety they give me—for now. Come the morning, I’ll decide what the heck I’m going to do about these three men. Men who I suspect will make it harder than I thought to walk away.
Chapter Thirteen
My Uber lets me out on the sidewalk in front of my building and I give the driver a tired thank you while climbing out. I have every intention of going straight into my apartment and taking a long, hot shower—not to mention, a damn good look in the mirror—but a newspaper sitting outside of the bodega next door halts me in my tracks.
The headline of the Post reads: Leaked Mayor Email Bombshell.
My stomach plummets as I approach and scan the subheading.
No comment from Albany regarding the scathing insults toward the governor, but sources say the NYC mayor can kiss his endorsement goodbye…
This is what I overheard Alexander and Crouch discussing last night at the Conrad. The information I saw them exchanging on that thumb drive—God, they worked fast.
And I know how the story got leaked.
I know definitively that Alexander is the mole.
Furthermore, I have the closest thing to proof.
Instead of going straight to my apartment, I turn on a heel and jog across the street to the twenty-four-hour CVS. One of the great things about New York is walking into a drugstore in a pink party dress and raccoon eyes on a Sunday morning and everyone just minds their own business. The single employee behind the register doesn’t even glance up from his phone while I email myself the photograph I snapped last night and print it out in eight- by-ten glossy form on one of their instant photo development machines. I purchase a manila envelope from the stationery aisle and tuck it inside, holding the picture close to my chest.