Page 60 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

God, that’s sweet.

We pull the blanket over ourselves. I know that we should probably be preparing something or moving to the lounge with the wood burning stove, or getting ready for bed, but this is a nice moment, too.

It’s been about ten minutes when the door opens again. We all turn our heads, and there’s Cash, holding two flashlights and looking surprised.

Then, he grins, runs one hand through his hair.

“I’m late for the party, huh?” he asks, laughing.

I smile sheepishly, but Cash just walks over and gives me a good, long kiss on the mouth.

“Next time I’ll come check on you first,” he says with a wink, then straightens up. “I got the wood stove going in the other lounge, if you all want to move over there.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Slate

I wake up sweltering,already thrashing to get the blankets off as I come to.

Then I stare at a ceiling that isn’t mine. It isn’t the ceiling of the room I’ve got at The Centennial, either and for a moment I wonder where exactly I am.

Not that waking up in a strange place is an unknown feeling. I’ve awoken plenty of strange places: strange beds, strange buses, even the odd staircase and bathtub. I’m a rock star, for fuck’s sake.

Next to me, Larkin shifts in her sleep, rolling over.

I remember instantly. Everything. Walking in on her, Dalton, and Gavin. Finally breaking down, joining in. Sharing her with them, the three of us making me moan and tremble, again and again. Quite easily the peak erotic experience of my life.

Shit, I’m hard again.

After that we came in here, where the wood stove is, and wound up grabbing blankets and pillows and all sleeping in here. Cash and Dalton took the couches; Gavin and I curled up on the big bearskin rug with Larkin.

And now I’m the only one left, just waking up as gray light streams in through the windows.

The windows are open?

They already took the storm shutters off?

I must have overslept.

It was probably Gavin, maybe helped out by Cash. Gavin’s been going a little stir-crazy the past few weeks, I think, and Cash is almost physically unable to see someone doing a task without pitching in.

Larkin’s eyes flutter open, and my heart skips a beat. They’re dark blue, the last color the sunset turns before night, and her lashes frame her eyes so beautifully I can hardly stand it.

She blinks twice at the ceiling, then looks over at me.

Larkin smiles. I think I stop breathing.

“Morning,” she says.

I smile back, because how could I not?

“Morning,” I respond. “Sleep well?”

Larkin rolls over, onto her stomach. She’s in a tank top and panties and I’m in just my boxers, and as she moves, I can see her shoulder blades rolling under her skin. It’s transfixing.

“Surprisingly, I did,” she says, stroking the fur with one hand. “Given that I might have slept on a dead bear.”

She doesn’t sound thrilled about that part.

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