Page 69 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

We all hold out our cups and Dalton pours. We toast again, this time to The Centennial and specifically the hot springs at The Centennial, for being such an excellent place to drink champagne.

It’s my fourth glass in a few hours, so I’ll toast to anything. Especially with these guys around. They can be very persuasive.

It’s our last night here, and even though I’m a little sad about it — this retreat wasverygood for me, in every way possible — it’s a bummer to say goodbye to the place where we all met.

Earlier, Gavin cooked us all dinner, since he’s far and away the best cook, and we ate Dalton’s cake. Cash was right that it didn’t look great, but Dalton was right that it tasted great. Hard to go wrong with chocolate cake, after all.

Then we grabbed a bunch of champagne and came out here for one final dip in the hot springs. We’ve put away quite a few bottles, because it turns out that four huge rock stars can really put a dent in some champagne, though none of them really seem more than slightly tipsy.

But they’re also all six foot plus and nothing but muscle, so I imagine they’d need to drink quite a lot more than me to get there.

I relax into Gavin’s shoulder, my feet up on Slate’s knee, as I think about what the next few days will bring.

“Think Poppy will know something happened?” I ask, swishing my toes around in the water.

Cash tilts his head thoughtfully, taking a long sip.

“Maybe,” he says. “She seems perceptive.”

“She probably just assumes something has happened,” Dalton offers. “A bunch of single people alone for three months?”

“I’d bet money thatsomethinghappens every year,” Slate chimes in, grinning slightly into his champagne.

“I doubt she thinks it was this, though,” Gavin muses, his voice right in my ear. “I mean, it’s not exactly standard, is it?”

We all laugh, but I get that familiar flutter deep in my stomach. He’s right: this isn’tstandard, and even though they’d reassured me a thousand times each, I still can’t help but wonder what will really happen once we get out there, into the regular world, away from our own private corner of it.

“Cheers to our own private corner,” Cash says, holding his cup up. “And to our own private girlfriend.”

I laugh and toast him, leaning forward in the hot tub.

As I lean back, Gavin’s hand slides between my legs, the pads of his fingers slightly rough on my skin even when he’s waterlogged.

“Particularly the girlfriend,” he says, and leans in and kisses me.

My brain fizzes like the champagne we’re drinking, my body already eager and overheated. I kiss him back hard, his grip tightening on my inner thigh as my body responds to his touch.

The other three watch. I can practically feel their eyes on me, each knowing that he’ll get his turn. It’s a strange but wonderful sensation, and I like it.

Gavin ends the kiss but doesn’t take his hand off of me, teasing me in whirls, his fingers ever higher on my leg.

Then Slate is there, on my other side, his hand on my back. It’s underneath the tie of my bikini top, and he fingers it slowly as he kisses me, teasing. When he pulls back, I’m already breathing hard, tipsy from the champagne and overheated from the guys in the hot tub.

“What do you say to a final celebration?” Slate asks, his low voice bottoming out. “We’ve got one more night here.”

He raises one eyebrow and my heart skips a beat.

All four of them?

You knew it was coming.

I still haven’t had all of them at once. I only took three of them the night of the storm — other than that, I’ve been with all my guys as singles and doubles. One is a lot, and two can be overwhelming — twice as many hands and mouths on me.

Twice as many cocksinme.

The night with Gavin, Slate, and Dalton was completely mind blowing. Absolutely incredible, but there’s no way I can do that all the time. I think it would break my brain.

I’m nervous, but ready for all of them at once. After all, I’ve had three months to work up to this.

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