Page 37 of Four on the Floor: A Menage Romance

“Raincheck, love?” I ask.

Chapter Fourteen

Larkin

I’ve officially lostmy mind. First, I slept with one of my fellow artists at this inescapable, five-person artist retreat. You know, the kind of thing every sane person would tell menotto do?

Then I slept with another one.

Then I slept with both of them at once, which is really starting to get crazy. I’m not very good at being in a relationship withoneperson, let alone two — how on earth do I navigatethat?

Then, apparently not content with making my love life the craziest it’s ever been, I made out with their other bandmate too.

I didn’t mean to. I told myself, over and over again, that even though Cash and Dalton made it pretty clear that they’d never be jealous and were perfectly happy to share me, that I would keep the madness limited to two.

Yeah, it didn’t work. I could barely resist Gavinbeforehe teased me about being a nude model and took his shirt off, but half-naked? In my studio?

I didn’t stand a chance. Gavin’s hot as a five-alarm fire on a summer day: that sexy little grin he’s got, the accent, the fact that he’s got the body of a Greek god. I stopped him before I saw his cock — hoping against hope thatmaybeI could still resist him — but oh, my God, does their band have a ‘enormous dicks only’ rule or something?

Did they hold tryouts based purely on dick size?

I try to spend the rest of the afternoon painting, but I can’t concentrate. I consider heading up to my room and providing myself with some relief via vibrator or dildo, but I don’t even bother. I know it won’t work very well.

I don’t want a dildo, I want Gavin to grab my wrist, pin me down, and fuck me while he whispers dirty nothings in my ear. I didn’t even know I wanted that until this afternoon, but I do.

This peaceful, tranquil retreat is getting out of hand.

* * *

We have,at least, established some rhythms at The Centennial, mainly that we trade off making dinner every night, and whoever doesn’t cook has to clean up. It’s all very civilized and orderly — not what I was expecting from a rock band, but I wasn’t exactly expecting any of this, so I’m not going to start complaining.

It’s Dalton’s day to cook again, and this time he didn’t light anything on fire or burn the place down. Of course, all he did was put a pre-made frozen lasagna in the oven, but he remembered to take the plastic wrapping off and everything.

The meal is surprisingly tension-free, even if Gavin keeps giving me hot looks over his lasagna, and I can’t stop wondering what Cash and Dalton are thinking about. Whether they’re thinking about me, about last night, about Gavin, about all of this.

Slate’s quiet, as usual. He makes polite conversation, laughs politely at his bandmates and me, then disappears again almost as soon as he’s done eating. Slate’s a bit of a mystery, but he just seems to like being alone, and his bandmates like him, so I like him too.

It helps that he’s incredibly hot in a moody, brooding sort of way, with dark hair and ice-blue eyes that feel like they’re looking right into your core. Like the rest of his bandmates, he’s tall and powerfully muscled, filled with the sort of quietly confident masculinity I find wildly appealing.

But he’s clearly not interested. Besides, isn’t three enough? They’re men, not Pokémon.

After dinner, Gavin and Cash take the dishes into the kitchen while I wipe the table down. I pop the leftovers into the huge refrigerator, put the salt and pepper away, and when I come back into the kitchen, Gavin’s shirtless.

Again. I stop abruptly in my tracks, and both of them glance over at me. Gavin’s arms knot as he lifts a huge pot out of the sink, dumping water back in.

“Saves me getting my shirt wet,” he explains. “Can’t have that.”

“Obviously not,” I echo, staring.

Cash puts something on the drainboard, dries his hands, steps out of the kitchen. I watch him go, the back of my mind noting how well his jeans fit, the way that his shirt hugs his biceps. For a moment, my mind drifts to the night before, howgoodit felt to have both of them at once.

“Come over here,” Gavin says.

I go. He shuts the water off and turns toward me, sliding his hand around my back as I get near, shivers shooting down my spine.

“We’ve unfinished business, haven’t we?” he murmurs, his voice suddenly low and gravelly.

He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just captures my mouth with his. I melt into him instantly and he takes me in his arms, pulling me close, his fingers already lacing through my hair.

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