Page 155 of Filthy Rich Santas

35

BECKETT

My body feels morerelaxed than I can ever remember after a scene like this. Not just sexually sated, but something deeper that I’m not willing to look at. Instead, I carefully disentangle myself from the others and get to my feet.

The room is quiet except for the soft breathing of the others. Lana is still fast asleep, looking soft and flushed and just as tempting in sleep as she does awake. Ryder and Tristan have both dozed off on either side of her, and it’s far too tempting to pull her back into my arms, close my eyes, and stay a little longer.

Tempting, but dangerous. I was not fucking prepared for this.

I scrub a hand over my face, then turn away to grab my clothes. I’ve kept my feelings for Lana locked away for years, buried so deep I thought they’d never see the light of day.

No matter how good the sex is—and it’s fucking phenomenal—it’s not the time to unearth those feelings now.

Or ever.

I get dressed as quietly as I can, then slip out of the room, wondering if I should have stuck to my initial plan when Tristan first proposed this arrangement. I was determined not to let her touch me even after we all agreed to help her explore her kinks. I instinctively knew that if I broke, if I really got into this with her, there was a chance I would never recover from it.

But I did break, and while I’m not sure I was wrong about it wrecking me, what’s done is done now. And I wouldn’t give up these past few days for anything.

Still, right now, I need to clear my head.

The hallway outside the private room that our friend Dustin, Eclipse’s owner, gave us for the night has mostly emptied out now, and I head toward the main area, hoping to find him.

“Looking for something I can help you with, sir?”

A curvy sub wearing a bracelet that tells me she came to play smiles at me as I pause near the St. Andrew’s cross in the main play area, scanning the dimly lit area for the familiar face of my friend.

“I’m good,” I tell her absently, finally catching sight of Dustin.

I grin at the sight of him. We’ve been friends for years, and the guy is even more heavily tattooed and pierced than I am.

He’s also one of the main people who first encouraged me, Tristan, and Ryder to open Radiance—encouragement that he followed up with a lot of practical advice.

He’s always been a good sounding board, and as I approach him, he takes one look at me and gets a knowing smirk on his face.

Fuck. He knows me too well, and I’ve got no doubt at all that he realizes some of the shit I’m currently so off kilter about after that incredible scene.

Then again, I guess that’s why I sought him out.

“Well, well. Look who finally emerged,” he says with a grin, nodding toward an empty barstool near the tall table he’s leaning against. “I was hoping I’d get a chance to say hello.”

“You know I wouldn’t show up without doing that,” I tell him, clapping his back when he pulls me in for a hug.

I slide onto the barstool he indicated and ask about his wife.

Dustin’s eyes go warm. “Carolyn is great. She’ll be sad she missed you.”

“You’ll have to tell her hello from all three of us.”

“You know it, brother.”

He turns to a passing server, flicking his fingers toward us, and a moment later, she comes over and slides a pitcher of water and a couple of glasses onto the table.

“I could use something stronger,” I grunt, making him laugh as he pours and passes me a glass.

We both know alcohol and consent don’t mix. It’s why neither one of our clubs allows it, not on any night that play is allowed.

I take the water, though, and he raises his own glass in a mock toast, smirking. “I heard you drew a crowd. Don’t tell me that wasn’t a good time.”

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