Page 71 of Lucy and Her Wicked Three

"I'm gonna get really good at fucking you, my friend."

I choke on a laugh against his chest then pull up. "I knew you were going to get cocky about learning something new."

He shrugs unapologetically. "Because you know me. But yeah, you're gonna teach me how to take you like that. We've got so much to explore together. I can't fucking wait."

He's got a mischievous look in his eye. I like that he's in a teasing mood. We should get up and shower. But I have to say it.

Or not, because he cuts me off when I open my mouth, the concerned look on my face spurring him into action.

"I'm not gonna hurt you, Noah. I love you."

He says it like he means it. He can't really mean it though, right? This is new for him. Thinking of me this way. Being with a man. I open my mouth to argue, but he interrupts me again.

"Iloveyou. I think I've always loved you. I've watched you, too. It just took longer for me to build up to this. There's never been anyone else that I've… It's you, Noah. I love you. Are you hearing me?"

Fuck, I'm gonna cry.

Instead, I smirk, taking a page out of his book, rubbing the come all over him. "We're sticky, and I need some aftercare. You're up, asshole."

He chuckles, slapping my thigh when we both crawl out of the bed. Before we make it to the bathroom, I push him up against the door, and lean in for a kiss. "I love you, too."

Chapter 24

Lucy

LunaLoves11 comments: I fucking knew that bitch @ZenInTheCity was full of shit, totally unoriginal

BigWaves_eastcity comments: r u kidding me?! Plz someone tell @ZenInTheCity to go back to whatever mediocre hole she crawled out of. No one needs toxic ppl like this, @WaywardDelaney we're so proud of u!

TechnotronBoytoi comments: fake fake fake. Nothing but filters, lies and bullshit. Im unfollowing @ZenInTheCity, you should too

MyDogsSmarterThanYou comments: i honestly think @ZenInTheCity is whats wrong with this country. She always sounded annoying and preachy to me, but hearing how awful of a person she is? #boycottlucy <-make it happen ppl

With my basket full of avocados, I take a quick look at my shopping list to see what other things I still need to pick up at the market. Trying to pry unhealthy snacks away from Silas, while entertaining, is fruitless, so I'm attempting to make homemade healthy versions of his favorite junk food. Noah's already warned me Silas will likely love and devour what I make—then dig into the Cheetos.

Which only made me laugh. Still, it's fun to try. I add buttermilk and eggs to the basket before making my way over to the bread, when my phone beeps in my pocket.

I feel a knot of tension in my stomach before remembering that since I started carrying my phone around again, I changed the settings so only certain people could get through to me: Portia, Cara, Mary-Anne, and, of course, the guys.

I still have all my advertisers on silent. And even though they are, miraculously, happier than ever that my reach has grown to over 2 million, they're getting impatient waiting on product placement. I assured them I'll be back online soon, somehow finagling another four weeks off before they pull their offers.

So, I had four weeks left to rejoin the online world, to start posting pictures of whatever candle or bath oil or workout gear I was paid to flaunt, or find a new career.

It's already been four weeks since my world flipped upside down, so I'm determined to make this impromptu eight week sabbatical mean something at the end of it all.

Meanwhile, the apartment has never felt more like home. Silas hung some of his paintings and other pieces of art, transforming the once unintentional-minimalist vibe to a vibrant space for our found family. Noah and I cook together nearly every night, and I run errands while he and Silas work in Mateo's office—another room they transformed and took over—or on the couch.

Mateo gets home late, back to his typical work schedule, and only once he didn't come home at all, so the three of us surprised him with takeout at his office.

I've spent the night with each of the three of them every single night since the day the guys moved in. At this point, my reluctance to continue working as an influencer is more about protecting our perfect bubble than it is feeling anxious over being online.

Apparently, I haven't learned my lesson by letting the warm, fuzzy feeling of being in love obscure reality.

When my phone beeps again, I dig it out of my bag, shifting the basket handle onto my forearm. There's a text from Portia telling me to get online and watch Delaney's live video.

Slipping my headphones on, I open the app and find Delaney's profile. I haven't spoken to her since she came to my apartment, but I have received a few texts from her. They're more apologies, asking if I want to get together, but I haven't bothered responding. I have no idea what to say to her.

My blissful happiness at home may have made the pain of what happened fade, but that doesn't mean I don't remember what happened, how that entire week felt, how it still feels, to think someone I trusted could do that to me.

---