Page 17 of Mistletoe and Mischief

Sabrina’s right. This will be easier without Trent nearby. That’s one complication I don’t need tonight. And yet, I wish he could be there.

Pulling up in front of their building, I’m surprised the valet knows my name. He takes my keys with a polite nod. Another attendant steps forward. I barely have time to glance at the building’s facade before I’m ushered inside. So much for my planto sneak a peek at whatever they have set up on the roof, as if I’d be able to see ten stories up or whatever it is.

Inside the elevator, the attendant swipes a keycard, enabling the button for the roof. He steps out, leaving me alone. The doors close with a soft whoosh, and I’m on my way up. Anticipation builds with each passing floor, no stops along the way.

I smooth down my dress, a long-sleeved, tight-fitting number that hugs my curves and wonder if I should have added leggings. Good for the cold weather, but not for sex, which I’m desperately overdue for. Surely they’ll have a heater if we’re truly having dinner on the roof. I take a deep breath, study my reflection in the mirrored door, and pull my loose curls over my shoulders.

The elevator hums to a stop, the doors slide open, and three burly men stand ready for me.

Cole, Blake, and Landon, each dressed to impress. Meaning t-shirts stretched across contoured pecs. Jeans and sweatpants straining to hide erections. And long jackets that promise to keep me warm, whomever’s lap I sit on.

Blake points up, drawing my gaze to a sprig of mistletoe dangling from the string lights. Excitement courses through me as he steps closer, wraps his arms around me, and presses his lips to mine. His kiss is firm, confident, and reminds me how much I need another round of sex with them.

I keep telling myself it can’t be as good as I remembered, but that kiss—his tongue exploring my mouth, and the perfect way our bodies fit together—speaks otherwise.

He passes me to Cole, whose embrace is softer, more tender. His lips meet mine in a gentle kiss that leaves me breathless. I can smell the faintest hint of his cologne, a woodsy scent that makes me want to bury my face in his neck.

Landon is next, his eyes filled with a desire that matches my own. His kiss is hungry, passionate, and I can feel the restraint inhis body, the effort it takes for him to hold back, mainly because his erection betrays him. His hands grip my waist, pulling me close.

I’m already drunk on their kisses. My panties are drenched. This is exactly what I’ve been craving. When Landon steps behind my back, pulls me into his chest, and wraps his arms around me, so I can see the scene they’ve set up for me, I’m speechless.

The rooftop has been transformed into a romantic escape against the backdrop of the snowy city around us. Twinkling fairy lights are strung overhead, creating a canopy that bathes everything in a golden glow.

In the center of the space, a round table is set for four. Crisp white linen drapes elegantly over it, adorned with a delicate floral centerpiece that adds a pop of red. Silver domes cover what must be a dinner serving at each seat.

Candles flicker in ornate glass holders, their flames dancing in the gentle evening breeze. It takes me a moment to realize they must be electric, since they’re not blowing out. Still beautiful.

White-cushioned chairs surround the table, each one draped with a red throw blanket. A thoughtful touch.

The city skyline tapers off and the snow-covered mountains sparkle under the moonlight.

Landon’s arms tighten around me, and his breath warms my ear. “What do you think, Peaches?”

“It’s incredible—wait, it’sdazzling.” I try to keep a playful tone by returning to the D theme I was promised. “I can’t believe you did all of this.”

Blake steps forward, taking my hand. “You deserve it, Babygirl.”

Cole nods in agreement. “We have a whole evening planned.”

I feel a rush of warmth that has nothing to do with the heaters strategically placed around the rooftop. These men have gone tosuch lengths to create this magical evening. It’s more than I ever expected for our non-committal agreement.

Cole motions to the table. “After we feed you dolma, drunken noodles, and Dijon-roasted Brussel sprouts, we have another surprise.” He takes my hand, leading me to the side, where I can see behind the elevator shaft.

“Hold on. What is dolma?”

Blake says, “Another thing I can teach you, Babygirl.”

“I think Daddy’s still missing the point of which D thing I want most.”

Cole grumbles that I call Blake Daddy, and points.

“A helicopter?”

Blake says, “We tried to come up with a D word for it, but best we can do is to say, we’lldriveyou over the city while giving youdick.”

“Now you’re catching on, Daddy.”

Dinner is delicious, but a tinge of guilt wracks me that we don’t give it the time it deserves. All of us are eager to get in the helicopter and other D things.

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