Page 75 of Naughty & Nice

“Hey,” Wilder complains, stealing his cell back. “Oh fuck,” he gasps. I glance back to see his eyes wide. “Name doesn’t matter. She’s still not wearing any panties.”

“Jesus, you’re a whore,” Rix snaps.

“Look,” Wilder says, flashing the image on the screen at Hendrix.

“I don’t want to fucking see that.”

“Why? Is Noelle’s better?”

“Of fucking course it is. That has nothing on hers. Fucking perfect.”

I’m grateful I’m shrouded in darkness, although I can’t help but wonder if my cheeks burn so bright I turn into my own light source.

“Oh yeah?” Wilder muses.

“Can you both just stop?” I hiss.

“Sorry,” Hendrix mutters while Wilder states, “What? You’ve compared our dicks.”

“Yeah, and you probably don’t want to know the outcome of that,” I deadpan before demanding that Hendrix follow me toward the closet in the hallway.

If the emergency supplies aren’t in the kitchen, then that’s where they’ll be.

They have to be.

I refuse to believe that we’re now stuck here in the dark with nothing more than three shitty flashlights—assuming we can locate my cell, that is.

The person I message the most is here in this cabin with me; I’ve barely touched it since we arrived.

It takes a bit of searching, but eventually, Hendrix and I manage to locate a box that is full of candles, matches, and a couple of flashlights.

Together we set them up around the living room and flop back on the couch.

“Now what?” Wilder asks, dropping into the chair opposite.

“Uh…” Hendrix starts.

The room glows with the flickering candlelight, and the scent of vanilla floods the air.

“Not much really,” I mutter.

We might have some light, but I’m not sure it’s enough to read.

This was not part of my plans.

“I know,” Wilder suddenly says, leaping to his feet and rushing out of the room with his cell leading the way.

“That didn’t sound good.”

“At least we know he won’t be cooking,” I quip, vividly remembering our little lesson earlier.

“True.”

A bottle clinks, and my stomach knots.

This isn’t going to end well.

My eyes lock with Hendrix’s and I see the same hesitation dancing in his.

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