Page 22 of Room One Hundred and Eleven

The fuck-nest is formed by a luxurious round mattress ringed by a custom-made body pillow and an angled feather-filled topper that gives it a concave shape. The whole contraption is covered by faux rabbit fur. It’s thick and soft as fuck.

When I tried it out earlier, lying in the center of the plush bowl gave me a sense of comfort and security that I think Poppy will appreciate. Piles of pillows allow us to adapt our positions and keep everyone from popping a cramp while we’re reclining or contorting ourselves into whatever position is necessary to give our beauty whatever she ends up liking best.

“It’s where we’re going to execute our contract.” Carter can try to make this just another business exchange, but he wouldn’t have to rely on that for emotional distance if she didn’t have him under her spell too.

I glare at him but only when I’m facing a direction Poppy can’t spot my scorn. Then I turn back to her and hold out my hand. “Come with me. See how comfy it is.”

Before she can move forward, I kneel at her feet.

Carter nods, so I slip her heels off. Several inches shorter, she seems even tinier than she did when in paramedic mode—a lamb in badass clothing.

How the fuck are we going to survive when my cock and balls are already heavy and aching with the need to be wrapped in her?

While I’m down there, I get rid of Knox’s and Carter’s thousand-dollar shoes too, then toe off my own.

Sensual instrumental music cuts some of the awkward silence that might otherwise occupy the room as I take care of them.

When I rise, Poppy meets my gaze. “This is…incredible.”

Her lips are parted, begging me to kiss them, as she stares in awe at our surroundings.

But I don’t.

Not yet.

Carter hovers between her and Knox and me to make sure we stick to the plan.

Woo first. Fuck second.

Make it last all night.

Keep each other going so we can load our beauty up over and over.

Give her the best first time any woman’s ever had or ever will.

“Bring her.” Carter is first to step into the nest, reclining on the pile of cushions like a sultan waiting to be served by his concubines. Except Poppy is the center of our attention tonight.

Knox takes one of her elbows and I cup the other in my hand. Together we help her into the center of the squishy fuck-nest—fine, now he’s got me calling it that too—and present her to Carter like the offering she is.

The three of us sit in a triangle with Poppy at our center—her knees together and her legs folded to one side—as demure as possible in that sexy-as-fuck dress.

She plucks a flower from one of the pillows and twirls it slowly beneath her nose, brushing the petals against her soft smile as she inhales its fragrance. “How did you know these are my favorite?”

“Melody and Riley helped us out.” Knox beams at her. It was his idea to ask for tips.

“So this isn’t some generic setup?”

“No, we arranged it special for you.” I tuck a wave of hair behind her ear.

That’s when I notice her eyes growing shiny and the tears welling in them. Oh no.

I wrap her in a hug, and she clutches me back as if afraid to let go so I lift her onto my lap and rock her gently, as if I know how to comfort a woman.

Apparently it works, though. She nuzzles my neck. “Thank you. I’m sorry I almost messed it all up.”

“That’s done.” Carter leans toward a gold serving tray on a low stand situated outside the fuck-nest. It holds a bottle of champagne in a bucket of ice and an assortment of fruit, cheese, and chocolate.

He pours four glasses of the finest bubbly, passing them out as Knox swipes a chocolate-covered strawberry from the platter.

---