Page 34 of Room One Hundred and Eleven

They roll me off her, to my side, and together we crash in a tangled pile of limbs and sweat and the gluey aftermath of our carnal gluttony.

“Beauty, you okay?” Aiden spoons her, bundling her in the safety of his cocooning arms.

When she doesn’t respond, Knox angles for a better look over my spent and useless form.

“Beauty?” He shakes her shoulder gently.

But the only response from her is the most adorable snore I’ve ever heard.

I laugh. And laugh. And laugh.

Knox looks at me like I’ve really lost it this time, because that’s his job. Even Aiden raises a brow when I can’t catch my breath. But this was the most exhilarating night of my life, and I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow. Maybe these dumbasses knew what they were doing when they convinced me this was a good idea.

CHAPTER 11

Aiden

“You ever getting up?” Knox wonders from where he leans his hip against the dresser.

“Not until she does.” I nuzzle Poppy’s thick hair and snuggle closer, if that’s possible.

I’m stealing every cuddle possible before this is over. Usually I find myself sandwiched between Carter and Knox, which is great. All that hard, hot muscle.

But our beauty is soft and extra huggable.

She’s been out cold for nearly eleven hours.

This time, our quiet conversation seems to rouse her.

With a sigh, she buries her face in the crook of my neck and makes a snuffle of protest as she fights waking up.

Knox joins us, sitting at the edge of the mattress on her opposite side. Carter is in the other room with his laptop, taking over the world by buying and selling companies.

You know, whatever it is he does for fun.

When Knox strokes Poppy’s hair, she stirs a bit.

I’m sure she’s awake for real when all of the relaxation flees her body and she goes ramrod straight, ripping from my hold.

It was nice while it lasted.

“You’re okay, Poppy,” I croon in her ear softly, helping her remember. “It’s me, Aiden. We brought you back to your room after…making love…with you at Club Sin last night.”

Knox raises a brow at me.

What does he think it is we did with her?

Sure, we fucked her. Drenched her.

But nothing about it felt detached or purely physical.

Rather than argue, he raises his voice and calls over his shoulder, “Carter, you can have food brought in. Beauty’s up.”

“On it,” he responds before strolling into the room while tapping out a text to the executive concierge. They have our favorites on file, I’m sure.

“What time is it? Heck, what day is it?” Poppy scrubs her fists over her eyes. “Where am I again?”

I’d like to be pleased that we screwed her so senseless, yet something feels off. Even after what we shared, she shouldn’t be this out of it.

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