Page 39 of Good Girl

Christ.

The tiny noise of discomfort Emmy makes alerts me to the fact that I’m squeezing her. Taking a deep breath, I try to relax and focus on something else.

This girl is not mine to save. She’s just ours for the weekend.

It’s a timely reminder to myself.

Emmy twitches, saving me from my thoughts as her ass grinds into my hard cock, and it hits me that I can actually feel the gentle vibration through her. Since the fitting room, I haven’t been softer than a semi. My balls are begging to unleash, and if we continue with our plans for the weekend, that won’t be too far off.

One of us will stay with Emmy in the bedroom while she continues to come back to herself, maybe give her one more orgasm. During that time, we’ll rearrange the black curtains to expose our own private dungeon.

“Are we going to discuss what she told us?” Derek’s voice cuts through the silence of the car like a bullet through glass. “Do you think we need to adjust our plans?”

“Her social media is empty,” Xavier replies, fingers drumming on the center console.

“Don’t you mean private?” I ask. “Maybe she has good cyber awareness.”

He shoots me a look from the front passenger seat. “There is private, and there is empty. Hers is empty. If we want moreinformation about her, I’ll need to get her date of birth and address.”

“I don’t think we should dig into her past. She isn’t ours, and she has a right to privacy. If she freely offers the information, that is one thing. We have no right to the information. This isn’t permanent. We aren’t her forever daddies.” My words create a pang in my chest, right below Emmy’s cheek. “If she were ours, it would be a different story.”

Across the seat, I can feel Darcy staring at me, and I look at him. His expression is . . . off.

“You don’t agree?”

He shakes his head. “I agree with the first part.”

Before I can request clarification, the car slows, and Derek is pulling into the underground parking for the condo. “So, change our plans, yay or nay?”

Only slightly out of sync, we all saynay.

The conversation dies there, and Derek parks the car. They all get out, and I remain waiting with our weekend girl.

There is a tap on my door before it opens, and Xavier is standing there, ready to take Emmy from me. The trunk opens, and I hear the rustle of bags as I pivot on the seat to allow Xavier better access. He takes her from me, carefully gathering her dress and making sure that she is completely covered.

Darcy starts gathering her bags from the trunk and Derek appears with a thin blanket that he gently tucks around Emmy. Once everything is secured and the car is locked up, we head toward the exit.

Without needing to talk about it, the rest of us surround their front and sides, protecting her from view of anyone who might happen to see us.

Thankfully, the elevator is empty, and we make it to our level without confrontation.

I get to the door before the others, holding it open for them to file through. Without a word, Xavier carries Emmy to the bedroom and disappears behind the closed door.

Before I can say anything, Darcy cuts me off. “He’s been sharing all day. Let him have this time. She was starting to wake up in the elevator, anyway.”

With a sigh, I trail behind the other two, over to the lounge. Derek reaches for the TV remote and turns it on to a sports channel, extinguishing the silence.

Emmy’s shopping bags are placed to the side, ready for her when she gets some free time to go through them this weekend or leaves tomorrow. We only have one more night with her and I’m not sure that it is going to be enough.

“What did she buy at the art store?” I ask as I flop down onto the couch, needing to redirect my thoughts. Again.

“Not much, to be honest. I was ready to purchase whatever she liked, but she only went to the register with charcoals and a sketch pad.” He flops down next to me, jostling my cushioned seat. “As it was, I had to put the cheap shit she picked back and practically had to strong-arm her into buying the better quality brands.”

“She’s not used to nice things,” Derek says, stating the obvious.

And even though itisobvious, it is such a dichotomy to our own lives, where we have nothing but the nicest things, that it sends a shock through to my core.

“We knew there was something going on from the state of her things at the hotel last night,” Darcy points out as he twists the ring on his index finger—his one and only tell that he is stressed. “The orphan puzzle piece, inability to purchase herself nice things, and her fear that we would take them away at the end of the weekend? I’m not liking the picture that is being painted here.”

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