Page 82 of For Love and Blood and Fury

“Fuck, Bambi,” Zuri gasped, fingertips turning white where she was gripping Elena hard enough to bruise.

It was all the encouragement she needed. Without preamble, Marisol started a blinding pace over Zuri’s clit before her quick thrusts inside Elena made it impossible to move between her and the base of the strap.

As Marisol plunged a finger deep inside of her, Zuri cursed, voice audibly raw and fractured. When Marisol curved her finger to find the back of her clit, Zuri stopped breathing. Marisol was determined to blow their minds at the same time. To show them that experience wasn’t directly related to skill.

“Gods,” Zuri cursed again, movements losing their focus.

Going in for the kill, Marisol moaned, fingers on target and mouth unforgiving. With a whimper, Elena’s arousal dripped onto Marisol’s chest while her body turned motionless. Behind her, Zuri’s orgasm rushed into Marisol’s palm and filled her with life-changing satisfaction.

When Elena moved again, she reached down to grip the back of Marisol’s skull and lift her to her feet with the grace of an aerialist. Meeting her dry lips and parched mouth, Marisol decided she was nowhere near finished.

Chapter Forty-Six

In the bedroomwith a panoramic view of Biscayne Bay and the full moon shimmering over the dark, still water, Elena reclined on her back with Zuri and Marisol curled on either side of her. At the center of the king-sized bed, she thought so long about what the hell to ask Marisol about herself that their sweat-covered bodies had dried and Zuri was half asleep when she came up with something.

“What’s your favorite food? I haven’t eaten in a while, obviously, but I remember liking grapes.” Elena spoke into the room lit only by the moon and her reflections on the surrounding glassy buildings.

She couldn’t exactly recall what they tasted like, but she remembered the tart red grapes her father brought home on occasion. Recalled how they were warm from the sun. It was a ridiculous thing to miss, but everyone had something that took them home, to fond memories.

She wanted to know what that moment was for Marisol. To know what her first thirty-one years had been like. There was no need to do something as dramatic as admit it, but she hadn’t intended to make Marisol feel like she didn’t care.

“What?” Marisol asked with a little chuckle in her throat.

Zuri looked up from where she was resting her head on Elena’s ribcage. With her dark makeup smudged, her eyes only looked more beautiful. “Oh, look. She took you yelling at her to heart,” she said with a lopsided smile.

“I didn’t yell?—”

“You definitely yelled,” Zuri disagreed.

“Are you going to tell me what you like to eat or what?” Elena interrupted. “I know that for some inexplicable reason you don’t eat meat,” she added, like Marisol might be scoring her efforts. “Why is that?” A better question she wished she’d asked sooner.

Shifting to her side, elbow bent with her cheek resting on her hand, Marisol’s blonde hair fell under her chin before she tossed it back over her shoulder. “Do you really want to know?”

Elena furrowed her brow. “Why else would I ask?”

Watching her for a moment, Marisol seemed to understand that Elena was not in the habit of having any conversations she wasn’t interested in. Of asking questions for the sake of hearing herself speak.

“My grandma was a vegetarian,” she replied after a beat, voice soft and smile softer. “She always said it was because factory farming was unnecessarily cruel, but I think she hated the idea of anything dying for her. Not when there were plenty of alternatives, you know?”

“And you?” Zuri asked, chin resting on Elena’s chest.

“There weren’t really any other vegetarians when I was growing up, and I wanted to fit in?—”

“So you forswore your morals and ateBabe: Pig in the City?” Zuri laughed. Elena didn’t bother asking about the reference. She got the idea.

“Well, I tried,” she replied with a pink flush on her freckled cheeks. “There I was, sitting with a basket of chicken fingers in the chaos of the cafeteria?—”

“What the hell part of the chicken is the finger?” Elena asked without concealing her horror.

“It’s just what they call a narrow filet of fried chicken,” she explained like Elena was an adorable ox trying to wear pants.

“Odd.”

Marisol smiled wider. “Yeah, kind of,” she agreed. “Anyway, I drowned it in honey mustard and took a bite and immediately wanted to be sick. After learning that meat tastes absolutely disgusting, it was easy to stay a vegetarian.”

Instead of dropping back down to the bed, Marisol’s attention lingered on Elena’s face. She was looking for something, and Elena didn’t want to guess what.

“Do you want to ask me my views on chicken and their appendages?” Elena joked.

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