Page 70 of Knot Just for Show

A pair of hands creep over my thick waist from behind, fingers roaming over the ribbed lycra of my swimsuit.

Ronan’s fresh, floral, herbal scent washes over me as his lips find a place to rest between my neck and shoulder.

“I think it’s safe to say we’re all going to want to sleep in there.” He nods his head against mine in the direction of the nesting room, and I feel a liquid heat pooling between my legs. Ronan’s earlier suggestion of fooling around until the camera crew shows up for whatever bogus on-camera activity they’ve got planned for us seems even more appealing…but I remember that we’ve probably spent a quarter of the available time already and I haven’t gotten to freshen up since I was loaded into the sprinter van—camera ready for my reunion with the boys.

“I’d say so,” I purr back, letting the round of my ass press firmly against Ronan as he hugs me from behind. I’m pleased to feel his tiny, likely involuntary, lurch forward—grinding himself slightly against my ass—the cheeky high cut of the back of my bathing suit visible through the sheer sarong tied around my waist.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Ash, lips pressed together as if he’s holding his breath, one of his hands balled in hisbrightly colored mesh t-shirt, his icy eyes inscrutable behind a pair of mirrored sunglasses.

I’m about to slither out of Ronan’s arms, make sure I’m not already falling prey to playing favorites—when a loud pop makes Ronan and I jump apart without a second thought.

“We made it!” Teddy crows happily as a cork sails high overhead. “Who wants champagne?”

I look up to see Teddy, the neck of a bottle of champagne held tightly in his hands—a cascade of creamy foam pouring over his knuckles, the backs of his hands as he holds the bottle over the edge of the mezzanine railing. I have to shake the dirty thoughts from my mind—returning from the instantaneous slingshot into the realm of my most perverted fantasies so that I might keep up a normal conversation here in the real world.

“Me, I would!” I call, a little too enthusiastically—hurrying up the stairs, waving Ash and Ronan up after me.

After some glasses of champagne, a bit of unpacking, and a long conversation about who’s toiletries were going in which bathroom—the boys and I were once again joined by the larger production crew as well as Anna and a few other members of Pack Milton.

We’ve been corralled into the beautiful outdoor furniture on the patio of our villa for an activity, yet to be described to us by our show’s hosts.

While the support crew gets Anna, Paul, Steven, and George camera ready, I study the large gray box set before me, the only obvious item before us on the long wooden table. We wait in awkward silence for Anna and her packmates to shine some light on the situation.

“You’re probably wondering about how things are going to go now that we’re here in beautiful Costa Rica, aren’t you?” Anna asks us while making direct eye contact with the bank of cameras just over my shoulder.

I nod, the rest of my prospective pack joining in with the odd, ‘Yeah’ and ‘Mhm’.

“Well, we’re going to decide the order of your individual pack dates with a little blind kissing game.” Paul grins.

“Blind kissing game?” Mavren repeats out loud, his skepticism and confusion mirroring my own silent befuddlement.

“In the boxes in front of you Ursula, you will find some very high quality blindfolds and total silence ear protection,” Anna continues on calmly as if she hasn’t been interrupted, though you can hear her patience straining just beneath the surface.

“Ursula is going to stand on a box, and the rest of you will approach and let your lips do the talking—no hands! After she’s made her way through all of you, we’ll have Ursula rate her blind kisses—which will decide the order of your individual dates.” Steven finishes the explanation, clapping his hands together matter-of-factly.

While I’m nervous at how the boys will take the results of this little contest…I can’t say that I want to volunteer myself for deciding the order—too much pressure, too much opportunity to hurt someone’s feelings. This way, it can be chalked up to the winners of a silly game…even if it’s a silly game I’m looking forward to playing.

I’m about to start applying the headphones and blindfold, when I realize there’s the matter of scent at hand. The questiondoesn’t have a chance to leave my lips before Anna turns away from me to a production assistant, taking a large purple bottle with a cartoonish tasseled atomizer presented to her on a metal tray.

Realization of what she’s about to do strikes me just before Anna pumps the atomizer a few times—a mist of mixed pheromones; overwhelming my sense of smell, flooding my nostrils.

“That should keep you from recognizing any of your new beaus by their scent,” she chirps helpfully and I try not to gag on the taste of the chemical-laden perfume as it spreads through my nostrils and down the back of my tongue.

The boys eye me nervously as I wobble onto the box in my cork wedges—covering my ears with the huge over-ear headphones before securing the blindfold over my eyes.

I stand in complete darkness, the static-whooshing sound of heavy noise suppression, a crackling hum in my ears as I stand on my box, hands clasped together behind me.

The first kiss is sweet, tender, everything one could want out of a kiss—soft lips, the softest graze of tongues against one another. It shames me to say that I don’t know who this kiss belongs to yet—but it just means I need more and more practice.

The second kiss is slightly deeper than the first, lips that press more urgently against mine—a tongue that presses further into my mouth; a slow and seeking pace.

The third is much more timid, and yet—the flutter of my heart as his lips linger against mine—unwilling to be done, though his charge is only a single kiss…it makes my heart ache with its sweetness.

Kiss number four charges straight past the others, confidently striding for something more—his lips practically tearing at mine, his tongue seeking past mine—as if he might begin to coax my soul from my mouth.

I feel my knees wobble and my heart pound. I am reminded of the crew who are not just looking on but recording this whole ridiculous affair as I stand here blind and vulnerable, but before I can start feeling sorry for myself, I feel the last face draw close to mine.

For a second we’re so close that we steal one another’s breath each time one of us takes a ragged inhale. I feel the tip of his nose ghost against my cheekbone—a whisper of eyelashes. The electric sensation of those gentle touches make me shudder, just as he catches my bottom lip gingerly in his teeth—sucking it gently before closing his mouth over mine—our tongues swirling around one another.

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