Page 184 of Pucking Obsessed

My mind became fuzzy. I felt warm and floaty.

Shay’s eyes looked sleepy and half-hooded.

Blissful.

We were all where we should be.

Like this, I could feel deep inside me that we fitted together.

I fell asleep with Eden’s breath on the back of my neck and his cock inside me.

Now, I rearrange the cards, thrumming with excitement.

What’s taking the guys so long? What wickedness are they planning?

When this includes D’Angelo, therewillbe wickedness.

I glance at the door and then at the piano stool, which stands in front of the gleaming Steinway grand piano in the furthest corner of the room.

Do I have time?

Stealthily, I sneak across the lounge, before dropping in front of the piano stool.

I slide my hand over the cool leather seat.

I hid the rings in here yesterday. I liked the idea that D’Angelo could sit on them without knowing, while he played.

How satisfying is it that the cocky D’Angelo could literally have his ass seated on my secret but not know it?

Since our time in the beach house and my epic fail at giving my men their rings, I’ve been unable to find the perfect time to try again.

I want to do this right.

My three lovers mean everything to me. They each meet my needs in different ways. I can’t imagine my life without them.

I know more firmly than ever that this is what I want.

I need them to believe that they’re worthy and deserving of this life and love.

I hope that these rings will show them more than my words can.

I understand more than anyone after my ex-husband how empty words are.

I’ve had to move the ring box at least a dozen times because of how scarily neat, eagle eyed, and paranoid about our security D’Angelo is. Then there’s Eden, who cleans and tidies this house until it gleams.

Eden even does my laundry.

Hiding the rings in my clothes drawer or closet wasn’t safe for long.

On the other hand, Shay didn’t notice a thing. He’s not into details. He’s more likely to be tracking muddy footprints into the house or singing loud Arctic Monkey songs, while dancing in his own world.

I’ve had three further failed attempts to give my men the rings.

Attempt one: Eden was too focused on his book to notice the ring that I’d tucked underneath it.

Attempt two: I did the traditionaldropping into the bottom of wine glass trickone evening but by the time I carried the glasses upstairs, the three men were snoring together in bed.

Attempt Three: I went full out romantic and knelt in the center of the kitchen, only for D’Angelo to trip over me because he was engrossed on his phone…and tipped a carton of milk over my head.

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