Page 55 of Wild Flower

“You don’t have to steal it. Intention or not, it’s what you did. You’re an incredible artist, Finn.”

“You think so?” he asks, and I’m touched by the vulnerability in his question and how unsure he is. Finn, who is a god physically, who’s so tender and unafraid when it comes to me and my body. Finn, who has so much confidence, and yet this device turns it to rubble—or at least my opinion of what he’s photographed has. He’s incredibly talented, which seems obvious, and yet he doesn’t believe it.

“May I?” I ask, reaching for the camera so I can look through the other photos he took yesterday.

“Sure, but they’re raw. Unedited. They’ll look better with some color toning.”

“I think you’ve seen me at my most raw and vulnerable,” I say, looking at him genuinely. “Whenever I’m naked between you and Archer I feel terrified, and at the same time the most excited I’ve ever been in my life.”

“You’re safe with us,” he says kindly, and I nod to his camera in my hands.

“And so are you.”

I scroll through the images. They’re beautiful. Many of them have a blurry aesthetic, as if the world is moving too fast around him. But they’re also soalive. It’s as if breaking the rule that photos should be in focus has opened him up to capture something illusive and real. Or maybe I’m just overwhelmed with how bright, and passionate, and vibrant they are—and that it’s me at the center of them.

“You see me in a way I’ve never seen myself,” I whisper, a knot in my throat. I point to one where Archer and I are on the beach running, our hair down and whipping wildly in the breeze. We’re like wild stallions racing. So many of the photos capture a feeling that this life is brimming with passion, an exuberance we can’t contain, but must barrel into head-first, heart-first, with our hearts on our sleeves.

I say as much to Finn and before I know it, he’s put his camera away and we’re kissing. And then he’s inside me, thrusting in soft, loving motions like an ocean lapping at my ankles. And when Archer wakes up, he sandwiches me between them and once again I feel overwhelmed with safety and lust. It’s like when we were at the base of the cliff, soaking wet, with Archer inside me for the first time and Finn at my back, only the roles were reversed, and all I feel is reverence and passion.

I don’t understand the orchestration of it, but they take turns. Finn slips out of me so Archer can enter me from behind, then they switch back and forth and it’s completely divine.

The sun rises as the three of us make love. I don’t know what else to call it when I feel them inside me and all around me and I’m drowned in adoration, drowned in more pleasure and trust than I can imagine.

I don’t know whose cock I’m on when I come. It doesn’t matter, because the truth is it’s both of them making me tremble with a slow, life-shattering earthquake in my abdomen. It’s the kind of earthquake that demolishes the world around you and leaves you in a pile of dust and rubble. Only, this earthquake isn’t destroying my world, it’s creating it.

32

BECCA

I’m making a wedding bouquet in the backroom of the Birds of Paradise with an assortment of stems and greens. The bouquet in my fist is made of pincushions, pink anthurium, and bursts of yellow beehive ginger (which actually look like tiny beehives for blooms). The trick when designing a bouquet is you have to hold it the whole time so you fill it out properly and get the right angle of the cascade. If you put it down, or in a vase, it ruins the effect and you have to start all over again. It’s a trade secret, which Miranda knows, because she uses this exact moment to launch her surprise attack.

“My, my!” Miranda teases, moseying up to my side and pointing at the blush on my face, well aware that I’ve only got one hand to defend myself with. “Aren’t you glowing like a neon sign this morning? A neon sign that says getting laid regularly is like finding Jesus!”

“Amen!” I joke back, leaning into her teasing rather than playing the defensive. I still haven’t decided how much I want to tell her about my recent escapades, especially her cousin’s involvement in them, but the best way to win this battle with Miranda is to lean in.

“Oh my gosh! I knew you and Archer would hit it off,” Miranda gloats. “He’s so hot! Like premium spank bank material.”

“Do you say these things to Kyle?” I ask, reminding her that she has a boyfriend.

“Kyle is fine, and wonderful for right now,” Miranda replies with a shrug.

It seems Kyle’s not going to last forever.

“But watching you snag a Flambé hottie,” Miranda continues, “has me wishing we both went there single.”

I frown at my friend. It’s not like she had a poor time at Flambé. It’s not like I didn’t watch her and Kyle deep-throat dive like there was pirate treasure hidden in the caves of each other’s esophagi. I guess the grass is always greener …

“Tell me, is Archer as big and beautiful and gravity-defying as the batboys in your books?” Miranda pries.

I blush even redder. Gravity-defying? The memory of Archer taking me against the glass last night seems to fit the bill. Ididfeel light as a feather with two men holding me up. And I was certain I could fly when Archer made me scream to the heavens.

“Holy shit, he is,” Miranda says, pointing at my face. “High-five to Archer, because we both know how badly you needed a guy who could charm your pussy. But look at your face! This man isn’t just making you orgasm.”

“You’re calling him the pussy charmer now?” I bat her incriminating finger away with the bouquet without harming the blooms. I may have let it slip after Arie’s visit that Archer broke the no-orgasm curse.

“Officially, yes!” Miranda nods. “But the Pussy Charmer isn’tjustgiving you orgasms. Oh no, he’s giving you the golden, Midas touch of orgasms—likegoodones, likereally goodones.”

“You can’t tell that from my face!” I retort, thinking to myself that Finn’s the one I’d compare to Midas with his golden skin and hair.

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