Page 9 of Wild Flower

She shivers again, eyes flicking briefly to me.

“Give in to the experience,” I coax, and her eyes darken.

She turns her attention to Finn and opens her mouth, inviting the communion of the chocolate petal. Becca’s lips momentarily clasp around Finn’s fingers as he slides the dripping petal into the cavern of her mouth. She moans and closes her eyes as the sweetness hits her tongue and a wicked kick of chili powder dusts her palate.

That moan makes my cock thicken mercilessly, and I’m jealous of Finn’s fingers brushing against her lips, grazing their plumpness as she tastes the chocolate. A second moan exhales across Finn’s knuckles, ruddy and feverish, and I’m too far away. Sitting on the opposite side of the table is not going to work, especially with Finn’s finger caressing her lip.

I let go of Becca’s wrist, and slide along the inside of the U-shaped seat, the velvet friction of the booth heating me. Becca sighs heavily when I make my way to her side, aware of my proximity, but fiendishly keeping her eyes closed.

Slowly, I pull the curtain of her silver-hair off her shoulders, exposing her neck. Her gorgeous skin is a canvass on this side as well, the strapless corset showing off her shoulders and a new posy of ink. I don’t know what these flowers are, but they bud and threaten to open at the end of their stems.

Her chest heaves as I inspect her tattoos, the yellow flower across her chest rising and falling as she swallows the chocolate, her lips idling against Finn’s fingers.

“Becca,” I whisper, edging my mouth across the shell of her ear, but only letting my hot breath catch her skin. She opens her mouth and lets out another heavy exhale.Thisis why I love working at Flambé, when food and fire removes inhibitions. “May I touch you?”

5

BECCA

I’m a flower trembling beneath two beautiful men.

My fingers are spread across the velvet cushion beneath me. The texture of the upholstery is soft as a rose, yet firm, like large luxurious beds in a high-end hotel, made for fantasizing.

I must be fantasizing, because I don’t know how I found myself sandwiched between the sin that is Finn and Archer with my body thrumming in excitement.

Finn feeds me chocolate decadence, and the dessert is a wickedness all on its own, but to feel the tips of his fingers as they tease my mouth … it’s no wonder I’m moaning. Conveniently, this booth is in a corner, and Finn’s body is blocking me from the restaurant, in case the other patrons (as Archer suggested) like watching.

Is that why I like this? Do I enjoy the danger of someone else noticing?

Then there’s Archer to my right with his hot breath blotting across my throat and asking for things I shouldn’t give him.

“Becca, Becca, Becca,” he whispers my name. Whispers that are a promise, lulling me into this haze. I keep my eyes shut, wildly aware of his presence beside me, smelling of a dark spice. Or maybe that’s the kick of heat in the chocolate. I’m not sure of anything except for the thick, creamy texture of the chocolate that clings to the top of my mouth, causing my tongue to lap hungrily against its surface.

There’s an entire chocolate rose waiting in that bath of smoke to be devoured. It’s a candied flower cloaked in magic—or a curse—promising that love awaits if you look beneath the surface.

“Can I touch you?” Archer asks again, and I know my surface is all he’s going to get. His request comes out in a low growl that makes my thighs press firmly together as a heady stroke of desire buds between my legs.

Am I really considering saying yes?

Miranda has completely abandoned me. Or rather, she’s left me in a vipers’ den, flanked by gorgeous men who want to touch and feed me, and—

The last thing I am is traditional, but am I really going to give in to a public display of pleasure? I almost laugh, because the ache in my center knows better than to push away the first real heat a man’s unleashed down below … or more accurately, two men.

The restaurant’s pockets of darkness are calling to me—one of which I’m currently hiding in. What a wicked thought: to give in to this surprise and let them both wrap their vines around me in the dark. I dig my fingers into the fantastical velvet, yearning for what that chocolate rose is promising.

Exotic flowers are difficult to nurture and grow. They take care to turn to the sun and open their petals, bloom for those fragile moments of time they’re given—we only live once.

“Yes,” I say to Archer, not opening my eyes, “you may touch me.”

The words prickle over my body, and Archer growls in appreciation.

“Open,” I hear Finn say, and I soften my jaw, feeling the next petal of chocolate against my bottom lip. I open for him, the chocolate hitting my tongue as Archer’s warm hand covers my leg. His touch is broad and imposing: perfect for digging in the dirt.

His fingers spread across my thigh and knead into my skin, fingers teasing the hem of my skirt with a possessive wickedness. But that’s not his only assault; his lips nip at my earlobe, and when they take hold, I’m flooded with the soft, wet sensation of his mouth suckling.

I whimper, both of them in tune with my breath: Archer’s fingers on my thigh and Finn’s on my lips, chocolate coating my throat.

Do they do this all the time? Do they find the lonely, unsuspecting third wheel, and seduce her like male sirens dragging their prey below the ocean’s surface? If they do, I don’t really care. This is a siren’s song my body’s been waiting years to drown under.

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