I take a deep breath and try to calm down as I walk back. I’m several minutes early when I get back to the office. My guys are still sitting at the table eating lunch.
“How was your walk?” Beck says. He sounds like he’s making casual conversation, but there’s concern in the way he looks at me, a gathering of the skin between his eyebrows. The others look just as troubled.
“It was nice,” I say, struggling to muster a smile. I look at all of their beautiful faces, those strong jaws and powerful features that are unique to each of them, and feel pressure behind my eyes as tears build up. I can’t let them see me cry, so I force a smile onto my face and say, “I should get to work. I’m a little behind on what I need to get done today.”
“Okay,” Beck says, still assessing me with those questioning eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitches like he wants to say more. I’m glad he doesn’t. The others nod and look at each other.
I go into my office, close the door and cover my face, letting the tears fall and hoping no one comes in or walks by. Having glass doors is so inconvenient during an emotional breakdown.
By the time I get home that evening, I’m able to pull myself together. I’m still broken up, but I’m better at hiding it. The guys want to have dinner together and I really want to spend time with them outside of the office. Some days it feels like I never really get to spend time with them even though we’re in the same office day in and day out.
We each make a dish in our own apartment because the one thing we don’t have is a shared kitchen, and bring it down to the communal room. We have spaghetti and salad with bread and wine. When I’m stressed I drink too much and now I’m on my third glass.
“You’re going to regret that later,” Beck says as I reach for the bottle again.
He’s right. Wine gives me terrible headaches. But it makes my racing thoughts bearably numb.
“Which is why I’ll worry about it later,” I say, pouring another glass. He slides his glass toward me and I fill it up.
While the others laugh and chat, having their own conversations about the up-coming tech event, Beck leans in, talking quietly. “When are you going to finally tell me what’s wrong?”
Why is he so good at reading me? I seem to have managed to hide my mood from everyone but him.
“Nothing’s wrong,” I say.
“Let’s make a deal, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You promise never to lie to me and I’ll promise never to lie to you,” he says.
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “Deal,” I say.
“So what’s wrong?” he asks.
I’m not about to tell him the main reason I’m upset, but I’ll give him something. “This tech event is rushing at me and my graphic isn’t finished. I just don’t want to disappoint any of you.”
He takes me by the hand and traces the length of my fingers. I love just sitting here holding his hand. Sometimes just that connection with someone is better than any kind of sexual act—well, maybe not better, but it still feels really good.
“There’s no way you will disappoint us. I’ve seen what you can do. I have all the confidence in the world in you,” he says. He kisses the top of my hand, then up my bare arm until he reaches my lips.
“Hey, I saw that,” Jason says.
Beck and I look at the others. They’re all watching us.
“You kiss one, you have to kiss us all,” Derrick says.
I laugh. “All right. Who’s next?”
Jason hops up eagerly, wanting to be first in line. The others gather around. I give them each a peck on the lips the same way I did with Beck. But then Beck comes in for another kiss. His lips linger on mine. They part and he slips his tongue in. He tastes like the red wine he’d been drinking. Our tongues tangle and dance before he breaks away from the kiss
“You know the drill,” Jason says, giving Beck a grateful look when he comes over to be the first in line again for a deeper kiss.
The wine has really gone to my head and I’m relaxed and wet with all this attention. Jason lifts me into his arms. I wrap my body around him. The hard bulge in his pants presses up against me as he carries me over to the couch in the corner of the room. The others follow. Our kiss becomes hot and heavy. I pull his shirt off, raking my nails down his smooth back until it looks as though he’s been whipped.
Our lips part just long enough for him to say, “I’m going to fuck all that stress from your body.” He rubs my cunt on the outside of my jeans and I moan into his ready mouth.
“That sounds incredible,” I say as he lowers me onto the couch. I unbutton my jeans in a frenzy.