The answer isyes.I have fantasised about it. There’s something about the idea of being completely surrounded by men, hemmed in and filled on all sides, getting touchedall over,that makes my stomach throb with need.
I never thought it would happen, though. I never even entertained the idea. And now, I have two incredibly hot men sitting next to me, giving me very clearwe want to spit-roast you until you can’t walk or speak for a weeksignals, and I have no idea how to react.
A flash of heat washes over my whole body. I can feel my dress sticking to my skin with sweat. My heart is beating so hard it hurts.
“Hey,” Jack says softly, sliding a little closer on my right side. His arm presses up against mine. I breathe in the clean scent of his detergent, feeling a fluttery pinch between my legs. “Is this too much?” He asks, quietly. “If we’re making you uncomfortable—”
“No,” I blurt out. I’m not uncomfortable. I’moverwhelmed. I’ve been overwhelmed since the second I walked through the door. The energy in the room right now is fucking electric. These boys are offering me a sex dream on a platter, and I just can’t process it.
I take a deep breath. I need to pull myself together. “I’m fine,” I insist. “Um, what’s the dare?”
Cyrus’s dark eyes meet mine. “Strip,” he commands.
I freeze.
He laughs, a low, rich sound. “I’m just kidding. Well, no. I’m not.” He slides his hand up my back, cupping his palm behind my head. His fingers play with the clip in my hair. “Take this off,” he says quietly.
I lick my dry lips. “Take my hair down? That’s not a very good dare.”
His eyes sparkle in the candlelight. “Figured I’d start you off small.”
Oh God. “Am I going to be naked by the end of this game?”
“That’s generally my main goal, yeah.” He rubs the nape of my neck. I tip my head back, letting him slide his fingers into my hair, and he finds the clip, unclasping it. Curls fall down around my face, and he sifts through them, making me shiver. “Your turn,” he murmurs.
I take a deep gulp of wine, thinking. “Um. Okay. What’s your biggest regret?”
He flinches. “Jesus, woman. You’re meant to ask if I’ve ever shagged someone in an aeroplane, or had an orgy, or something.”
“You said you wanted us to get to know each other,” I point out. “And I alreadyknowyou’ve had an orgy.”
He looks disgusted. “I think you’re misunderstanding. I don’t fuckJack or Seb.Just whatever pretty lady we happen to be sharing.”He grimaces. “God. I’mwayout of their leagues.”
“Hey,” Jack says mildly.
“Mate, no offence, but dressing like an extra off The Big Bang Theory isn’t exactly doing you any favours. Buy a tailored suit and I’ll think about it.”
I snort, picking up a breadstick. “I don’t have a tailored suit.”
“Honey, you could dress in a bin bag and I’d fancy you.”
I smile, sopping up some sauce. “Either way, I’m sticking with my question. I don’t want to know about your sex life. I wanna know aboutyou.”
I really do. Cyrus is still an enigma to me. It’s funny; out of the three men, he seems to be the most open. He’s chatty and flirty and tactile. But even though he’s easy to talk to, all of our conversations have been surface-level. Whenever I ask him a serious question, he brushes it off with a joke or an innuendo. Earlier today, when I assumed he didn’t have a job, he was obviously hurt, but he still didn’t tell me what he does for a living. I think maybe, underneath his shield of charm, he’s the most secretive of them all.
He looks taken aback. “Dare,” he says.
I consider. “Drink a whole bottle of Cami’s formula milk.”
He frowns. “Babe. You’re shit at this game. You’re supposed to pick somethingsexy.” He nods at the dish of olive oil by the bread basket. “Want me to take my shirt off so you can rub that into my abs?” He offers enticingly.
I stand. “I’ll warm up her bottle.”
“Oh,Godno.” He catches my hand and tugs me back down, pulling me against his side again. “Fine. Jesus.” His face darkens as he thinks. I pop an olive in my mouth, watching. “I guess… fighting with my family?” He says eventually. “I fell out with them a few years ago, and. Well. If I could undo that, I would.”
“What happened?” I ask quietly.
He picks up his wine glass and takes a deep swallow. “You can’t ask two questions,” he reminds me. “Jack?”