Is it absolutely foolish of me to hope that’s what each of those back-and-forth glides of her tail tries to tell me?
Three days.
Three hearts.
Three goodbyes.
It was perfect while it lasted.
“This is ridiculous. You don’t need to wash my hair.”
Considering I can barely lift my arms, my legs have turned to rubber, and my eyes are losing the battle to stay open… I don’t actually have much of a choice in the matter. Yet I mumble my protests with water sluicing down my body all the same.
“Quit arguing.” Henri chuckles softly. A sexy cascade of droplets merges to form elongated rivulets down his muscles. I wish we had more time so I could commit every plane and indent to memory with my tongue.
When showering with two men, there’s no room to argue. Literally. Their walk-in shower is grandiose, but Reid takes up enough space for two all on his own. He fills the space behind me, slowly lathering shampoo through my hair and using those incredibly skilled hands to massage my scalp.
I’m leaning all over him. Boneless with pleasure after everything we’ve done tonight, this morning, yesterday… God… all the moments I’ve had with the two of them blur together.
Yet, I continue to feebly protest the mere fact that they’re washing my hair for me.
Well, Reid is currently washing my hair and giving me a head massage that might actually leave me drooling, while Henri stands in front of me, soaping up my arms and rubbing his thumbs to knead and ease tight tendons and knotted muscles I didn’t even know I had.
“Oh, yes. That’s right. Rugby star-boy here likes to call the plays. No wonder you’re being bossy about this, too.” I grumble.
“Getting to do this part is important.” Henri slides down to my legs, not in a sexual way. It’s caring, functional, and so attentive I might dig a hole and disappear through the floor with the weight of unworthiness hanging around my neck. Well, I might, if I wasn’t so exhausted and completely spent after a marathon of threesome sex tonight.
“Turn that brain off and let us take care of you.” His thumbs find a spot in my calf muscle that feels like heaven when he works on the tension there.
“I’ve never done anything like this… after…” I blurt out. Maybe it’s because I’m overtired and too busy overthinking everything, but I confess it before I really know why I do.
When I peek at Henri,his jaw is clamped shut. His hazel gaze fixes on my leg wrapped in his hold.Running his deftfingers down to my ankle, he concentrates on lathering me with more soap and massaging all the tension away from that lower part of my legs.
“You look mad.” I breathe. “Did I say something wrong?”
Henri takes a deep breath, exhales heavily, then stands up. Wheels turn in behind his hazel gaze as he joins in on the process of washing my hair. Using the detachable shower head, he shields my eyes, guiding water over my hair to wash out the shampoo, before providing Reid with conditioner.
“The idea that men like your ex have treated you so poorly, with such unbelievable disrespect… yeah… I’m fuming. Those men who are the type to keep you as their dirty little secret? Assholes who used you and then discarded you? Yeah, that absolutely leaves me seeing red.”
Henri hooks a finger under my chin, water spray coating the three of us as he studies my eyes with a laser intensity.
“That’s the promise you’re gonna make to us this Christmas. That you’ll never allow another gutless idiot like that into your life ever again.”
My stomach gnaws away at itself, rumbling loudly to drag me back to the present. The snowy vista surrounding me as I join the steady stream of other vacationers driving away from Mistwood. My fingers curl around the steering wheel, rubbing over the cracked and peeling plastic. There’s an emptiness in my gut that goes so much deeper than needing breakfast.
I’ve been driving for about an hour, mostly crying, and thinking non-stop about the men I left behind so abruptly.
The glowingwelcomesign for a mom-and-pop roadside diner is framed against the specks of snow fluttering across my windshield. As I flick my blinker on and pull over, my phone immediately starts to buzz on the passenger seat.
Slowing to a crawl as I navigate the gravel parking lot, I hit answer and switch to the loudspeaker.
“Are you okay?” Reid’s voice reaches through the phone, filling my tiny car, sending wings rioting in my stomach.
“Ask her if she’s too tired to be driving.” Henri’s voice is somewhere close, but in the background.
I blink rapidly. “What—yes, I’m okay—no, I’m not too tired—why?”
More importantly, how on earth did they get my number?
