Page 59 of The Florist and Her Alphas

Every shift of the silk against my mound sends little shocks through me, and slick is already pooling between my thighs, warm and thick, soaking into the robe’s inner lining.

“You’re shaking,” Cole murmurs against my hair.

“I’m fine,” I lie, but my voice is thin, and my hand is gripping his forearm like it’s the only thing keeping me upright after he made me squirt into his mouth.

He smells so good, and it makes my pussy clench. The heat is building again, that hollow ache low in my belly, until the scent of food hits me.

Rich. Warm. Garlic, olive oil, and something tomato-sweet with herbs. My stomach clenches hard, a real hunger pang.

I haven’t eaten since last night.

Cole steers me through the great room. The floor-to-ceiling windows show the city— a sprawl of lights beyond the glass. The fire in the steel-and-stone hearth throws warm shadows across the white oak floors. The dining room opens beyond it, and that’s where the smell is coming from.

Candles. Dozens of them, in brass holders down the center of the long live-edge walnut table. White roses in low glass vases between the flames. There are platters of pasta, bread, and a carafe of red wine catching the light. The table is set for five. Five places, five glasses, five napkins folded into careful peaks.

And three alphas, already seated.

They look up at the same time. And the whole room goes quiet.

Julian stands so fast his chair scrapes the floor, and he crosses the room to me in three long strides, his hazel eyes dark and fixed on my face. He takes my free hand and brings it slowly to his mouth. His lips press against my knuckles, warm and soft, and his eyes never leave mine.

“Two hours,” he says, his voice rough. “Two hours apart was two hours too long, Lia.”

My face burns. The blush crawls up my neck and into my cheeks, hot and unmistakable, and Julian’s dimple deepens as he smiles.

August stands too. His honey scent curls toward me, warm and golden, and my pussy clenches hard. “Hey Lia, so glad you can join us for dinner. We missed you.”

Ezra is at the head of the table. His eyes are already on me, dark and fixed in a way that makes my stomach flip and my slick thicken between my thighs. He pushes his chair back from the table with one smooth motion. His hand comes down on his thigh, palm flat, and he pats it once.

“Come here,” he says.

I freeze. “What?”

His jaw tightens. The scar through his eyebrow catches the candlelight.

“Come here, Liana,” he says again, softer this time. The command in his voice is velvet-wrapped steel. “I want you on my lap. Your seat is going to be me tonight.”

Cole’s hand leaves my waist. He gives me a gentle nudge forward, and I’m slowly walking across the dining room.

The silk robe whispers against my bare thighs with every step, and I am acutely, painfully aware that I am naked underneath it, that every alpha in this room knows it, and that they can all smell the slick soaking through the silk between my legs. My heart hammers against my ribs. My pussy is throbbing, empty, hungry, and Ezra’s eyes never leave me.

When I reach him, his hands find my hips. They’re large, warm, his fingers spanning the curve of my waist, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. One smooth motion, and I’m on his lap, settled sideways across his thighs, my back resting against the solid muscle of his arm.

I can feel him immediately.

The hard ridge of his erection presses firmly against the curve of my ass through his slacks. Thick. Hot. Already leaking, if the damp spot I feel through the silk is any indication. He doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t even acknowledge it beyond adjusting me slightly, his hands on my hips, shifting me so I’m pressed more firmly against him.

“You fit perfectly,” he says against my hair. His voice is low and rough with lust. “Like a puzzle piece.”

Cole takes the chair to Ezra’s right. Julian slides into the one to Ezra’s left. August settles across from us, his bright eyes never leaving my face. The four of them have arranged themselves around me like I am the dinner.

The candles flicker. The fire pops in the hearth.

From his perch by the windows, Pepper fluffs all his feathers up to twice his normal size, his emerald body puffing out like a small, furious balloon. He tilts his yellow head and considers me with one suspicious yellow eye.

“Pretty!” he announces, loud and scratchy, in Julian’s voice.

Julian groans, dropping his forehead into his hand. “Pepper. For the love of god. One meal. One meal where you don’t talk too much.”