Page 60 of The Florist and Her Alphas

Pepper tilts his head exactly ninety degrees. Considers the room. His pupils pin to tiny black points.

“Unacceptable,” he declares, in a perfect imitation of Ezra’s pacing. “Dinner. Unacceptable.”

The laugh that bursts out of me is startled and real, loud enough to echo off the high ceilings, and I feel Ezra’s hand tighten on my hip in response. His chest rumbles against my side—not quite a purr, something deeper, a sound of possession that makes my pussy clench hard against the silk.

Pepper, delighted with his audience, bobs his head and dances twice on his perch.

“Goodbye, asshole!” he shrieks, directly at Ezra before flying off into the next room.

“Your bird is a menace,” Ezra tells Julian, pouring red wine into his glass.

“He’s a genius,” Julian says, raising his glass in Pepper’s direction. The parrot preens, rubbing his beak against the perch, utterly pleased with himself.

I’m still laughing, my shoulders shaking, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes, and it feels so fucking good to laugh that I don’t want to stop.

Ezra’s hand slides from my hip to my stomach, palm flat against the silk, and he holds me there while I laugh. His thumb brushes the underside of my breast through the fabric, and my laughter catches, turns into something breathless.

Cole reaches for the pasta.

It’s thick, hand-cut, glistening with oil and garlic, covered in red tomato sauce. He twirls a small bite onto his fork with the ease of a man who has done this a thousand times, and then he leans across the table toward me. His slate-blue eyes find mine.

“Open,” he says.

I open my mouth.

He feeds me. The pasta is rich, warm, the sauce sweet and tangy on my tongue, and I make a small moaning sound.

Ezra’s grip on my stomach tightens. His cock twitches hard against my ass.

Julian’s eyes go dark, his dimple vanishing as his jaw locks.

August bites his lip, hard enough that I see his teeth dig into the soft flesh.

Cole’s pupils dilate. He feeds me another bite, slower this time, his eyes on my mouth as I chew. A drop of sauce clings to the corner of my lip, and his thumb finds it, gentle, pushing it back between my lips for me to suck clean.

I suck his thumb without thinking. My tongue curls around the pad of it, and Cole makes a low, rough sound in his throat.

“Good girl,” he murmurs.

From my left, Julian tears a piece of bread from his own plate. It’s crusty, golden, still warm from the oven. He brings it to my mouth, his fingers brushing my lower lip, and I take it from him. The bread is soft inside, yeasty and perfect, and I chew slowly, my eyes on his.

“You’re such a good girl,” Julian says, his voice warm and dark. “Taking everything we give you. So good for us, Lia.”

Across the table, August lifts my water glass. He holds it carefully to my lips, his blue eyes soft behind his glasses, and I drink without using my hands. The water is cool, cutting through the richness of the pasta and bread, and I realize with a start that I haven’t lifted my own fork once.

My hands are resting in my lap. The brothers are feeding me every bite, every sip, every taste. Ezra’s lap beneath me, solid and warm, his cock hard against my ass.

And then I feel Ezra’s free hand move.

It slides slowly under the hem of my silk robe at my thigh. Not in any hurry. His fingertips trail along the inside of my leg, light enough that I could pretend I didn’t notice, feather-light strokes that raise goosebumps on my skin.

I notice.

My breath catches. Sharp. Audible.

Cole, who is mid-bite with the fork, pauses for half a second. His eyes drop to my face, then to the table where Ezra’s arm disappears under the silk, and he sees. He knows exactly what’s happening. He doesn’t stop feeding me. He simply slows down. Brings the next bite to my mouth more gently, his voice dropping to something low and rough. “You’re so pretty eating dinner for us.”

Ezra’s hand keeps moving. His fingers part my thighs with steady pressure, and I let them. My legs fall open on his lap, the silk robe riding up, and his hand finds my freshly shaved mound under the fabric.