Page 67 of The Florist and Her Alphas

The next morning, I wake with a sleepy start and notice the bed is empty.

The sheets are still warm where Ezra’s body had been, a valley pressed into the memory foam. I stretch my sore, aching limbs across the bed, every muscle singing with the kind of good pain that makes me smile against the pillow.

I blink against the late morning light spilling through the windows. My whole body feels wrung out and put back together. The silk robe is folded neatly on the chair by the bed, the emerald fabric gleaming in the sun. I smile at his thoughtfulness.

There’s a note on the pillow beside my head. Sharp, angular handwriting, black ink on cream paper: Got super hungry after our amazing time last night. Meet me downstairs, love — E

I read it twice. My chest does something complicated and warm behind my ribs, and I press the note to my lips before I can stop myself.

I pull the silk robe on and pad to the bathroom. There’s a brand new toothbrush still in its wrapping on the stark white bathroom sink, with toothpaste next to it. I notice fifteen different types of face soaps, moisturizers, and body wash as well.

Hopping into the shower, I turn the water on, adjusting the warmth to lukewarm since I’m still burning with fever from my heat. It feels nice to stand under the stream of water to get clean after Ezra knotted me last night.

He said he loved me. Did he really mean it? I still can’t believe I’m in their home, sleeping with them, after looking for lawyers to protect my shop. But something within me trusts Ezra when he says I could keep my shop now.

After my shower, I brush my teeth thoroughly and grab a new robe that’s hanging in the master suite bathroom.

The fabric slides over my naked skin as I tie the sash around my waist with fingers that are still a little unsteady. My bare feet sink into the plush hallway carpet as I pad toward the kitchen, following the smell.

The penthouse smells like a bakery and heaven all at once, and underneath it, the mingled scents of four alphas wrapping around me like a hug.

I hear them before I see them.

Julian’s laugh, low and easy. Cole’s quiet rumble answering something. August humming something soft under his breath. And Pepper’s unmistakable scratchy shriek telling someone to shut up in a perfect imitation of Ezra’s voice.

I turn the corner into the open kitchen and stop in the doorway.

August is at the stove in pajama pants and a cream t-shirt, his sandy blond hair a mess, glasses on, spatula mid-flip over something that sizzles. Julian is at the island reading a newspaper with Pepper perched on his shoulder, the bird’s yellow head cocked at a ninety-degree angle. Cole is doing crossword puzzles in pen, his brow furrowed. Ezra is at the far end of the island on his laptop in a charcoal sweater, his black hair still damp from his morning shower, his pale gray eyes finding mine the second I appear.

They all look up at me.

The robe is slipping off one shoulder. My hair is a mess of wet curls. My face is flushed from showering and heat, and I can feel my nipples pebbling against the silk where the air hits them.

Julian whistles low under his breath.

Pepper fluffs all his feathers up to twice his normal size, emerald body puffing out like an angry balloon, and announces at top volume: “Gorgeous!”

I laugh. I cover my face with my free hand, and the laughter bubbles out of me loud and startled and real, and the kitchen comes alive again.

Cole sets down his pen.

August abandons the pan on the burner.

Julian pulls out the bar stool beside him and pats the cushion with a grin that makes my stomach flip.

Ezra closes his laptop.

Every brother is suddenly entirely focused on me, and my pussy throbs hard between my thighs, slick gathering warm and thick as I remember last night—four mouths on me, four tongues between my legs, sucking me dry on the dining room table while I screamed.

Ezra crosses the kitchen in three strides.

His hands find my face. Warm. Large. His thumbs brush my cheekbones, and he kisses me—slow, possessive, his mouth claiming mine in front of his brothers like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He pulls back. Presses his forehead to mine. His gray eyes are dark, pupils blown.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his voice low and rough.

“I did,” I say, my lips still tingling from his deep kiss.

He leads me to the bar stool Julian pulled out and helps me onto it like I’m made of glass. His warm palm stays on the small of my back for one second too long.