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“This was really helpful,” she murmurs, making eye contact with all four of us. “Thank you so much.”
I grin.
“No worries, little girl. No worries at all.”
But Macy’s been taught her manners because she looks at us earnestly then.
“Is there some way I can repay you? Like I said, taste-testing is real work, and I’d like to do something for you as well. Your input has been invaluable,” she adds.
The air goes still, possibilities hovering in the atmosphere.
Because really?
Really really?
And shit, it’s time to strike. My brothers and I exchange looks, the air in the kitchen crackling with energy.
Oh yeah, we want.
And we’re gonna take.
But it’s important to go in slow, to ease into things without startling the sweet filly.
“It’s nice of you to offer, baby girl,” comes my drawl. “Because we’re ready for some dessert.”
Macy blushes and jumps up.
“Oh I’m so sorry,” she breathes. “I forgot about dessert,” she says, hands flying to her cheeks. “I didn’t make any, maybe my parents have some ice cream in the freezer,” she rushes, running over to peer into the fridge.
But it’s not that kind of dessert we want. So I get up and lead the brunette gently back to the table, making sure she’s sitting down.
“Naw, not that kind of dessert honey. A different kind.”
The female’s confused.
“I can find something else,” she says quickly. “Did you mean non-American? Like a Mexican flan? Or a Swedish caramel? Chocolate from Denmark is also really good, I hear.”
Macy’s so innocent, it’s cute.
But we’re not after anything Mexican, Swedish or Danish.
No, we’re looking for American. A hundred percent American, Grade A quality.
“Naw honey,” I drawl. “We want you.”
The words hang in the air before us, quivering almost. Aw fuck. Is Macy gonna run screaming? Did we go too fast, too soon?
She stares for a moment before taking a big breath and then exhaling in a rush.
“I’m sorry,” her murmur comes. “You want me? I don’t understand.”
Another pregnant pause.
“Yeah,” Tim says silkily. “We want you. At least an appetizer, baby girl. Just a small taste.”
The female’s big brown eyes swing between the four of us, but there’s no denying the hunger, the obvious insinuation. Because we’re four ravenous males, and there’s only one thing for her to do. Submit.
And she understands.
