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Layer by layer I laid everything out on the bed. The box contained at least a dozen pairs of really cute panties. G-strings and thongs mostly, but high-waisted lace stuff too. There were a few garter belts in there, with matching stockings, even some sets complete with bras as well. I had to laugh as I realized it was probably more underwear than I currently owned.
At the bottom of the box was another note:
Seems I owe you at least a pair of these.
But after f
inally getting my hands on your ass
last night? One pair didn’t seem like enough.
-R
P.S. I’m thinking maybe you should wear one
of these for us tonight. Your pick.
The last two lines made my heart race again. Especially the part about “us.”
Us.
I swallowed hard. Sleeping with Kyle and Dakota had become fun and comfortable, but now I had three men to please. And on the flip side of that coin, three men to please me, as well.
Damn. Three is a lot.
For once I had to agree with the little voice in my head. It was a lot! And yet, if anyone could handle it, I knew it would be me.
One by one I glanced from piece to piece, scanning the pretty array of underwear. My bed looked like a lingerie store had exploded across it. Amusedly, I wondered how much all of this all must’ve cost.
Hooking the tip of one finger in my mouth, I got to work making a decision. Usually I was quick on decisions, but this was a lot to look at.
“My pick huh?” I sighed.
The empty room wasn’t much help as I shimmied out of my clothes.
Thirty-Four
SAMMARA
I didn’t take Dakota’s truck, although I was tempted. After what happened last night, I was happy enough to just putt around the house.
The place was growing on me even more, especially as experiences in each room filled my mind with happy memories. We’d done a lot in a little time, Kyle, Dakota and I. And I was looking forward to spending more time with Ryan here, as well.
Besides, the old Victorian was just… cozy.
For the rest of the day I walked the house, checking and rechecking the renovation’s progress. I also spent a lot of time wondering about all the people who’d lived here before me. What were they like? What kind of lives did they lead? Who raised children here, and who grew old looking out through these same windows?
Piece by piece I sat on the furniture, absorbing the energy of each room. Looking into the ancient mirrors I found myself wishing I could peer through time; see exactly who lived and died in these ancient halls. It was the sort of thing that could be morbid to some, but to me it was absolutely fascinating.
I made a mental note to check the library when I had the time. There just had to be books written by the occupants here. Books that sat on the old shelves untouched, unopened, just waiting for someone to come along and read them.
Someone like me.
Night fell, and I found myself in the kitchen. On a whim I decided to bake something. One of the things my foster parents did save from my childhood was my mother and grandmother’s cook book. It was written in their own handwriting, and that direct, personal connection always brought a tear to my eye. It was a good tear, though. The cookbook was probably the most precious thing I owned.
I went through the cabinets, checking ingredients, seeing what I had on hand. Dakota had come with me on a baking field trip earlier in the week, and I’d rewarded him with chocolate chunk cookies.
“What to make… what to make…”
