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I blinked at him. “I spent all afternoon writing you that poem and all I actually needed to do was get my tits out?”
“Maybe.”
“Dammit! Fang! Get me some Jell-O!”
He looked between us, his eyes going squinty. “I don’t know whether you’re being serious or not right now.”
Kian laughed and tugged me tight again. “I’d rather kiss you and tell you I love you too, Rebel Kemp. Almost as much as I love…hemp?”
Vaughn groaned. “Can we please stop with the rhyming already? You guys are terrible at it.”
Kian shoved him. “Shut up, Vaughn, I’m still mad at you. Until you write me a poem, you’re on my shit list.”
I sniggered against Kian’s chest, comforted by being back here.
Vaughn stood with a grin, and shoved his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat dramatically. “An ode to Kian’s dick. It is totally lit. I’d like to suck it, and maybe fuck it.”
And he called my poetry bad.
But Kian grinned. “Go on then.”
Vaughn glanced at Fang. “You want to give us that privacy you were talking about earlier?”
Fang nodded and took a step backward, ready to leave the three of us alone. “I’ll wait in the car.”
“Stay,” Kian said softly.
All of us stopped and stared at him. Shock punched through me at the idea of him wanting Fang involved in whatever was about to happen. It was quickly replaced by heat, and wet silky arousal between my legs.
Kian sniggered, taking in the three of us. “You should see yourselves. Fang is like a deer caught in headlights. Vaughn is pretty much green with jealousy. And Little Demon, you look like you’re about to come at the very thought.”
I huffed. “I can’t help that the idea of the three of you together is hot.”
If I happened to be in the middle of all the shirtless biceps and rippling abs and talented tongues and dicks that knew exactly what their job was, then who was I to complain?
Fang gazed down at me. “You want that, Pix? All of us?”
I breathed out a long breath, scared I’d hyperventilate and pass out if I panted like a slobbery dog, which was what I actually wanted to do.
They all seemed to take my inability to speak as consent. Which in this case, it absolutely was.
Fang knelt at my feet and pulled on the laces of my boots, unravelling them so they loosened enough for me to step out of.
Kian lowered the zipper on the back of my skirt. The fake leather mini joined my boots on the floor.
“Hands up, Roach.” Vaughn gathered up the hem of my long-sleeved Van Halen band shirt and lifted it over my head.
Kian kissed my bare shoulder from behind. “You’d look so hot Jell-O wrestling in nothing but what you’re wearing.”
I eyed the ring behind him. “Go on up there and lie down. Give me a head start.”
He grinned and pushed himself up on the edge of the ring, then laid out to roll beneath the lowest rope. He didn’t bother standing once he was in the ring, just sat back on his hands, with his chest bare, watching for what I was going to do.
“Need a lift?” Fang asked.
He put his hands on my hips and hoisted me into the ring. I gripped the ropes and slipped over the middle one.
Behind me, Vaughn and Fang climbed the ring stairs slowly, but I was focused on Kian.
