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I kiss her silky pom-pom. “Should we boil you alive?”
“Beau!” She huffs into my chest, shaking with laughter. “Now Colton thinks I’m an idiot, too.”
“He doesn’t think that, baby.” I wink at Colt, smiling over her shoulder. “Now he knows you’re an idiot.”
Her shoulders start to shake with laughter, too, and Colt can’t resist her either. He cups her arm, his giant hand making her seem even more petite between us.
“Raven, when you’re this damn cute being dumb”—he leans over, pecking her bare shoulder—“you’re worth starving for.”
Something about his tender kiss and my embrace makes Blair melt in my arms, trapped by his heat and mine.
I feel it, too.
So does he.
We’re the ones boiling now. With our three bodies melding together, Colt starts barely kissing her neck and Blair moans. So my lips find the shell of her ear, coaxing, “Baby, let us eat your pussy instead.”
“Oh god.” Blair grabs my shoulders, sighing against my cheek. Colt must be grinding hard against her backside while she can feel my growing appetite, too, but then she squirms, pushing out of our trap.
“I’m winning this bet, Bronson,” she stammers.
“What bet?” Colt staggers back from our heat.
But I glance at Blair, my eyes begging her not to share. Colt’s not ready. Neither am I. We’re just now barely getting along. We can’t force this. We may never truly kiss and make up.
This may be as good as it gets.
Blair reads my eyes, covering my ass by answering Colt, “I bet I could resist him for ten days while he bet he could seduce me in five.”
My chest falls, relieved, though my dick isn’t.
“So here.” Blair grabs two bags of tortilla chips from a cabinet, tossing them on the island. “Make us nachos for dinner, and I’ll be right back.”
In a mad swish, she turns for her bedroom.
“Are you going to fuck your devoted plastic boyfriends again?”
“You two can make me want to fuck you all you want,” she answers me over her shoulder. “But I’m winning our bet, Bronson.”
Colt grabs the chips, ripping the bag open, lowly growling at me, “You’re a fucking idiot.”
Her bedroom door closes while I grab cheese from the refrigerator. “Finally,” I answer him, “we agree.”
When Blair returns fifteen minutes later, looking flushed and freshly fucked by a lucky sex toy, we enjoy a successful nacho dinner outside.
Once the dishes are drying on the rack, we turn off the kitchen lights and settle on the sofa in front of the flat screen. But instead of an awkward counseling session, we start a vacation tradition.
It’s Colt’s idea.
We each write three of our favorite movies, ones we can recite word-for-word, on pieces of paper, and each night, we’ll draw from a bowl.
Tonight, Blair tells Colt to go first since it was his idea.
“Hell, yes,” he woofs at his selection. “Sixteen Candles. It was my mom’s favorite.”
“I love that movie!” Blair sounds as excited, but I confess, “I’ve never seen it.”
“What?” Blair whips her gaze to me. She sits between us while Colt clicks the remote, getting ready to stream it. “How did you miss this romcom classic?”
