7. Lemon
Chapter 7
Lemon
I worry the hell out of my lip, watching Atticus and Ezra as they walk away from the pool area. The water around me is starting to warm with the weather, but a chill skates up my spine that has nothing to do with aquatics. Desire tangles with doubt, a messy knot I can't seem to untie. They've laid it all out on the table, their proposal as tempting as it is terrifying.
"Hey, bellezza!" Ezra's voice snaps me out of my thoughts. He's turned back, that mischievous grin plastered across his face. "How about brunch? Get that juicy peach out of the pool and join us."
Did he just…?
My cheeks burn hotter than the sun above as he openly admires my ass, his words dripping with innuendo. It's a game for him, I know, but one I'm not sure I'm equipped to play.
"Brunch sounds..." I start, voice trailing off. Can I really do this? Sit across from them, pretend we're just three people making plans over waffles and mimosas ?
"Delicious," Ezra finishes for me, his grin widening. "Especially with a side of you."
"Jesus, Ezra," I mutter, my heart racing like it's trying to escape my chest. Their brand of attention is dizzying. But there's something about the way they look at me, hungry and possessive, that's got me caught between wanting to dive in and run for cover.
But it’s not like I’m not intrigued. Water drips from my skin, tracing paths along my curves as if inviting them to follow. The air nips at my flesh, raising goosebumps.
"Fuck, that's a sight," Ezra says, voice low and rough.
"Watch it," I snap back, though the heat in my belly betrays my irritation. He knows exactly what he's doing, and part of me hates how effective it is.
"Can't help it. You're art, Lemon," he replies, his tone sincere for a fleeting moment before mischief seeps back in. "And I'm an appreciator of fine things."
"Guess I'm breakfast and a show, then?" I quip, trying to steady my voice, to sound as unaffected as I wish I felt.
"Only fair since we gave you for one last night, hm," Ezra winks, and I roll my eyes, fighting the smile tugging at my lips.
"Yeah, yeah," I say louder, hoping the volume gives a sense of bravado. "Food sounds great. Let me just grab a towel."
Ezra’s laugh echoes through the patio. "Take your time. We’re not going anywhere without you."
As I wrap myself in a plush towel, I can't stop my mind from racing. They're a drug, these two—a hit I crave even as it scares me shitless.
Water trails behind me as I walk toward the door that leads back to the penthouse. Atticus is intense while Ezra is flirtatious and I’m not sure if it’s the fear or the excitement that's making my heart race. Maybe both. But what if they are just pushing me into something I'm not ready for? Atticus’ intensity can be overwhelming, like being caught in a tidal wave with no shore in sight.
I run my fingers through my wet, tangled hair as I walk. A gust of cold air hits me as I step inside, sending chills racing down my spine because Atticus keeps his thermostat at sixty-five. The scent of chrome, whiskey and bergamot fills my nostrils, grounding me in the reality of the penthouse.
Reaching the guest room, I shake off the droplets clinging to my skin. The plush rug in my room swallows the sound of my footsteps, and I'm grateful for the silence. Silence means no questions, no answers, no decisions…not just yet.
God, I wish Poppy were here. She'd know what to say, how to make sense of this shit. But Milan's glamorous runways have claimed her for now. I imagine my best friend’s tall, statuesque figure striding confidently down the catwalk, her hair catching the light. A part of me aches to dial her number, hear her enthusiastic voice telling me I'm stronger than I think. But it's late over there, and I can't bring myself to pull her into my mess. Not yet.
I can hear her in my head now, ramrodding me with confidence.
Lem, you’re being ridiculous. You’ve got two drop-dead gorgeous men practically begging to get you off. Are you seriously debating this? You need to ride that wave, literally and metaphorically.
I pause, the towel falling loosely as I nearly laugh out loud. My reflection in the floor-length mirror catches my eye—a wet mess with cheeks flushed from the pool and the fact two men want to make me into a sandwich.
When was the last time you had a decent orgasm? Ugh, probably never, right? And here you are, hesitating over a golden opportunity?
It’s not that simple. It’s never that freaking simple with me.
I pull my wet bathing suit from my body, leaving me naked in front of the mirror.
Stop overthinking it. Atticus and Ezra? They’re hot as hell and clearly into you. Use them, Lemon. Let them worship every inch of your body until you see stars or blackout. Preferably both, you deserve the kind of orgasm that has you clenching your thighs together weeks later when you think about it.
I pull open the armoire to find something to wear when a dress slaps me in the face. A dress that screams Lemon in more ways than one. The fabric flows like a cascade of cream, dotted with bright lemons, and the corset top promises a snug hug to my curves that's both innocent and anything but. It dangles from the hanger, teasing me with a delicate stitching.
Next to the dress, almost as if they knew I'd be opening this wardrobe at this exact moment, are the undergarments. Black lace that looks soft and delicate, yet impossible to ignore. I pick up each one and the panties, fingering the labels. How in the hell did they know my size? I run my fingers over the lace, feeling the intricate patterns that somebody, either Atticus or Ezra had carefully selected for me.
Did they guess? Or are they so attuned with the shape of women’s bodies, and just by watching me they were able to determine it? I shake the thought from my head. The simplest answer is one of them snuck in here and looked at my clothes.
I pull on the panties first, feeling the lace stretch perfectly over my hips. They fit like a dream, clinging in all the right places without pinching or squeezing. Next, I slip into the bra, adjusting the straps and hooks until it sits perfectly against my skin. Loving how it supports my breasts while making me feel undeniably sexy. The mirror reveals a woman who looks almost ethereal in her delicate lace armor, every curve accentuated rather than hidden. I can’t help but think about Ezra’s playful eyes trailing over my body or Atticus' intense gaze drinking me in.
Then there's the dress. I gingerly slide it off its hanger and let it drift down over my body. The fabric is cool against my warm skin, heavy enough to feel luxurious but light enough to float as I move. I reach behind me to lace up the corset top, feeling it pull tight around my waist and lift my breasts just so. It's a dress that demands attention, that celebrates every inch of me rather than trying to minimize or conceal.
I smooth out any last wrinkles from the fabric while watching my reflection. Fuck, I look so good in this cliché ass dress.
But there's still work to do as I walk to the adjoining bathroom. I grab my brush and run it through my tangled damp waves, detangling each stubborn knot with even strokes until my hair falls in soft waves past my shoulders. Once it's brushed out and shining, I take a silver clip and secure part of it back, leaving just enough loose to frame my face.
Makeup next. I opt for a minimalist approach because it’s brunch and, let’s be real, beating my face isn’t going to cause them to fall at my feet. Something tells me that they both prefer the less is more approach. My fingers make quick work of spreading tinted moisturizer over my skin, evening out my complexion while letting my freckles peek through. Next, I dab a bit of peach lip stain onto my lips, rubbing them together until they glow with just the right amount of color.
Satisfied with how I look from the neck up, I turn my attention back to my room. At the bottom of the armoire lies my favorite pair of wedge sandals that are exactly what this dress needs. They're sand-colored, with cross straps that wrap around my feet and ankles like elegant vines. The wedges add a couple of inches to my height, bringing me up to maybe five-seven if I’m lucky, but even then I know Atticus and Ezra will still tower over me, both of their presences commanding attention and dominance.
I leave the guest room and the corridor seems longer than usual, each step echoing off the polished floors as I reach the main level. The distant sound of the city birds in the wind reaches my ears. It’s almost calming, if it weren’t for the knot tightening in my stomach.
Ezra's grin is the first thing I see as I step into the front room. It's like he's got a secret, and his eyes twinkle with mischief. Atticus, on the other hand, looks like he's been carved out of stone, every muscle tight, his jaw clenched in that familiar way. The dichotomy between them is titillating. Excitement mixed with a healthy dose of apprehension is going to be my new personal tagline for life.
"Well, there she is," Ezra drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "I was beginning to think you'd fallen back in the pool or were hiding in your tower away from the big, bad wolves." He pushes off from where he's been leaning against the grand piano, taking a step closer. His warm brown eyes travel down the length of me in that way that makes my skin tingle and my breath hitch slightly. "My stomach was starting to eat itself."
"Oh, come on, Ezra," I reply with a playful roll of my eyes, trying to match his easy banter. "You couldn't wait five minutes without me?"
"More like thirty, but who's counting?" Ezra teases, his voice dropping to that husky tone that sends shivers down my spine. He runs a hand through his hair and tilts his head slightly. "Besides, I needed to replenish all the energy I expended last night."
Atticus cuts in with a low hum of agreement, his eyes narrowing slightly as they fix on me. "He does have quite the appetite," Atticus adds, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something far more intense.
“I do, don’t I? And it’s served us both well. You look stunning," Ezra adds, reaching out to adjust one of the straps on my dress. His touch is light but deliberate, sending a shiver down my spine. "Almost too good for the public.”
Atticus' jaw tics slightly, as if he's biting back a compliment or perhaps steeling himself against the distraction that Ezra can be.
"Reservations in twenty minutes and the car is waiting," Atticus interjects, his tone leaving no room for argument. He steps forward and I finally notice what he’s wearing, impeccably dressed as always, in a tailored charcoal suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The crisp white shirt beneath it is open at the collar, revealing a sliver of skin. Every inch of him screams control and sophistication, making me feel like I'm underdressed in my playful lemon-patterned dress.
Ezra, standing beside him, is the complete opposite in appearance—more relaxed, yet equally striking. He's opted for jeans and a fitted shirt that clings to his lean frame like a second skin. A leather jacket hangs open over it all, giving him an effortless vibe. His tousled hair and cheeky grin contrast sharply with Atticus' polished demeanor. He makes me feel overdressed so I’m doomed to never just feel adequately clothed I’m afraid.
I imagine this is what it feels like when they say words are sinful when Ezra tells me, “You look like a Michelin star worthy meal and I want to gorge myself on you.”
Atticus makes a noise of approval low in his throat. "Don't forget who you belong to, Ezra," he murmurs with a pointed look that carries all the weight of a command. His gaze shifts to me, just for a second, before he strides past us both without another word.
Ezra's eyes twinkle with defiance as he watches Atticus’ broad back move toward the door. Leaning closer to me, he mutters under his breath just loud enough for me to catch, "Yes, Daddy."
I stifle a giggle, biting my lip as I meet his mischievous gaze.
"Careful," I whisper back, matching his snarky tone. "You might get yourself into trouble."
Ezra's smirk widens, a dangerous glint in his eye. "Trouble's my favorite thing to get into, baby. Well, until I get into you."
I can't help it; a fit of giggles erupt from my lips, catching both men off guard.
Atticus halts mid-step, turning just enough to catch the tail end of our exchange. His eyes darken dangerously as he fixes us with a piercing stare. "I heard that," he says, voice low and filled with promise. "Someone's going to pay for it later."