Chapter 50 Mirabelle
Mirabelle
“Oh my God, this place is huge!” I say, spinning around in a circle as I stare at the vast hotel room.
With its open concept, I can see every part from the door. Despite that, I swear, this hotel room has its own living room.
Everything about this place is huge. The bed. The soaking tub in the bathroom that’s basically a jacuzzi. The floor to ceiling windows giving us a view of the downtown area around us.
“Like it, Sweetheart?” Griffin asks, setting down some of our stuff before coming over and brushing a tender kiss against my forehead.
I grab the back of his neck, lifting up onto my tippy toes and pulling him down towards me. His grin is wide as he lets me pull him down, our lips meeting in a hard and fast kiss. When we pull back, my eyes are bright.
I’m practically bubbling with excitement and breathless laughter.
“Can we afford this, though?” I say, sobering as I watch Ash scope out the entire room, checking the wardrobes and closets for any hidden danger.
“That’s not for you to worry about, Sugar,” Rowan says, throwing himself down on the lush couch in the living room area.
“Yeah, you don’t have to worry about anything,” Griffin murmurs, pressing another soft kiss on my forehead.
“Okay,” I say, nodding slowly.
I reach my hand out to Rage, who’s standing awkwardly at the doorway, a few duffel bags’ worth of our stuff tucked under his arm.
“What’re you waiting for, Rage?” I say, bounding over to him, my feet sinking into the plush carpet.
He sets down our stuff beside the door and takes my extended hand.
“What do you think?” I ask, eagerly tugging him further into the room.
“It’s... big.”
“It is! Like you,” I giggle. “Maybe the furniture will actually fit you.”
He entertains my antics, letting me tug him to the armchair in the living room and sitting down when I gesture for him to do so.
Maybe it’s because this hotel caters more to alphas, but Rage doesn’t dwarf this armchair nearly as much as he did the one at the motel.
“Is it comfy?”
Instead of answering me, he uses our intertwined hands to tug me down onto his lap.
I’ve grown really fond of this. All my guys can’t seem to get enough of me. They all take turns holding me, kissing me, or more.
Well, I guess I haven’t technically done anything more with all of them.
Rage and I haven’t done anything but kiss. Every time I get all worked up, he backs off and one of the others swoops in.
His head lowers and his lips brush tentatively against mine. Only when I return the kiss does he gain anything remotely close to confidence. The kiss remains slow and soft, his hand reaching up to gently cup my face. His lips are like velvet, such a contrast to the hardness of the rest of his body.
Seated across his lap like this, I’m made incredibly aware of just how big he is. He tries to make himself small, a lot of the time. Even though it’s physically impossible. It’s obvious in the way he carries himself.
But the longer our kisses go for, the more that brittle control he has over himself slips.
I shift my weight, my ass wiggling against him. He’s hard. I can feel him through his sweatpants, pressing insistently against my hip.
He immediately breaks the kiss, leaving me panting.
His dominance swirls in the surrounding air, my lungs filling with the leather and iron scent that’s just all him. It surrounds me, sinking into my bones. There’s just something about this that overwhelms me with want.
No, a need. A need for him.
I shift my weight again, this time pressing my thighs together to ease the ache between them. I think I’ve ruined my panties with the slick gushing from me right now.
“Why—why’d you stop?” I pant out.
He averts his gaze, only offering me a single, frustrating shake of his head.
“I want this, you know that right?” I whisper, my head darting down to try and catch his gaze. “I want you.”
In the split second I manage to meet his eyes, I’m overwhelmed by the insecurity I see there. It borders on the line of self-loathing.
Even though I can imagine why it’s there, it still bothers me deeply. Because I know I see him so differently than he views himself. I just want him to see what I see.
Out of anyone, even including Ash, I feel like I can relate to his experience at the farm in a way that’s unique to the two of us.
It seems like we were both taken from wherever we existed before the facility when we were a lot younger than the others. We’ve also got similar sort of memory issues.
This life, this new one we’re making for ourselves, it feels like our first time living. And that’s terrifying. Because there’s so much to mess up.
When Rowan first saved me from his brother, I clung desperately to the idea of rules. Because rules gave life order. Predictability.
But sometimes life isn’t predictable. And you just have to go with the flow.
I’m still learning that second part.
“Here, how about we try something,” I murmur softly, reaching out and cupping Rage’s cheek.
The skin along the puckered lines of his scar is surprisingly soft. Maybe that’s an analogy for Rage.
He’s scary looking at first. But when you push even the slightest bit, when you try to get to know him, he’s just as fragile as the rest of us.
Maybe more so.
“Are you scared you’re going to do something I don’t like? Or that I don’t want?” I ask.
He offers me a single nod.
I’ll settle for nods. It’s better than him trying to hide entirely.
“Then maybe we should come up with rules. That way you know what to expect.”
“Like a safe word?” Rowan suggests from the couch across from us.
“What’s that?” I ask.
“It’s where if you—or I guess any party involved—is feeling uncomfortable or afraid or something, then you say the word and everything stops no questions asked.”
“Yes,” Rage growls, nodding at Rowan. “I want that.”
“I think it’s a great idea!” I say, smiling.
Rage’s words wash over me like a soothing balm. I’m so glad we’ve found something.
“What should our safe word be?”
“You talking safe words over here, Shortcake?” Ash says, leaning over the back of the couch and taking my lips in a fiery kiss.
“Mhmm,” I say, smiling up at him as he pulls away.
“Kinky,” Griffin says, flashing me a wink.
“What about something cute, like Strawberry?” Rowan suggests.
“Shorter,” Rage says gruffly.
“It’s probably a good idea to make it shorter,” I nod. “Just in case Rage wants to use it too.”
“How about the traffic light system? Red for stop everything completely, yellow for slow down, and green for good.” Griffin suggests, leaning against the arm of the sofa Rowan is seated at, a few papers or something I can’t quite see tucked under his arm.
“How does that sound?” I ask, flashing a soft smile at Rage.
“Good,” Rage nods.
“Yay! I’m so glad!”
Rage’s eyes don’t leave mine as his hand slides up my hip, gripping it possessively.
He watches me, like he’s waiting for my reaction to the deliberate touch.
Even though he initiates a lot of physical contact, arguably the most out of any of the guys, it doesn’t tend to be overtly sexual. Mostly he just wants to be close to me.
This touch is different.
It’s a question.
So I answer.
“Green,” I say, leaning up to whisper in his ear.
His hand moves even further, this time to grip my ass completely.
Wow, his hands are massive.
I feel like I could wiggle or shift ever so slightly to the side and his fingers would brush up against where I’m starting to really want him. And that’s with him still cradling the rest of me.
“Well, I like this development,” Griffin says, pushing himself up to his feet. “But before you have some fun, I think we should all take advantage of our new place. I don’t know about you guys but I’m fucking starving after that fight.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you wasted all your energy fucking around,” Ash snickers.
Griffin rolls his eyes before handing each of us a fancy menu.
“What’s this for?” I ask, peering down at the fancy cardstock.
“It’s the room service menu, Sweetheart. We call down to the desk and they deliver the food right to our door.”
“Oh wow, that’s so cool!” I say, looking at all the options in earnest.
“Oh, I know what I’m fucking getting,” Ash says, a playful rasp to his voice that has me looking up from the nearly overwhelming amount of options.
His sparkling silver-grey eyes meet mine, the corner of his lips quirking up in a smirk.
“They’ve got strawberry fucking shortcake on the menu.” His words come out in a slow drawl, almost like he’s tasting the words as they come out.
“Oh,” I say, my voice barely above a breathy whisper.
“Me too,” Rage growls immediately, sitting up in his chair and shifting me in his lap.
Oh hello.
Looks like our kiss from earlier is still affecting him.
“The big guy knows what’s up,” Ash teases.
“I’ll take a slice too,” Rowan says.
“Me too,” Griffin adds.
“Well, I don’t want to feel left out,” I pout. “Could I get one too?”
“’Course you can, Sweetheart, get whatever the hell you want,” Griffin says, licking his lips as if he’s salivating at the thought of the cake.
“Why do you guys want this cake so badly? Is cake really that good?”
To my surprise, Rage is the one to answer.
“It’s you,” he says, his voice pitched low as he buries his face in the crook of my neck.
“Exactly. Closest thing to us spreading you open on the table and not having to take turns feasting on your dripping—“
“Okay, okay, I get it!” I squeak out, covering my face as my cheeks flush.
I don’t think I can take any more dirty talk without some action. I’m pretty sure the guys can scent me through my leggings.
My stomach twists and I shift from the discomfort, but I think it’s probably just because I’m hungry.
We order a ton of food. Everyone promises to let me try some of what they ordered, it’s the only way I’m able to make a decision.
I settle on pancakes, because I know I like those. I’d hate to order something, especially from a place I know is pretty expensive, and not like it.
Rage holds me on his lap the entire time Rowan, Ash, and Griffin talk about their match and their upcoming fight schedule. He spends his time with his thumb brushing back and forth on the strip of exposed skin between the top of my leggings and where my t-shirt has ridden up.
It has me melting into him.
“You know what I’ve always wanted to try doing?” I murmur softly.
“Hm?” He asks, lifting his head, his hair falling messily in his face.
“A bath,” I hum. “And that tub in the bathroom looked awful big, do you think you’d fit in there with me?”
He freezes, visibly swallowing as his gaze roves over my face, like he’s trying to gauge just how serious I am.
“Green,” I whisper, offering him a nod of reassurance.
The corner of his lips on the unscarred part of his face tug up in an actual smile.
“I want to try,” he says, nodding. “But food... first.”
My stomach, with comical timing, chooses that moment to growl.
“You’re probably right,” I laugh, throwing my head back and brushing some of my hair from my face.
“I like... green,” Rage says, his eyes darting between my eyes.
“Like the safe word? Or the color?”
“Both. Your eyes... They’re green.”
His hand comes up and cups my face, brushing against my cheek. I melt into his touch.
There’s a knock at the door that has me jolting. I guess I’m not used to anyone knocking. No one ever knocked at the last place.
And at the place before that, Rowan’s old trailer, knocking always meant something bad was going to happen.
“That’s the food,” Rowan says, sitting up. I feel the start of our bond pulse with a wave of reassurance he’s trying to push towards me. “Nothing scary, I promise.”
“Thank you,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile.
I’m glad he noticed and knew why that bothered me.
Ash and Griffin return, wheeling in a whole cart full of food.
“Wow,” I breathe out, when the smell of all the burgers, fries, steaks, and all the other food we ordered hits me.
“I don’t give a shit, I’m starting with the cake,” Ash says, plucking the smaller plate off the top of the cart.
“Oh, me too!” I say.
Ash hands out all our plates of cake after a chorus of “me too’s” followed mine. I stare down at the rectangle of soft, spongy looking cake with white cream frosting and bright red strawberries scattered between the layers and my mouth waters.
I grew up with the obscure idea that people had cake on their birthdays. Some of the other girls who were brought in—or maybe now I should say taken—when they were a little older still had more memories than I did.
But we never ate cake at the facility.
I take the small metal fork and take a bite, the flavors exploding on my tongue.
Oh my God.
This is amazing.
I make some embarrassing noise that has all four of the guys staring at me.
“Sorry,” I say, feeling the sting of tears behind my eyes.
“What’s wrong, Sugar?” Rowan asks, his brows drawn down in concern.
“Happy tears,” I sniffle, fanning myself and trying to keep the tears from falling. “This is so good.”
Ash, ever the impatient one, takes a bite of his slice and groans.
“Fuck yes it is.”
Rage is the last one to take a bite. The plate looks comically small in his hand.
I watch, eagerly awaiting his reaction. I don’t think they had cake at the farm either.
He lifts the fork to his lips, eating a bite. He’s silent for the longest time after he swallows.
Then he says a single word.
“Fuck.”
That word coming from his lips, with that gravelly voice of his, said like that has a shiver running down my spine.
And then I feel him throbbing against my hip again.
Oh wow.
My lower belly does a strange tightening thing again. Not quite painful, but more insistent than the last time. I should eat my pancakes. Maybe this cake isn’t filling enough.
“Do you like it?” I ask, practically buzzing with excitement. I want him to like this too.
“Yes,” he says, his intense gaze meeting mine. “Now eat. Then...”
“Then we can take a bath?” I whisper conspiratorially.
That smile of his makes a reappearance, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery.
“Yes.”