17. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
Emery
Lizzote’s turns out to be an old-school Italian restaurant, with low lighting, exposed brick, and real candles in tiny lanterns. The scent of garlic wafts to me as the hostess shows us to a rounded booth at the back, and I’m ushered into the center, with Derek and Darcy to my left and Xavier and Hudson to my right.
If a mafia gunfight breaks out while we eat lunch, I won’t be surprised. That is the vibe this place gives off.
As soon as my ass hits the overstuffed leather of the circular bench seat, I’m reminded that I have a vibrator jammed into my pussy. My breath hitches as the rough spot grazes over my clit. Every time I scooch farther into the booth, the damn thing rubs shooting sparks of pleasure all through my body.
Xavier took my backpack and the bag containing my haul from my trip to the art supply store—a set of charcoal pencils and a sketch pad— promising he would keep it safe for me beside his seat on the outside of the booth. I tried to hide my discomfort at having my things so far away from me, but I’m not sure I fooled any of them.
I’m honestly surprised by my behavior. I’ve never been territorial over my shit before. Not that I’ve ever had anything that was still in its packaging and specifically for me. Maybe that’s it?
Am I freaking out over not having my stuff with me because, for the first time in my life, I have stuff that is actually mine?
Fuck.
I want to smash my own head against the table with all of this psychoanalyzing I’m doing. Who gives a shit why I’m like this? Not these men. Yeah, they’ve spent all day spoiling me, but really, they owe me. It was a part of the rules. If I have to follow the rules, so do they.
“Hello, can I—oh! Hi, Master Derek,” a perky voice greets, my attention swinging from the red and white check pattern of the tablecloth to the woman only a few years older than me. Her insanely high blonde ponytail bounces as she greets the other men as well. “And Masters Darcy, Hudson, and Xavier. You were all missed at last weekend’s event.”
Why is she calling them Master ? And what event?
“Hello, Dylan,” Derek replies. “We had a prior engagement last weekend.”
Dylan’s eyes clash with mine, her smile dipping the smallest amount, before returning her attention back to Derek, a question clearly written all over her face. “That’s okay. Will you be there tonight?”
A very fine film of discomfort has fallen over our group. I try not to seem too interested in their conversation, but come on. This girl practically has hearts falling out of her eyes for Derek.
“No, not tonight. We already have plans,” Derek states in a voice that says the conversation is over. “How about we order our drinks?”
“Oh, okay. Um, yes. What can I get you?” She scrambles to pull a pad of paper and a pen out of her apron pocket.
Disappointment is written all over Dylan’s face, and I’m surprised by the tiniest bubble of sympathy that forms for her. But, at the same time, I’m insanely confused by this whole thing.
“Emmy?” Derek asks, and I ping-pong between his face and Dylan’s.
I blink a few times. “Uh, I’d like a Coke?”
Derek raises his eyebrow at me, and I glance at Dylan, her gaze also ping-ponging between Derek and myself. My cheeks burn, but I do as implied.
“Please, Daddy, may I have a Coke?”
Dylan’s eyes are wide. “Daddy—”
“Dylan.” Xavier cuts off whatever she was about to say.
She turns to look at him, her face going a little pale as Xavier glares at her. “S-sorry.”
“Yes, baby, you can. I’ll take a Coke as well,” Derek responds, pretending like the last few seconds didn’t happen. The others place their orders before the girl disappears.
Silence falls. I feel like I should be asking questions about what just happened, but why? I’m not whatever Dylan thinks I am. I’m temporary, only here for the weekend. And even though my stomach feels tight, it’s a good reminder that the information isn’t something I need to know.
“So, Emmy, tell us a little bit about yourself,” Hudson says, breaking the silence. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and then shuffles the place setting in front of him closer to the center before bracing his elbows on the table.
Stomach suddenly doing an internal belly dance, I lean back and pretend to discreetly fan out my skirt a little more, giving me a moment to think about how I want to answer this. Is there really any need to tell them about me, if what we are doing ends tomorrow? I learned a long time ago to not hand out too many pieces of myself. So, I decide to go with a flirty, if a little bratty, response.
“I’m not very interesting. I’d actually like to know more about the four of you. How did you become friends? And how did you get from friends to friends who fuck in a group?”
Darcy grins but looks away.
Hudson leans closer. “I highly doubt you are uninteresting. Tell us about your family. Where do they think you are this weekend?”
I grit my teeth and mask it as a smile. Fuck, came out swinging with that first question, didn’t they? “There’s nothing to tell.”
Hudson quirks an eyebrow before reaching for his phone and opening an app. “How about this? For every answer you give us, I’ll turn on your vibrator for one minute.”
I swallow heavily, my tummy growing warm as I dart my eyes around the almost full restaurant. “Here?”
He hums and leans back, taking his phone with him. “Well, that is entirely up to you. You can choose to say no, and we can sit here and discuss the weather, no getting to know you and no orgasms. Then, when we are back in the apartment, you’ll be on restriction until the end of our time together. You’ll spend the rest of the weekend being used by the four of us, whenever we want, however we want, with your orgasms few and far between. If any.”
We stare at each other for long enough that a waiter—not Dylan—comes back with our drinks. They all ordered sodas as well, which is kind of strange for grown-ass men, but whatever. Maybe it's a solidarity thing, since I’m too young to legally drink. Not that drinking is going to be a thing I waste my money on.
How much can I tell them before it’s too much? Telling them I’m an orphan and there isn’t a living soul on the planet who gives a fuck if I live or die—well, maybe Oakley—is definitely too much for weekend fuck partners. But that’s my answer to the question they’re asking.
Apparently, I’m taking too long to answer, because a very gentle internal vibe begins inside of me.
“How about a little incentive to start?”
My chest raises on a sharp breath, and I really want to rock my pelvis to get the little toy to press deeper inside of me. I’m a slave for this toy. Holy fuck, with how fast it pushed me over the edge in the fitting room, I’m seriously considering spending some of the thirty K on one for myself.
“That’s not fair,” I whisper, already feeling myself start to cave as my heart starts to race.
Maybe I can just tell them the outline of my life? Of me? I don’t need to go into great detail. Something similar to what’s written in my Department of Child and Family Services file.
The vibes suddenly cut off, and I refocus on Hudson.
“You can use your safe words, Emmy. You can use them to end the questions. You can use them to veto a question. We just want to get to know you a little better. It’s up to you.”
I scan the four of them, my pussy aching with an abandoned throb. They are all staring back at me intently, some more relaxed than the others, but very interested. They really want to know?
“What color are you, princess?”
Fine. Surface level. Just enough to keep the toy vibrating. With a deep breath, I answer Darcy. “Green.”