1. Bianca #2
“Come on, Freddie. Winston isn’t the only reason, right?” I glance between them, distributing the blame. “You all have made it impossible for me. If someone even thinks about talking to me, here come the four horsemen of cock-blocking.” I spread my arms dramatically. “What’s a girl to do?”
Owen barks a laugh, unable to hide his satisfaction.
“Bianca.” Weller says my name in the tone he uses when he scolds me.
I interject before he gains momentum.
“It’s my birthday.” I soften my expression to pure innocence, breaking down his barriers. “Please? Can’t we have a little fun?”
After a moment, he nods.
I waste no time spinning the bottle. The glass clinks and skitters across the stone, stopping with its neck pointed straight at Freddie.
His green eyes drop to my mouth and stay there.
I crawl to him. The rough stone bites at my palms and knees, but the discomfort pales in comparison to the pull toward him. Knowing I’m being particularly provocative, I don’t dare look at the others.
I bridge the final gap between us and brush my lips against his—soft, testing. His hand hovers near my waist without touching, and I can tell he’s holding back. I deepen the kiss, and nothing exists except his mouth on mine.
He tastes like cherry soda—sweet and summery. It sinks into me slowly, warm and dizzying.
When I pull back, his eyes flutter open, and that charming smile appears. I can’t resist leaning in to kiss him again.
His laughter vibrates against my lips, the joyful sound resonating through my body.
His voice is thick. “Happy birthday, Bumblebee.”
The way he says it hits me hard.
“Spin again,” Owen growls, impatience obvious.
My laugh comes out breathless and a little hysterical.
I reach for the bottle, still catching my breath. It spins and lands on Tristan.
While Freddie waits for permission, Tristan doesn’t.
He moves to me within seconds, fisting one hand in my hair and wrapping the other around my neck, thumb against my pulse. I gasp, my palm flattening against his chest.
“Happy birthday, Bianca.” His voice is sexy and low.
I melt.
Then he kisses me. His kiss is hungry, coaxing pure need out of me. His thumb grazes my neck, and I let out a tiny whimper. He takes it as a challenge, deepening the kiss until I lose track of where I am.
When he pulls away, I brace myself on his shoulder.
“This isn’t over,” he says, as he brushes his thumb over my lips, and I believe him.
Before I can spin again, Owen grabs the bottle.
“My turn.”
He doesn’t even pretend to let it spin. He just slaps his palm down so it points at me.
“Isn’t that cheating?”
“Strategy,” he replies, and that’s all the warning I get.
His hands are on me before I can blink, gripping my waist and lifting me so my legs wrap around him. His fingertips burn against my skin where he holds me, touching me in ways no one ever has.
Then his mouth crashes into mine—rough, demanding, with no hesitation.
His tongue pushes past my lips like it belongs there. I grip his shoulders because everything else in me is breaking apart.
His low growl reverberates through my entire body. The noise sends a thrill through me, and a breathless moan escapes. He pulls me tighter, adjusting me so I can feel him, hard and unforgiving, between my thighs.
By the time he pulls back, I’m dizzy. My whole body hums.
“Fucking hell, Princess.”
Owen lowers me to my feet, and my legs feel like jelly.
Weller doesn’t speak right away. His gaze is unreadable, the silence stretching just long enough to make my breath hitch. His look is unnerving.
I struggle to sound composed. “You playing or not?”
He lifts his chin. “I don’t play games, Bianca.”
My body goes tense.
“But for you... I’ll make an exception.”
Weller approaches, his hand rising to my face, fingertips brushing my jaw. The contact is light but feels like too much. I look up at him, searching for answers I’ve been longing for.
“Are you sure?” he asks. No teasing—just a thread of warning beneath.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Weller stops holding back. One arm slides around my waist while the other stays at my jaw, his thumb pressing gently under my chin as he lowers his mouth to mine.
The kiss is nothing like I expected. It’s slow—devastatingly slow. He kisses like he’s savoring me, and it’s causing both of us to unravel.
When his lips part, my knees nearly give way. I grab his shoulders for support. He doesn’t stop me. The kiss deepens, turning rougher and more desperate.
The kiss ends too soon. The loss feels unbearable when he breaks it.
“Happy birthday, Bianca.”
I allow myself a small smile, pressing my fingers against my swollen, sensitive lips.
All I can think about is wanting more. These little triangles masquerading as clothing could disappear in an instant. I have faith someone here will end my suffering.
My whole body feels on edge and foolishly needy. I played myself. Worth it… But I need to get home and treat myself to a few orgasms before I combust.
A breeze makes me shiver.
“Cold?” Freddie moves closer, rubbing my arms to create friction.
Owen drapes a towel around my shoulders, standing behind me for warmth.
I need a distraction before I do something stupid, like beg them to touch me again.
“So... what’s up with your dads? I heard you mention them earlier.”
They all freeze.
Owen shrugs, dismissive. “Their typical bullshit. Nothing for you to worry about.”
My eyes narrow. “Funny. Because it didn’t sound like nothing when you didn’t know I was listening.”
“It’s complicated, Bianca.” Tristan runs his hand through his hair. I’ve seen him do that maybe three times.
Weller gives a single nod, as if they’ve already agreed on what not to tell me.
“That’s not an answer.” My words come out harsher than I meant, but I don’t back down. “I’m not a kid. Stop treating me like one.”
“You’ll know when it’s time,” Weller says. “And when it’s safe.”
Safe? I swallow my unease. “Fine. But soon.”
The sunlight has softened now, filtered and gold, as if the day is trying to wrap itself up. Shadows stretch across the water.
I’m not ready for it to be over.
“It’s getting late. I should head home before my parents send out a search party… aka Winston.”
“We’re walking you.” Freddie is already moving, grabbing what’s left of our stuff. “Winston would lose his mind if we let you walk alone.”
Tristan laughs, low and wicked. “He’d lose it if he knew what just happened.”
Weller slides his shirt back on without looking at me. “Some things are best kept among friends.”
Friends. The word hits me like a slap. Cold. Nothing like how I feel.
But I let it stand, swallowing the hurt.