FOUR ZALI
FOUR
ZALI
We took the Range Rover to the charity ball at The Langham.
Ry didn’t like being a passenger. He would always drive if it was an option.
Sitting in the backseat with Flynn, I threaded my fingers with his and held tight.
He’d made me feel better than my hookup had just by brushing out my hair and talking about how he should style it.
His words—that I should show off my body—were the sweetest.
Then he’d suggested I wear it in a loose bun on top of my head, and I’d loved the idea.
He’d worked his magic, and in the end, it looked professionally styled.
I did have an appointment with my hairdresser, but I’d cancelled it at the last minute when my hookup had sent his dick pic.
Talk about mediocre, though. I should have kept the appointment—my hookup definitely wasn’t worth missing it for.
Flynn, on the other hand, was. He’d come to my rescue like he always did, and I loved him for it.
We pulled up at the porte-cochere, and the concierge opened my door.
Ezra unfolded himself from the front seat and held out his hand for me before the guy could even step forward.
The split in my dress allowed me to move easily, but between it and the whole top half on the verge of falling off my shoulder, I had to ease my way out.
“I didn’t tell you before, but you look very handsome,” I said to Ezra as I straightened up and rested a hand on his chest.
He brushed a piece of my hair off my cheek and smiled. “Thank you. I about swallowed my tongue when I saw you. You look gorgeous.”
“Why, thank you.” I grinned and held my hand out for Flynn.
Ry passed the keys to the parking attendant and joined us.
The ballroom was next-level opulence. It was filled with high-society types who loved getting dressed up, and the decked-out room reflected that.
An ice sculpture was the centrepiece of the room at the foot of the dance floor.
It glittered in the low light cast by the sparkling chandelier directly above it.
The tables surrounded it in a semicircle and were covered with floor-length white tablecloths.
The chairs were encased in matching wraps.
Groupings of candles were placed on every table and had vines and roses in full bloom wound around them. I’d never seen anything quite like it.
My back straight, I walked into that room feeling like a princess. I had my arm hooked through Ezra’s, and I was still holding Flynn’s hand. Ry walked in front of us like my bodyguard, always holding himself apart.
I respected that. I did it a lot, too—partly out of fear and partly to keep them safe.
But tonight was an evening away from it all. I wanted to spend the night dancing and laughing with them.
We found our table, but before I could order a drink from the hovering waiter, Ry stepped in front of me.
He reached up and cupped my breast, slipping his thumb up under the throw and flicking it over my nipple.
I gasped as electricity shot straight through me down to my clit.
My cunt throbbed, and I clenched my thighs tight to stop my moan.
“You should have worn the tape,” he whispered darkly in my ear.
“Maybe I like showing off my tits,” I murmured back, arching into his touch, practically begging him to pinch my nipple.
“Be careful, Zali,” he warned. “We aren’t on the yacht here. You have to cover up.” He adjusted my dress and stepped back. He turned to the waiter then and added nonchalantly, “I’ll have a double shot of whiskey, straight up.”
Ezra cleared his throat and ordered something for the three of us. I wasn’t even listening.
“Dance with me?” I asked Flynn.
He looked at the dance floor. There was no one on it, and the band was only playing background music, but I didn’t care.
I needed to feel a hot body against mine—getting laid that afternoon hadn’t even come close to quenching my thirst, and Flynn always gave the best hugs.
He never kept a sliver of distance between us, and I desperately needed it after whatever the fuck that was.
“Always.” Flynn took my hand again and led me out.
He pulled me into his arms, his hands low on my hips as I reached up and threaded my fingers into the curls at his nape. He slid his thigh between mine and began moving. It was slow and sensual, and Jesus fucking Christ, I could come just from his muscles rubbing against my clit.
But I wouldn’t.
I respected Flynn too much for that. He was my best friend, not a convenient fuck. So instead, I gestured over my shoulder with a tilt of my head and said, “Seems like Ry’s drinking tonight.”
He smiled. “Good. He needs to loosen up a little. He’s been… tense lately.” He paused, flicked his gaze at Ezra, and gestured with his chin. “At least we know he won’t get behind the wheel.”
“Are you driving?”
“Heck no!” He laughed and shook his head. “Did I tell you that the Ferrari still hasn’t hit two thousand kays? The only time it gets driven is when Ry takes it out for me to make sure the engine will still turn over.”
I’d bought it for him as a high-school-graduation present.
I’d made my first million while the kids at school were still picking their pimples, and my fortunes exploded from there.
I’d bought my dad a townhouse on the water with its own beach so he could pull his tinny up to his back door.
Then I’d gotten Flynn the Ferrari. My present to myself was a cherry-red ’67 Mustang.
I drove it whenever I had the chance, but Flynn still preferred the bus and tram to get him between his apartment and the university.
I shrugged and smiled. “I can drive if Ezra wants to drink.”
Flynn never drank, and I rarely did, either—not after we’d seen what it had done to his family life. But Flynn was right: Ry did need to loosen up. He was always dark and growly, but my hookup had pushed him too far today when he’d called me a hooker.
We stayed like that, dancing until the band stopped playing and the emcee walked up on stage.
Flynn tugged my dress down to cover my breast that had popped free again, winked, and said, “I’ll make sure Ry doesn’t have a coronary.”
The night dragged on from there. Dinner was served, and there were speeches throughout.
Instead of the band beginning again, the charity auction started.
I’d donated a thirty-minute scenic flight in my plane, which Ry was kindly going to fly, and a weekend stay in the penthouse at The Langham.
I bid on a few items, scoring a restored Harley Davidson for Ry and a weekend’s accommodation and golf at a private course for Ezra.
He lit up when they mentioned it, and I couldn’t resist. The children’s charity we were supporting was a good cause, and I loved treating the people around me to special things.
I was disappointed that Flynn didn’t see anything he wanted, but I knew he would have schooled his features intentionally.
He didn’t like me spending money on him.
He valued the little things—a weekend with just the two of us was far more precious to him than almost any other experience.
By ten o’clock, I’d had enough.
But then the band started again, and Ry rose from his chair.
I looked at Ezra, my eyes wide, and asked quietly, “How much has he had to drink?”
“Too much to drive, but he’s not messy,” he whispered back.
“Up,” Ry ordered and held out his hand.
I took it, and he led me to the dance floor. He wrapped me in his embrace, pressing his whole body against mine. He kissed my temple and lingered there, holding me tight. “I was so fucking angry at you today. You invited that fucking idiot onto the yacht. Another one.”
“Ry—”
He pressed his thumb to my lips, silencing me. “Let me finish. Please.” He exhaled and rubbed his thumb along my bottom lip. I was frozen, mesmerized by him. “Then when he didn’t make you scream, I was waiting for you to tell him to leave. But he lingered like a bad fucking smell.”
Tension was vibrating from him, and I ran my hands down his back, trying to calm him.
“I nearly fucking beat him to a pulp, Zali.”
He didn’t need to tell me why. I knew.
“It’s taken me hours to calm the fuck down, and then you go and buy me a bike? A vintage Harley of all things?” He shook his head, his gaze incredulous. “I fucking love you, you know that? And not for the bike, but because it even occurred to you that I might like it.”
“Do you? Like it?” I asked.
“You have no idea.” He pressed his lips to my forehead and wrapped me up tight, swaying on the spot as we danced together.
I slid my arms around his waist and rested my head on his chest. A little part of me wished that this was real—that he or Flynn were my boyfriend.
Flynn lifted my feet onto his lap the moment we were back in the Range Rover. He undid the straps of my shoes and slipped them off my feet before dropping my stilettos to the floor.
I was turned sideways on the seat to face him, and I groaned when he massaged my arches.
I was tired and strung out, hypersensitive to touch.
My dress had kept shifting when Ry and I were dancing, my tits peeking out.
Cool air had touched my nipples whenever Ry’s jacket moved.
My lack of orgasm earlier didn’t help either.
Flynn’s hands on me now were causing sensation overload.
I adjusted my dress, tugging at the fabric thrown over my shoulder to stop it from strangling me.
But it didn’t work. I shifted my weight and tugged at it again.
Flynn smiled sympathetically at me. “Let me help,” he whispered.
I leaned forward, and he slid it off my shoulder, pulling it away from my chest. The move exposed my breasts to the cool of the air-conditioning, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Better?” Flynn asked.
I nodded and smiled at him. “Much.”