Dirty Secret

Even when Indie brought back weekly dinners, when it was just the two of us on a Monday night, eating pasta and going out for gelato—

It was great, but it wasn't the same. I missed those dinners for a long time.

I never thought I'd say enough with the family dinners already.

But oh my fucking god, enough with the family dinners already.

This is Hunt family dinner four in as many weeks. All six of us. Me and Cam, Indigo and Ty, Ian and Eve.

Cam's been here for an entire month.

And Ty's been torturing us with togetherness and expensive wine.

We do it at his apartment. I don't have to dress up, even if all three Hunt men wear suits to the occasion (as if they ever wear anything else).

When Cam's in London, I show up in jeans, sweats even. Not as a fuck you to Ty, because I'm not saying fuck you. It's more playful. More you're you and I'm me and let's keep it that way.

See, this tradition didn't start four weeks ago, when Cam arrived to celebrate the end of my first year of school.

It started the Friday after we were, uh, discovered. (I didn't see Ty and Cam duke it out, but Indie says both of them walked out of the room like they'd been throwing verbal punches. I think actual punches would have been easier. I would have rather Indie tackled me than looked me in the eyes and said I'm not mad you lied, I understand why you did, but I'm disappointed you didn't feel you could be honest with me. That was agony. And it did take a while to win her trust back. We're good now, but she was concerned all winter).

Supposedly, these dinners are about trust and family time. And they are. And I love the trust and family time, but…

Well, Ty scares me. He shifts into I'll destroy the bastard whenever Indie or I mention a perceived slight. And it's not even in an angry way. It's more a quiet intensity. Like of course Ty will destroy anyone who hurts his wife or his sister-in-law.

It's his duty, and he does it proudly.

Which is sweet.

But intense.

(I guess that's a good description of Ty. Only the sweetness is more under wraps).

Ty's not quite as grr when Ian and Eve join us. They're here half the time and I don't really mind being a fifth wheel now that Eve and I are friends. I enjoy watching Ian bait Ty. It's so strange and delightful seeing Ty's younger brother side come out.

And whenever Cam's in town, he joins us too.

Now that Cam's visit is almost over, and he's about to go back to London—

Ty really is torturing us on purpose, I swear. We sit through five courses. Five freaking courses.

Ty tells a million stories over dessert.

It's a good thing he's an excellent cook. This chocolate torte is perfect. Rich and gooey and covered in fresh raspberries.

Finally, after Ian takes over embarrass the younger family member duties, and tells his fiftieth story about trying to teach Ty how to flirt (he was hopeless, truly hopeless. It's a good thing he was a handsome football player, because otherwise… no chance).

Finally, after a billion hours not fucking my boyfriend, we say goodbye and head to the elevator.

And take it to the lobby.

Huh?

"We're going to your place?" I ask.

Cam's palm skims my bare back.

Since he's been here, I've been dressing up. Not because I like looking fancy, exactly. More because I love the way he looks at me when I'm wearing something short and low-cut.

"You don't want to?" He pulls me into a tight embrace.

"It's far."

"Six blocks?"

I nod. "Mine is right there. We could be naked already."

"We could be naked right now."

"We're almost to the lobby."

"So?" He raises a brow, daring me.

"You wouldn't."

"You wouldn't either." His fingers skim the hem of my dress. Then they dip under it.

He runs his hand up my thigh. Higher, higher, higher—

There—

"Fuck, sweetness." He presses his palm against me. "You're not wearing anything under this."

"I know."

"You didn't tell me."

"It's supposed to be a surprise."

He pulls me into a slow, deep kiss as he draws circles on my clit.

Again and again and—

Ding.

Fuck.

He pulls his hand back as the doors slide open.

My body whines. Six blocks is too far. Upstairs is too far. Everything is too far.

He smiles, completely aware I'm in agony and savoring every minute, then he slips his jacket over my shoulders and he leads me outside.

Summer wool.

It really is comfortable. Perfect for the weather. The late June sky is dark and gloomy. The air is cool but humid.

If circumstances were different, I'd appreciate the layer.

Right now?

I'm already on fire. I need less fabric, not more.

"It's only six blocks," he says.

My lips part with a sigh.

His smile widens. "You can make it."

"I'm not sure that's true. I might die of sexual frustration."