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“Kiss me while I come,” Elena demanded, voice so low and commanding it should have scared her instead of setting her body on fire.

Getting up to her knees, Marisol pressed her pelvis into Zuri. She didn’t want to stop touching her. Didn’t want to lose the connection to either of them.

While Elena kissed her hard and deep and moaned into her mouth like she owned her—like she’d been created for the sole and glorious purpose of helping her come—Marisol kept grinding harder against Zuri.

The contact wasn’t nearly targeted enough. Not at this angle. But she couldn’t bear to move. Hands possessive on Zuri’s hips, her slick heat grinding against her skin, Marisol’s thighs trembled.

Elena tightened her fist in Marisol’s hair, her kiss turning into a grimace before she stopped moaning. Stopped breathing.Elena was right on the edge. Marisol felt it in the throbbing in her own body. Felt it in how wet Zuri was against her.

Rocking harder into Zuri, Marisol moaned against her lips, her kiss never slowing despite Elena’s clenched jaw. Letting go of Zuri’s hip, she reached out.

Running her open palm up Elena’s sweat-slick body, she slipped her hard nipple between her fingers and squeezed. A groan rumbled in Elena’s chest and Marisol squeezed harder before rolling the stiff point between her fingers and whimpering when Elena pulled her hair so hard, a fraction more pressure might tear it from her scalp.

Breaking their kiss, Elena tossed her head back, fangs exposed while she panted and cursed and looked heart-stompingly beautiful while she came. Body tensed and eyebrows drawn together, she was more fantasy than reality.

When Elena opened her eyes, skin flushed and lopsided smile dangerous, she let go of Marisol’s hair and leaned in close. “I’m only going to be gentle the first time,” she promised, kissing her again before Marisol collapsed.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Not a single partof Marisol didn’t hurt. Her scalp was sore, her thighs were aching, and her throat was raw. When she awoke without opening her eyes, she considered that maybe she’d been hit by a truck.

Or the flu. It could be the flu. That would explain why her skin was sweltering and her body felt like one huge bruise. When she shifted her weight, every single muscle in her body screaming, the reason for her sweat covered chest became obvious.

Blinking, her eyes adjusted to the faint morning light seeping in through the slivers of space between the tarps. With her back to her, Elena was on her side, one leg thrown back between Marisol’s thighs and her arms around Zuri who was in front of her. They were spooning like the most regular couple in the world.

That’s how they’d be sleeping if I wasn’t here. The thought invaded her mind before she could think about how beautiful Elena’s back was and how she loved the steep curve of Zuri’s hip where the sheet had slipped below her waist.

The weight of their bodies, the warmth of their breath, the tangle of limbs… It was intimate. A secret Marisol wasn’t meant to be in on. She was on the outside looking in. A guest. A ghost.

Elena and Zuri fit together so perfectly. It was like they’d been sculpted from the same clay. Even in her sleep, Elena held Zuri like she belonged only to her. They had a shared history. A love that didn’t need to be spoken to be obvious.

Marisol’s heart joined the rest of her aches. She wanted that connection, that sense of belonging, that unshakeable certainty. She wanted to know Zuri and Elena the way they knew each other. But she’d always be behind. Always be on the outside.

She slipped out of bed, her movements silent and careful. Elena would probably hear her, she wasn’t even exactly sure she was asleep, but she did her best not to disturb them. She found a T-shirt on the edge of the bed and pulled it on. The combined scent of the three of them was trapped in the fabric.

Tiptoeing out of the room without groaning every time she moved was a feat. At least the souls of her bare feet didn’t hurt where they met the worn wooden floor.

The kitchen, bathed in the pale light of dawn, was a haven of normalcy. Marisol leaned against the counter, her chest tight, her thoughts a tangled mess. She pushed them aside. Elena was almost back to herself; they’d be leaving soon. This was on the verge of over.

Starving, she opened a cabinet, her gaze scanning the shelves, searching for something she could eat without waking up the whole house. Without pulling Elena and Zuri out of their sweet moment.

She found a box of Pop-Tarts, the familiar packaging a strange comfort in a place where everything was new. She pulled it out, rolling her eyes when she noticed the expiration date was six months ago.

Deciding that the food was probably so processed the additives and crap kept it edible far outside the date stamped on the side, she went on the hunt for a toaster. She’d eat them straight from the wrapper, but decided the heat might kill toxins.

She almost laughed to herself.A few days out of the hospital and you’ve forgotten how the heck food poisoning works. Deciding she was going to risk it anyway, she was crouched and scavenging deep inside the lower cabinet most likely to hold a small appliance when she heard movement behind her.

Pulling her head out so fast that she slammed it in the same spot Elena had left her scalp sore, she cursed before dropping a big mixing bowl.

“What are you doing?” Zuri asked, voice hoarse and reminding Marisol of how she’d spent all night cursing and moaning and calling both her and Elena’s names.

Marisol froze, her hand hovering over the fallen bowl and wondering when exactly she’d become this nervous person. She’d once caught a baby with the mother laboring in the back of a pickup in the parking lot. And she’d done that without breaking a freaking sweat.

She gathered herself—convinced she was cooler than this—and then she saw her. In the doorway, Zuri’s silhouette was framed against the pale light streaming in from the living room. Wearing a short, silky robe, the deep emerald green a stark contrast to her warm skin, she was stunning. The fabric clung to her curves, revealing the generous swell of her hips, the tempting glimpse of full cleavage peeking out from the steep neckline.

Zuri wasn’t just out of her league, she was playing a different sport on a distant planet. Dark eyes, sharp and intense, met Marisol’s, pinning her in place.

“I asked you a question,” she said in the same authoritative way she said everything and all Marisol could think about wascrawling to her. About staying on her knees and tugging the robe open. “What the hell are you doing down there?”