Page 152 of Release

Exit first, just like he usually does with Declan.

The way he always did with Ellen.

I blink back unexpected tears. Ellen should be here tonight.

It’s not fair she’s gone.

All other things aside, she was my best friend. Other than George, there is no one else I can confide in about my darkest secrets. Not even Benjamin, ironically enough.

And not Declan, because I need to protect him.

Even surrounded by people who I know love me, I still feel infinitely alone and isolated sometimes.

Maybe all three of us have felt like that, in our own ways.

Declan deftly steps around us and produces a room key card from his pocket, a key card that I didn’t even realize he’d acquired.

Sneaky,sneakyboy.

Well, notboy. In this moment, Alpha Declan is in the house and flashes me that sexy smirk as he holds the door open, indicating for both of us to go first.

There’s not a hint of boy in his manner right now. George is making no move to take charge, either, meaning George has already signed off on this night.

Poor Declan’s about to have a universe of shit drop on him—and he damn well knows it after tonight—and yet here he is, smiling at me as if he is certain all is right and well with his world.

I’ll have to make his resignation public on Monday morning, if not sooner.

For tonight, we’re all encased in Alpha Declan’s bubble.

Maybe he can teach us two old dogs a few new tricks.

Once we have the suite door locked behind us, Declan catches my hand and leads me to the suite’s master bedroom.

Sure enough, there’s a couple of overnight bags there.

“So here are the rules for tonight,” he says, holding both my hands. “I’min charge.” There’s not a hint of submissiveness in his voice. “George will participate as much or as little asItell him to.”

I glance over at George and see him leaning against the bedroom doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest and an amused smile on his face.

From the evil smirk Declan gives me, that means I’m reasonably assured George’s role will be alotof participation.

“I seem to remember a certain night in the office last January,” Declan says, “wheresomeoneset us up and sort of ran the show.”

Ooooohhhh, fuuuuuck.

Yep. I’m screwed.

Literally.

I swallow to form spit. “Safeword?” I manage.

Declan gives me Dom eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“Oh,” I weakly say. “Right. We don’t use one.” I’m not sure if that flutter I feel in my gut is passion or fear.

Or maybe a little of both.

Eh, correction—alotof both.