Page 15

LOGAN

S ara’s sweet plea dissolves something inside me.

“Logan, please stay.”

But Trent’s level gaze leaves me feeling uncertain. He said the words first, which surprised me. The man just took his girlfriend’s virginity after ten years of pent-up desire. Does he really want me hanging around?

He watches me with an expression I can’t read. I don’t answer right away. I’m not sure how to. I’m not the same cocky consort I typically am in the presence of half-naked people.

Trent clears his throat.

“Look, man.” He drags a hand through his hair, shifting his weight on the balls of his feet.

He wears his nakedness with the casual ease of a man accustomed to barracks and locker rooms. “You said it yourself that this whole experience is about what Sara wants.” He glances at her for assurance, and she nods.

“She wanted you here, so let’s make her happy. ”

My gaze swings to Sara’s and she smiles. “I’m reclaiming my body.” A gentle blush colors her cheeks. “It’s my turn to decide who I want touching me and how and when and?—”

“Okay.” God, I should go, but I’m pulled like a magnet to metal. “I’m available, I mean. I don’t have any other enchantments scheduled until tomorrow, but?—”

“Yes!” Sara turns to Trent, sweaty hair slipping over one eye. “I’d high-five you, but that’s weird, right?”

He chuckles and brushes her hair back, planting a kiss on her temple.

“No weirder than standing here with my junk out in front of a dude who just watched me fuck you.” He picks up the blanket he dropped on the floor.

Wrapping it around his waist, he tucks the end of it into the trail of dark hair dusting his rock-hard abs.

I try not to stare, but he’s shaking his head like he’s not done speaking.

“Can’t say that was how I ever expected things to happen. ”

Sara smiles shyly. “It kinda feels right, though, doesn’t it?”

It does, but I’m not who she’s asking.

“Yeah.” Trent grabs three bottles of water from the chill bucket Sara set out before I got here.

While she tugs all her clothes into place, Trent hands me one of the bottles.

He keeps one for himself, then gives her the other once she’s dressed.

“It feels right,” he agrees, swinging those strange golden eyes back to me.

“I mean, we’re here, we’ve already broken the barrier.

Might as well keep going, right? Give Sara whatever she asks for? ”

“Okay, yeah.” I twist off the cap and take a deep drink, buying myself time to answer.

“Here’s the deal, though.” Fuck, this is awkward.

“You guys are both riding high on endorphins and that’s great.

It’s fantastic. It’s what Crystal Bliss depends on, honestly.

” How do I say this without pissing Trent off?

“But I’ve been around the block a few times with these situations. ”

“Situations?” Sara tilts her head. “Oh, you mean virgins?”

“Virgins, yes.” I hold a resort record as the consort who’s completed the most Cherry on Top virginity packages, though there’s no way I’m telling them that. “Granted, it’s usually just me and one girl or one guy instead of?—”

“Wait.” Sara blinks. “Guys come here, too?”

“No.” I glance at Trent, who just got a strange look on his face. “ Men aren’t allowed at this resort. Not unless they work here. Frogman excluded, of course.” It’s my turn to execute some awkward throat clearing. “I meant in general. In life outside Crystal Bliss.”

Trent stares like it’s only just dawned on him I might have a life beyond here. “You’re bi.”

It’s a statement, but I’m sensing the question. “Yeah, I am. Kinda figured you guys knew.” I look over at Sara, hoping like hell she’s not homophobic. “That a problem?”

“No! Definitely not.” A pretty blush stains her cheeks. “I have girlfriends who are bi, or at least they like being with women. Not my thing, but to each their own, right?”

“Right.” I start to point out that I doubt Sara thought it was her thing to lose her virginity with two men touching her, but that’s not my problem right now.

This is. “Based on my experience with first timers, there’s a good chance you’ll come down kinda swiftly.

You’re on the bliss cloud right now, high on adrenaline and oxytocin and a bunch of other chemicals I can’t remember right now.

” I’m getting into the weeds, but both of them seem to be listening.

“Once that stuff wears off, there’s a risk you’ll hit the ground hard if you don’t take precautions. ”

“Precautions.” Trent blinks like it just occurred to him. “You mean aftercare.”

“Yeah.” I’m a little surprised he’s talking like someone with a BDSM background. “Aftercare would be the smartest next move, rather than jumping right into…” I trail off, not sure what they meant when they asked me to stay.

Maybe they wanted to pray together or something?

Sara’s brow furrows. “Does this mean we’re not having sex?”

My dick lunges at the thought. “We who?”

“You and me.” Sara nibbles her lip, turning to Trent. “What you described about watching someone else have me? I want that. I touched myself thinking about it last night, and I came so hard that?—”

“I know.” Trent watches her face like she’s a magical goddess. “I saw you on the balcony and it was insanely hot even without knowing what you were thinking. I—I’ve never seen you like that.”

She looks startled at first, then smiles. “We want the same thing.” She breathes it out slowly, like she’s relieved to release the words from her body. “I feel like a kid in a candy shop. I want gumballs and lollipops and threesomes and exhibitionist fantasies.”

I chuckle again as my cock starts to swell. I’m the only one here who didn’t get off and I’m worried that might get obvious. “You’re here for two weeks, right? We’ve got time, if that’s what you want.”

“Not exactly.” Trent scrapes a hand over his jaw. “According to Ashton, I need to be gone by tomorrow.”

“I’ll talk to him.”

I say it the same time Sara does. We both laugh.

“Let me do it,” she says. “He’s engaged to my bestie, and he’s really a big ol’ softie. Especially when it comes to anything Camille wants, and what she wants is for me to chase what I want.”

“All right.” I’m not sure I agree with the big ol’ softie assessment, but the boss is a good man who listens to women. He’s most likely to give in to Sara. “You handle that, and we’ll handle you .”

“Excellent.” A salacious smile spreads over her features. “How are you planning to handle me?”

I feel Trent watching me. Feel an unexpected stir in my belly. A longing for something that isn’t just Sara.

Shifting my gaze, I stare at Trent as I answer her. “However you want to be handled.”

The next couple hours take a page straight from Sara’s personal playbook.

Literally, her playbook.

That’s what consorts privately call the intake forms guests complete when they come here. Aside from sexual proclivities, we ask them to list favorite hobbies and snacks, scents and textures, music and games and movies.

That’s how Trent and I wind up shirtless on the floor sitting shoulder to shoulder at Sara’s feet. We’re rubbing her calves with a lotion that smells like marshmallows.

“You know,” I say as I glide my thumb along a tight band of muscle. “In all the years I’ve worked here, I’ve never had anyone choose the marshmallow fragrance.”

“It’s nice.” She glances at Trent. “I’ll admit I picked it for sentimental reasons, but I like it completely separate from that.”

I’m debating whether to ask what’s sentimental about marshmallows when Trent jumps in. “That’s kinda our thing.” He’s looking at me when he says it, and I’m getting the oddest vibe from him. “Marshmallows, you know?”

I don’t know, but Sara supplies more detail. “It started as a reference to something when we were just kids, but now it’s become like a code word for love.”

“I see.” And I’m seeing Trent work hard not to look at me right now. Guess the guy isn’t big on overt signs of emotion.

Or maybe he’s remembering the bowl of sweet treats I delivered to his room this morning, along with the news that I know something about him Sara doesn’t. Something he’s clearly kept private.

Before I can ask about marshmallows, the employee we pulled from the spa wraps up Sara’s French manicure.

“All done, madam.”

“Gorgeous.” She wiggles her sparkly fingertips as a consort named Jacques feeds her another bacon-wrapped fig. “Thank you.”

Jacques dabs her mouth with a napkin. “More passionfruit seltzer?”

“Yes, please.” She sips from the straw he presents her as the manicurist packs up her things. “Oh!” Sara gasps. “This is my favorite part of the film. Could you shift to the right just a little, babe?”

Trent scoots to the side, his bare shoulder bumping my own. A current rolls through me, but I push that aside and focus on squeezing her arch. “How many times has she seen this?” I ask him.

He chuckles and glances behind him at the screen.

It’s playing a scene from The Notebook where Ryan Gosling hangs from the Ferris wheel, hoping to win Rachel McAdams’s heart.

“Five or six thousand times, I’m guessing.

” The fondness in his voice has me rethinking my theory on Trent and emotion.

“The first time she saw it, her grandma was in the end stages of Alzheimer’s. ”

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Not sure if that has something to do with the film. I’ve never watched it before. “That’s a lousy way to lose someone.”

“It is.” She’s blinking back tears but still smiling. “It was the summer I turned fifteen, and my Grandpa took care of her right up to the end. Every single day, he brought in family photo albums and read to her from her favorite books. He was her hero.”