Page 90 of What We Bury

Micah’s come by most days since. We talk, we kiss, we fool around a little—but it hasn’t gone further than his hands and his mouth and me wanting more than either of us has reached for yet. He’s in no rush.We’ve got time, baby girl,he says, like that’s a thing a person can promise.

He fixed my lock, too, after he kicked the door in. Sort of. It catches now if you lift the handle and swear at it, which is more than it did before, so I’m calling it a win.

Eli, though. Eli’s been a black hole. No coffee at the counter, no amber eyes on me across the room or sandwiches in the park, nothing—just an Eli-shaped absence where the most intense man I’ve ever met used to stand. I feel like I broke something I didn’t know I was holding, and I hate how much I want it back.

For the first few days I wore his jacket whenever I was alone. Pathetic, I know. I’d bury my face in the collar, chasing the cedar-and-soap smell of him like an addict working a dwindling supply. I even slept in it. Which is exactly how I ruined it—wore it so much it stopped smelling like Eli and started smelling like me. The last piece of him I had, and I loved it right out of existence.

Now it just lives draped over the back of the chair in my room, and I try not to look at it too long.

The bell over the door tings, and for one split second I hold my breath and hope it’s him, but it’s just some kid coming to meet his friends. I wipe my hands on my apron and send the ticket to the window, watching Knox and Jamie through the pass. Jamie’s attempting small talk—I can see his mouth moving, his hands gesturing—while Knox sits like a monolith, offering nothing but the occasional nod.

I dip my head, grinning.

I wonder if it was supposed to be Eli sitting there today watching me. The thought needles at me all the way through cutting Jamie’s pie.

Because it’s been an entire week without seeing him—even from a distance. So where the hell is he?

And why can’t I stop dreaming about him touching me? It’s like every time I close my eyes I have a vision of what his gorgeous eyes would look like all dark and turned on as he looks up at me from between my legs. It’s at that point in my fantasy that Micah leans in and kisses me . . .

I shake my head, clearing the image before my knees get too soft.

What am I even thinking?

Not long ago, I was fighting against putting myself out there and now I’m suddenly fantasizing about the idea of having two men?

My eyes drift back to Knox, those big hands, that deep timbre.

Not just two.

So much has changed since the party. It’s like the Sage I was before died on that beach, and in her place is the woman I am now, the woman whose life has blended with a group of masked men. And somehow my brain has fallen down into my clit.

I’m constantly horny, and I don’t even recognize myself.

I gave up fighting it days ago. The truth just kept surfacing no matter how hard I pushed it down.

I want them. All of them.

Not just Micah, with his gentle hands and hisbaby girl. Not just Eli, with his sad eyes and everything he won’t let himself take.

All of them.

Knox, who barely speaks and watches me like I’m the most interesting thing he’s ever seen—a week of charged silences stacked between us like kindling nobody’ll light. Milo, who hasn’t stopped complimenting me since he introduced himself over several pieces of pie. Even Holden—who I haven’t laid eyeson outside the front seat of his car since that first morning, parked across the street like a stakeout, and I genuinely cannot decide if a cop watching me from an unmarked sedan is the hottest or most unhinged thing that’s ever happened to me.

It’s hot. It’s really fucking hot.

Five men. Five killers. Five strangers who watched me commit murder and decided to protect me instead of run.

Last night I lay in the dark and let myself imagine it. All of them. Milo’s mouth between my legs, Holden’s hands bruising my hips, Knox’s weight, Eli’s name in my throat, Micah’s fingers. I stopped being ashamed of the picture somewhere around two a.m. and masturbated until my hand cramped and my thighs shook and I still woke up aching.

Which is probably why I nearly drop Jamie’s pie when I turn back around and catch Knox watching me.

Not watching my hands. My face.

Like he can somehow see every filthy thought I just had.

I grab the ramekin of ice cream Danny set on the pass and take it to Jamie. “Cherry pie à la mode.” I set it in front of him with a flourish.

He looks delighted and takes a forkful, making an exaggerated “damn that’s good” face, closing his eyes and letting a totally inappropriate moan escape.