Something Merry: MMF Bisexual Menage Romance by Roxanne Riley

Author:Roxanne Riley [Riley , Roxanne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Chip

It’s a little strange to have other people in my little apartment. In all the time I’ve lived here at the Hidden Pearl, I don’t think anyone else has actually set foot in this place. Any time spent with anyone else has been either out and about at the resort or in one of the guest rooms.

I don’t entirely know what my hang-up is about it, really, since it’s just a space I occupy. Sure, it’s “my home,” but at the same time, it’s not like it’s some deeply personal reflection of me. The furniture was all provided, and while I’ve hung up some artwork and obviously my stuff’s around, for the most part, the space is pretty generic.

But despite my weird feelings, it’s also nice to have the two of them here. I’ve already been hanging out with them for a couple of hours now, between the dance class and then dinner, and the longer I’m with them, the less I want them to go.

I haven’t felt anything like this, these stirrings of actual feelings, in a long time. In spite of my initial thoughts, that I was just horny and drawn to them because they’re both so fucking attractive, I think I’m grasping that there’s something deeper running underneath.

And it should have me running for cover, but here I am leaping right into the flames.

The record reaches the end of the first side and Hazel and Brendon, who were dancing to the last track, settle back down on the couch. I move over to the record player and flip it over, but turn the volume down a bit, so we can still talk without having to shout over it.

Hazel’s breathless and her cheeks are flushed, her beautiful amber eyes glittering like topaz. But none of it is half as pretty as the glowing smile on her face. Brendon looks a little less chipper. There’s something intense in his expression that I can’t quite read.

“Anyone need any more wine?” I ask, lifting my glass and draining the last of it.

Hazel declines, but Brendon accepts another glass. I take his from him and retreat to the kitchen, killing the rest of the bottle between the two cups. I take it back out to the living room and hand Brendon is glass.

“Thanks,” he takes a sip, “You weren’t kidding, this Riesling’s awesome. What brand or winery or whatever is it from?”

“I’m gonna be honest with you,” I laugh, “The brand is German or something with a lot of consonants, and while I’d love to sound all badass just rattling it off, I cannot pronounce it for the life of me.”

Hazel laughs and Brendon chuckles. I set my wine glass on the table. “One sec, I’ll grab the bottle for you, maybe you can do better.”

“Probably not,” he admits, “Hazel’s actually likely the best bet.”

Hazel nods. “I can give it a shot.”

I lift an eyebrow with interest. “Oh? Do you speak German, Hazel?”

“Not remotely fluently,” she says, shaking her head, “I took a couple years of it in high school, but I don’t think I could hold a conversation.

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