Spring Kings: A contemporary reverse harem romance (Year of the Harem) by Kayla Wren

Author:Kayla Wren [Wren, Kayla]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Cherry Publishing
Published: 2021-01-21T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Three days until Mom and Dad come home, and I’m all set to make an impassioned speech to Jamie. Something stirring and inspirational, about how I can’t go back to the way things were.

About how I won’t hide away on the estate anymore. How I won’t give Kingston up.

I won’t give Jamie up either.

We spent the night entwined in his bed, tangled up in a pile of limbs. Even when it got overheated and stuffy, Jamie stomped across the room and threw open a window rather than make us leave.

It was perfect. I barely slept an hour, but it was perfect.

Kingston ducked out before the sun rose, kissing us both on the lips and promising to see us soon. He had an early shift on the boat and had to check on his little brothers before going to work.

When he said that, I realized I barely know a thing about Kingston outside of his work. Well, that and the way he tastes. What he sounds like when he comes. In any case, I resolved on the spot to get to know him better. I want to hear it all.

His favorite movie. His ultimate comfort food. How he started working on a boat anyhow.

But it all has to wait for another day, another stolen interlude. Kingston bids us both goodbye and slips out of Jamie’s bedroom door, out into the shadowed hall.

There are no shouts from security guards. No shriek of alarms. That’s a good sign, right?

Never mind that the whole house knows what we were up to last night. If Dad doesn’t already know, he will soon.

The same thought must have occurred to Jamie, because he rolls out of bed with a heavy sigh. He says nothing—doesn’t even look at me—just makes a beeline straight to the shower.

Fine. He can be a repressed idiot again if he must. I’m used to hot and cold from him. But I can’t help gritting my teeth as I slide out of bed and throw last night’s clothes back on.

Okay. I didn’t expect rose petals and sonnets. And he already makes me breakfast most mornings. But would it kill him to express a single emotion? To not bottle up every damn thing?

I thump the flat of my hand against his bathroom door on my way out.

“Jamie!”

The spray of the shower drums against the floor. Nothing.

Sighing, I slip through his bedroom doorway and through the halls. I take my sweet time strolling to my room—I won’t hide away or be ashamed. I’ve done nothing wrong. We’re all consenting adults, and besides—last night was perfect.

Too bad about this morning. Damn it, Jamie.

I shower, change, and work through my exercises in the privacy of my bedroom, wincing at the ache in my leg. I’ve been pushing it, forcing it to dance and walk for hours, not to mention rolling around with both guys last night. We didn’t… do that, but we took turns making each other come like it was the orgasm Olympics.

The sensible thing to do would be to ease off.

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