Page 135 of Hard to Judge

I offer a pouty whimper and roll onto my back.

“I’ll carry you if you want. We just need to make it to the car, and Leo will take care of the rest.” He folds the cloth and gives my lady bits a final pass.

A smile pulls at my lips. “I think it’ll take both of us to carry him out.” I give a nod toward our very own Sleeping Beauty.

Hota looks at Arlo and stalls. His dark gaze goes wide, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he looks at me with the same kind of awe.

His face is so expressive and stunningly gorgeous. I cup it in my hands and run my thumbs over his temple. There’s so much I want to say to him, but I think he’s met his limit tonight. Hell, overloaded is more like it.

“You get his arms. I’ll get his legs.” I grin.

The lightness of his laugh gives me the boost I need to sit up. I press my lips to his, and then ease past him.

Our clothes are scattered. Confetti after a concert.

What a show!

Watching them love each other is hotter than any porn.

And I got called on stage.

Damn!

I gather our items up one by one and pile them onto the bed while Hota wakes Arlo with kisses and caresses over his worn and beautiful body.

“If I buy the club, can we stay?” Arlo grumbles.

“Spoken like a true one percenter.” I toss a pair of underwear at his head. “Let’s go, hot stuff.”

Arlo plucks them from off the top of his head and studies them. “These aren’t my underwear.” He cackles, and I can’t decide if it’s about the underthings or Hota trying his best to clean Arlo with a fresh washcloth.

Fifty-fifty, really.

We dress in a punch-drunk haze, trading items and sorting through whose is what. No one mistakes my bra and panties for their own.

Arlo shrugs on his shirt, pulling the two sides together, and reaches for the first button. “Ugh, this was a good shirt.”

“Even better now.” Hota purrs, running a finger down the gap over Arlo’s thick chest and corded abdomen.

“Agree.” I put my back to the guys and one of them zips me up. Both press their lips to my shoulders. Arlo on the left, and Hota on the right.

Just like that, I’m goo at their feet.

Hota crouches low and grabs my shoes while Arlo holds his hand out to steady me. Together, they finish dressing me, complete with jacket and clutch.

There’s a smile on Arlo’s lips that looks pretty damn permanent. I love it.

He ushers me through the door and into the hallway. Hota follows, closing the door and switching the occupied button to refresh for cleaning. Then he stalls. His feet shuffle a little, and his gaze jumps between us.

“Say what you’re thinking,” I urge.

“Are you…” He shoves silky black strands back from his forehead. “Are we…?” The confident man who took charge of all our pleasure has vanished with one step outside the door. A breath hisses out his throat. “You’re mine and I’m yours, but are you my girlfriend and are you my boyfriend?” he finally expels, pointing at both of us in turn.

Arlo slides his tongue over his teeth, and then makes a popping sound with his mouth.

“I’ve never had either,” Hota adds, as though that explains his lack of confidence in the situation.

I expect Arlo to turn us toward the private entrance. It’s the one we typically use. The one that would get us to a private place to hash out this private conversation.

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