Page 103 of Eight Count Heat
"Then finish her," Gray commands, his captain's voice carrying unmistakable authority. "But keep her quiet."
The order makes something primal in me respond. I keep my eyes focused on Gray to keep myself together as both men increase their pace, four skilled fingers working me towardclimax while eight Alphas watch my every reaction. The combination of pleasure and exposure, of being cared for so thoroughly by my team, pushes me over the edge.
My orgasm slams through me, thighs trembling and hips lifting off my seat a little as I bite down hard on my napkin to stay silent. Tyler and Beckett work me through it expertly, their fingers gentling but not stopping until I'm completely spent against my chair.
I suck in slow, measured breaths as the entire table watches me with varying degrees of hunger and satisfaction. My scent has mellowed again, the desperate edge replaced by post-climax calm, but there's something new in the air now. Something that feels dangerously close to claiming. Like belonging.
"Better?" Gray asks, though his steel eyes suggest he knows exactly how much better I feel.
"Much," I breathe, watching Tyler and Beckett discretely clean their fingers with their napkins. "Thank you. Both of you."
"Don't thank me yet,” Tyler says, his voice low and darker than I’ve ever heard it. "We still have dessert to get through."
As if summoned by his words, the server approaches with the dessert menu. But before anyone can speak, my phone buzzes with a text notification.
I glance at the screen and immediately wish I hadn't.
Having fun at dinner? You look very... close... with your teammates. Shame if someone took pictures.
My face goes pale, eyes automatically scanning the restaurant for whoever's watching us. In the corner booth, partially hidden behind a large plant, I spot a familiar figure with her phone pointed in our direction.
Kinsley Adams. And she's been filming.
"Problem?" Gray asks, immediately picking up on my distress.
"Fuck," I mumble under my breath.
"What's wrong?" Eli asks, blinking as the haze of lust clears.
"Kinsley's here. She's been recording us."
The effect on the table is immediate. Every Alpha tenses, protective instincts firing as they realize we've been under surveillance. Without discussion, they begin the careful process of extracting ourselves from the situation.
"Act sick," Gray says under his breath. "Go upstairs now."
Shouldn’t be hard, considering I feel like my dinner is about to make a repeat performance.
I nod, pressing my hand to my forehead like I'm feeling nauseous. "I think I need to lie down."
"Go," Bo says, voice gentle with concern that's only half-feigned. "I'll be up to check on you in a few minutes."
"I'll handle Coach," Gray adds quietly. "Tell him you're not feeling well after the race."
I nod, but as I stand to leave, I catch Kinsley's satisfied smirk from across the restaurant. She got what she came for. Evidence of inappropriate contact between teammates.
The question is: what does she plan to do with it?
As I move toward the elevators alone, trying to look unsteady on my feet, I realize Kinsley Adams just became a very real threat to everything we've built.
And the night is far from over.
chapter TWENTY-NINE
Bo
Igive Reese tenminutes before heading upstairs, enough time for her to get settled while I make sure Coach Bennett buys the motion sickness story. Gray handles it perfectly, mentioning how the combination of competition adrenaline and bus travel sometimes hits athletes hard. Coach nods with understanding, suggesting we keep an eye on her and make sure she stays hydrated.
If only he knew what kind of attention she really needs. He’d murder us all.
