Page 125 of Gigi and the Gym Rats

Wait until I tell Coco and June about this.

And damn… seeing Grey come makes me all hot and bothered all over again. Also, I’m leaking between my legs.

Seriously now, why doesn’t anyone talk about the leakage issue after sex with guys?

Which reminds me, I need to get back on my birth control. Last night I thought I’d had a lot of sex, but now I’ve had even more and…

“You’re awake,” Zayne says, stroking my hair. He looks like a Greek god, the muted light from the sconces in the walls hitting all that sculpted muscle, creating shadowy valleys and ridges. He gathers me into his arms, and Grey joins us after a moment, rolling against my back, throwing an arm over my hips.

“This is insane,” I whisper, glancing at Ronin and Casey who are still going at it. “I feel like we’re inside a romance book. A porny one.”

“The knotting of Casey Hunnan,” Grey mutters. “Has a ring to it.”

“Or, Knotting Case,” I offer.

“Knotting Else Matters,” Zayne says, and we make faces at him. “Okay, that was bad.”

“Also, it’s not a book,” I say.

Zayne pulls a blanket over us and we doze to the soundtrack of Ronin’s and Casey’s grunting and the slapping of flesh on flesh.

A heat can last days. Bee told me a few things about it, blushing furiously and stammering all the while, but I know both her heat and Jae’s lasted a couple of days at least.

This is a long game.

Everything about this pack is.

Eventually, Ronin and Casey manage to disengage from one another and join us. Sleepily, I lift my arm to wrap it around Casey’s warm, sweaty neck. Ronin slips in behind Zayne, dragging an oversized quilt over us all.

And we sleep together in a big pile, like puppies, on Zayne’s enormous bed.

Bliss.

* * *

The sex-a-thon lasts until the following evening, but by then Casey has relaxed enough not to need me and Grey touching him all the time. We do take turns joining them, though—I mean, what girl in their right mind would turn down such an invitation?—and flushed, sated and out of breath, I roll out of bed as the stars come out.

I stumble into the kitchen.

Food. We need food and water and does Zayne have any baby wipes?

I’m parched and starving—and leaking, obviously—and I can only imagine how exhausted our alphas and our omega must be.

I’ve pulled on my panties and a black T-shirt I found lying on the floor of the bedroom. It smells a lot like Ronin, so I suppose it’s his. I also located my purse and added a pantyliner to my panties because—leaking.

So much leaking.

So yeah, I feel the need to take care of everyone, and here I am, in the kitchen, fumbling around in the metaphorical dark. I’m not used to his kitchen. It’s ultra-modern, very masculine, all steel and stone.

After care is important, I remember that, and it makes sense, only… I don’t know how to cook, not really, and Zayne’s cupboards yield meager findings of the ready-to-eat variety. Which is expected in a professional trainer’s home. Do I find oats and bran flakes? Check. Do I discover zero-fat yoghurt and dried blueberries? Also check.

Do I find any high-calorie ready meal for five starving people, some of us leaking, and in need of sustenance?

Nope.

Fail.

I know what I have to do. I whip out my phone and order some unhealthy food. I still feel bad, though. I feel bad that I don’t know what to do with the steaks I found in the fridge, the eggs, and the greens. Sure, I have a vague idea, but I wouldn’t trust me not to poison us all.

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