Page 14 of Griffin Food

Lark curses and strides for the basin, where I hear the splash of water.

“We’ve got you, lass,” Rafe says. “Just lie still.”

His hand in mine is an anchor holding me steady amid this choppy sea. I like that he instructs me when I feel like I don’t know what to do next.

“I’m hot,” I say.

“I know, sweet girl.” He brushes damp hair from my face, takes the cloth from Lark, and puts it against my forehead.

“That feels nice,” I whisper. Then I moan, and my hips lift of their own volition. Even the covers feel too much—not soft enough, a little itchy against my sensitive skin. I thrust them aside with a huff.

“Gods,” Lark says gruffly.

“Cover her,” Rafe says.

Lark curses and pulls the sheet over me… which I do not like at all, and I immediately kick it away. “No.”

“Brat, your ass is going to be sorry if you don’t put the cover back.” Rafe’s stern voice makes a gush pour from between my thighs, even as it builds a well of defiance.

Rafe growls. Lark chokes back a laugh. “We shouldn’t have come into the fucking room.”

“The lass was sobbing,” Rafe says. “I cannot leave her in this state.”

They are talking to one another, and they are not paying attention to me. This pleases me about as much as the stupid cover did. “Hot,” I say. “Too hot.”

My fingers go back to my pussy. That squelchy sound as I plunge them inside is utterly filthy. It makes me giggle, and both men freeze.

Only my hand doesn’t feel right anymore, and I’m thinking about Rafe’s hand there—how much broader his palm is than mine, how much bigger his fingers are. So, with my other hand, I take his.

I meet resistance once he realizes my intended destination. My eyes flash to meet his for the first time since he entered the room. Lark is perfectly still at his side. He does not interfere nor offer an opinion.

“Don’t,” Rafe says barely above a whisper, a clear warning in his voice.

“Please help me.”

His hand does not yield.

“Please. I cannot stand it. I know you will take care of me. I trust you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Rafe says. “You really should not.”

He is wrong. Instincts exist within me. The same ones that drew me to them right from the start. Ones I trust. The same ones that told me Elijah was a bad man the very first day we met, and long before what came to pass with my omega sisters. Those same instincts tell me these men are good and true, and that I can trust them, and that they will take care of me in this.

Their scent saturates the air. It merges with mine to create a potent cocktail. My body is in a state of fever. One that has demands that must be assuaged.

“Take care of me,” I whisper. “I beg you.”

His groan is one of defeat. He lets me put his hand where I want it, and how good it feels just to have his palm cupping me there. That is enough for the longest time, to feel him against me, his big, roughened palm and fingers against my most intimate place. I hold him there fiercely, lest he decide to take it away.

But then it is not enough. And I grow restless.

“Gods,” Lark says thickly. “The lass is drenched. Mayhap Violet might feel more comfortable if one of us were to… clean this little mess all up.”

“We can’t,” Rafe says thickly.

Terror grips me that he is going to change his mind, that he will withdraw his comfort. I whimper.

“The lass is hurting,” Lark says. “Don’t you dare walk away.”