“You just put two lips around your fingers and blow,” the female replied.

“Isn’t that a line from a movie?” somebody chimed in.

“Are they going to do a third one—”

“Magic Mike Ginormous—”

“We need to watch one and two again first as prep—we’ve got a tradition to uphold—”

“Anybody see Nine and a Half Weeks lately—”

“What’s that—”

One by one, they stood up from the padded leather recliners and stretched in the dim, windowless room, backs cracking, shoulders unknotting. And it was funny—Marissa felt the urge to cut through the conversation and say something profound and meaningful, just to acknowledge the space they’d been in. But the right words didn’t come.

Instead, she said, “Hey, can we do this again?”

Then again, maybe that was exactly what she meant.

Well, what do you know, the peanut gallery was so on board: The rousing cheer was as loud as the hoots at the dance scenes, and the idea that this special time wasn’t a one-off made her feel a piercing kind of relief.

“I think we need a Chris Pratt marathon next. Guardians of the Galaxy,” Beth said.

“Is he the guy with the brother?” Bella asked.

“That’s Hemsworth,” someone answered.

Starting the line for the departure up the middle aisle, Marissa wadded her empty Milk Duds box and made a rim shot with it into the trash. Abruptly, she realized that she couldn’t wait to see Butch—and not because of all the scenes of half-naked bodies. She missed him—which was ridiculous, considering neither one of them had gone anywhere.

Heading for the door by the glass display of candy bars, she was smiling as she pushed open the—

“Dear … God,” she blurted as she recoiled.

The hallway beyond was filled with the males of the house, the Brothers and other fighters and Manny sitting on the floor with their backs to the bare walls, their legs stretched out, propped up, crossed at the knees or crossed at the ankles.

Apparently there had been quite a bit of drinking going on, empty bottles of vodka and whiskey littered around them, glasses in hands or on thighs.

“This is not as pathetic as it looks,” her Butch pointed out.

“Liar,” V muttered. “It so fucking is. I think I’m going to start knitting for reals.”

As the females emerged with her, each one of them registered shock, disbelief, and then a wry amusement.

“Is it me,” one of the males groused, “or did we just perform our own mass castration out here?”

“I think that just about sums this shit up,” somebody agreed. “I’m wearing panties under my leathers from now on. Anyone joining me?”

“Lassiter already does,” V said as he got to his feet and went to Jane. “Hey.”

And then it was group-reunion time.

While the other pairs found one another, Butch smiled as Marissa came over to him and put out her hand to help him off the floor. As they embraced, he kissed her on the side of the neck.

“Are you out of love with me now?” he murmured. “’Cuz I’m pussy-whipped?”

She leaned back in his arms. “Why? Because you pined after me while I was watching a dirty movie with my girls that wasn’t all that dirty? I think it’s actually—and brace yourself—really pretty cute.”

“I’m still all man.”

As she rolled her body against him, she let out a mmmm as she felt his erection. “Yes, I can tell.”

With Butch’s bonding scent roaring, he took his female’s elbow and drew Marissa deeper into the staff wing. Except for V and Jane, all the others had a shorter distance to go than they did: The Pit was just across the courtyard, but it was daylight now, and that meant a trip all the way downstairs, into the tunnel, and through the underground passage to get back to their bedroom.

He wasn’t going to last that long.

Not even close.

The first available vacancy with any privacy came in the form of an unoccupied staff bedroom that had pulled drapes, a twin bed with no sheets on it, and a very handy brass lock.

Butch didn’t bother turning the lights on; he just pulled his female against his body and kissed the ever-loving crap out of her as he kicked the door closed and worked that dead bolt like a pro.

“I need you so bad,” he growled.

“You’ve got me,” she said against his mouth.

Fucking perfect, his cock roared in his pants. And talk about following orders: with a quick shift, he backed her up to the bed, sat her down and knelt in front of her. As he inhaled deeply, he started to laugh.

“What?” she murmured, all half-lidded and wholly edible.

“You’re aroused.”

“Of course I am.”

“You weren’t when you came out of the movie.”

“Why would I have been? That was just good fun with the girls. Like going to a museum, you know? You appreciate the art, but you wouldn’t take it home with you.”

“So I’m still your favorite flavor?”

“You’re my only flavor.”

Well, didn’t that make him go all robin-breasted, dick swing with the ego. Flashing his fangs, he said, “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout.”

“Were you really jealous?” she said. “Of a movie?”

“Yes.”

The laugh that came out of her was so easy and relaxed, such a happy sound, that it made him hope she and her girls got together again and, yes, to watch sexy humans gyrate on the screen, if that was what made his mate uncoil like this. Granted, he wasn’t about to write that Tanning Chatum guy a fan letter, but he was more than grateful for those females and that friendship.