Series: Trevor’s Harem, #4
Publication date: March 15th 2016
Genres: New Adult, Romance
With Trevor’s contest at its end, it’d be easy to say we’re three against one. And yet I’ve never felt so alone.
My heart is torn, twisted, ripped. I’m alternately hot and cold. I dream vivid dreams, no longer sure if they’re fantasy or reality.
There’s a new player in the game. He’s tall, broad, beautiful, and intimidating. Everyone is afraid of him, even the company. I’m told he has a secret, and that I’m its subject. And someone else has a secret, too — from our mystery man, and god help us if he learns it.
Everyone is loyal to something or someone in this place — though it’s seldom what it seems.
I don’t know who’s with me and who’s against me — if I’ll go home with my new protector … or be kept here forever.
I couldn’t possibly be what Eros has combed the world for … can I?
There are six men ahead in this dark room, all dressed in the best finery, with ornate black party masks ordained with feathers and silver sequins. Each man is illuminated from above by a tiny spot like in a museum display. I can’t see the walls. The men are unmoving. They all could be statues.
I slowly move forward. Past the first man, whose skin is dark, nearly a foot taller than me and twice as broad. Past another slighter man, around whose mask I can see the ghost of stubble. My gown is swirling like the ocean, but it’s as if none of them see me. As if they’ve been frozen for me to browse, like exhibits in a gallery.
As I move through the dim, I become aware of a large, round, polished wood table in the shadows. I near it and realize that it’s some sort of a centerpiece. I look back — the men have turned and are all now surrounding the table as I come up beside it.
One of the men breaks formation and removes his mask. It’s Caspian White. My heart quickens.
“Sit up on the table,” he says.
This is part of the test. I watch him a moment, but his expression’s unyielding.
I sit, let my legs swing, and wait.
“Now lie back.”
“No,” I say.
“Lie back and open your legs.”
“Things have changed, Bridget. This is no longer a game. Now the stakes are real.”
It’s something I’ve already sensed. There are only three of us now: me, that bitch Kylie, and Jess. In the dream, I’m not sure how to feel about Jessica. She appears in the corner, peeking out from behind some unfathomable shadow. She’s wearing a garment like mine, but hers is red. She darts away when I see her. Then I’m looking at Caspian again. He’s not tapping his foot. A man like him doesn’t need to. His gaze is insistence enough.
My legs sigh open. It’s possible I’m excited, but mostly I feel terrified. The five other masked figures are now watching, turned toward me, stock still.
“You,” Caspian says, pointing at one of them. Then he turns his finger on me, at my open legs, my bare middle below the sheer gown. His meaning couldn’t be clearer.
The man approaches me. Grabs my ankles then closes my legs instead of parting them farther. He uses the leverage of my pressed-together legs to turn me over. My chest concusses the table, inviting a dull and horrible ache. I’m left bent over the thing, my feet on the floor, ass aimed at the man who’s come to claim me.
I feel him come very close, bending over me.
“I can get you out of this,” he says. And I realize it’s Daniel. His hand rests on the table, one cuff unbuttoned, slightly rolled up. I see the familiar tattoo. I recognize his scent. Seeing him here should evoke hatred after what he did. After the way he’s been screwing around with Jessica. The way he’s avoided me since Kat was removed from the house. But in this dark and frightening place, I only feel comfort when Daniel is near. At least he’s familiar — a reluctant but flawed protector.
He’s pressed up against me from waist to chest as he whispers in my ear, and it’s like I’m wearing armor. No one can touch me now. Except for him.
“Fuck her,” Caspian tells Daniel.
On cue, the other men all unzip, pull themselves out, and begin to stroke. I feel Daniel stiffen against my ass as well, but I know he’s still wearing pants. I can see his hands as he approaches me clothed.
“I can stop this,” he whispers. “I can end things so you don’t have to do any of it.”
But my hand creeps backward. Between my legs. There’s sudden electricity there. Wetness. My heart hammers blood through my ears, my head, my neck.
“No,” I say.
“Don’t say no when you don’t really mean it.”
“No,” I say, my face pressed against the table’s cool wood. Then I clarify, “I mean No, don’t stop this.”
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