Music is playing from somewhere, MoodSwings by Kamaara, and it gives this entire room, with its dim lights and the bottles of alcohol on the table, a cloud of marijuana hanging around the place, an uncomfortable feeling. Like it’s in my best interest not to be here.
“Well, well, well,” the boy with curly hair says, a glass of something clear in his long, pale fingers. “I’m not surprised you hid her away, Mav, but you know sharing is,” he glances over at Maverick, whose eyes are narrowed on me, “a good fucking thing to do.”
I wrap my arms tighter around my body, forcing myself to look at Maverick. Beside him, a guy that looks vaguely familiar is knocking back a shot. He winces, sets it on the coffee table alongside a bottle of vodka.
He smiles at me, gesturing toward Maverick as he folds his arms. “This the girl from New Year’s Eve?” His voice is deep, and I see dimples flashing in his brown skin.
They’re all wearing black, and I realize I’m in Maverick’s white t-shirt and my leggings. My face flushes from all of their eyes on me.
Maverick is slouched on the couch, feet flat on the floor, hands on his knees. I see the vape on the table, and I knows he’s high.
Especially as he crooks his finger at me, doesn’t bother to introduce me to his friends and instead says, “Come here.”
My mouth goes dry and I shake my head, a lock of hair falling over my face. “I’m just gonna go back to bed—”
“Ella.”
I hear the boy with deep blue eyes give a soft laugh.
My spine tingles at the way Maverick says my name, but the way we left things last night—just a few hours ago—and all the glass on the floor, the way he didn’t come back to bed...
They’ve all obviously been drinking or smoking, and I don’t know anything about the other two. I’ve seen one before but don’t remember his name, and the boy with devil eyes I’ve never seen in my life. He seems like trouble.
“Let her go,” the guy with the deep voice says casually. “I’m sure you’ve worn her out.”
I stiffen but make to turn back toward the stairs.
“Ella,” Maverick says again, his tone hard. “I said come here.”
I hate how I want to do as he says. I hate that I want to throw myself into his lap, let him drown me in his kisses, his hands, right here in front of everyone.
I hate that he’s making me fall again, to that place I said I’d never go back to. And he’s not my mom’s boyfriend. He’s not someone she’ll hate me over, which means I’m free to do it. Do this.
Because he’s someone that’ll stand up to her. Someone that already has. Someone who could take me away from all the bullshit. And it makes me weak to want just that. To want to let him use me how he sees fit, as long as he doesn’t leave me.
But I remind myself that I’m using him, too.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and take a tentative step into the living room. The boy with blue eyes drains the rest of his glass and leans over, setting it on the coffee table. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me the entire time, and I can feel the weight of his gaze but I keep walking toward Maverick.
I get to the table and realize I’ll have to walk past the curly-haired boy to get to Maverick. The way the coffee table is pulled up close to them, I’ll end up brushing against his legs.
I swallow, glancing down at the floor.
“Don’t worry,” the blue-eyed boy says in his raspy voice, “I don’t bite.”
I doubt that.
But I edge by him anyway, dropping my hands by my sides as I angle my body and try not to let any part of me touch any part of him. He doesn’t make it easy for me, and my leg brushes against his shins, but I keep moving toward Maverick, whose hands are still on his thighs, his knees parted.
I stand in front of him, looking down at him as I bite my lip.
“Sit with me,” he commands.
No one else says a word. I dart a glance toward the boy who took the shot, and he’s staring at me just like the other boy is.
My entire body feels hot and despite the awkwardness of this entire situation, I feel my nipples harden under Maverick’s shirt.
Wanting to bury myself against his chest and disappear, I do as he asks, leaning down to sit in his lap.
But he shakes his head and I stop.
“Turn around.”
What? I meet his gaze, see if he’s serious. If I can plead my way out of this. But he arches a brow in a silent demand, and slowly, I turn, my ass in his face.
He pulls me down onto his lap, and I can feel his erection against my ass as he wraps one arm against my waist. He brushes my hair over one shoulder with the other hand and presses a kiss to my neck.
My eyes flutter closed, and I try not to think about his friends beside us. What is he doing?
The boy with the raspy voice laughs. “You gonna open her up in front of us? That’s not very nice, Mav. I’m married, remember?”
I stiffen. What? My eyes fly open and I try to squirm out of Maverick’s grip but he only tightens his hold on me. He threads his fingers through my hair and yanks my head back, against his shoulder.
“Then you should leave,” he says softly, his lips against my skin even though I know he’s not talking to me. He scrapes his teeth against my neck, and I close my eyes tight, pressing back against him despite myself. “You want them to watch, Ella?” he asks me, fingers tightening in my hair. “You want my friends to see how bad you let me treat you?”
I open my mouth to answer him but nothing comes out.
I don’t know. I still have my eyes closed, and I’m throbbing between my legs, dying for him to touch me there.
“Lift up your hips, Ella,” he commands me, burying his head back in my neck. I hesitate, and his grip tightens painfully in my hair, making my eyes water.
I do as he asks, awkwardly lifting up my hips by pressing my feet against his shins.
Someone’s hand comes to my waist, tugging on my leggings. I know it isn’t Maverick’s hand, because he’s still got one in my hair and one around my waist. I stiffen, wanting to squirm away again.
“Shh,” Maverick whispers against my ear, “that’s Ezra. Be a good girl, baby. He’s just going to pull them down. He won’t touch you. Not unless I tell him to.”
I’m holding my breath as I let Ezra pull down my leggings. From the direction he’s moving from, I know he’s not the married guy, which only makes me feel a little better when he pulls the thin material completely off of me and I’m sitting in Maverick’s lap in my panties.
Maverick’s hand around my waist slides to the front of my stomach, and then down, underneath the cotton fabric of my underwear.
I gasp as his fingers find my clit. He jerks my head back harder against him. “You’re so wet, baby.” He dips his finger down further, teasing my entrance as I buck my hips.
“Spread your legs wider,” he instructs me. “I want to feel all of you.”
I don’t hesitate. I shift my legs so they’re angled, dangling off of Maverick’s knees, and I feel my thighs touch against some part of his friends, still beside him on the couch. The contact jostles me, but I keep my eyes closed, focus on Maverick’s fingers circling my swollen clit.
“Maverick.” The boy with the raspy voice. It sounds…strained. “I can smell her.”