He lights up a cigarette. “Made some improvements. You like?”
I inspect the torn sleeves and the angular cut in the side of the dress extending across the midriff. “It’s ruined.” He smirks, and I snatch the cigarette from his lips, stubbing it out on a plate on my dresser. Caz chuckles, while Galen looks two seconds away from ending my life. “Your lungs will thank me some day.” I push my face in his. “And after you destroyed my dress, you’re lucky I didn’t stub it out on your pretty face.”
“No need to be so dramatic,” Saint says, stepping up behind me and gripping my hips. “It’s perfectly wearable.”
“I doubt Mom wants me to look like a slut at her party.” I scowl as I watch Galen light up another cigarette.
“Unless she plans on trading her daughter in for a new model, that’s what she’s stuck with,” Galen replies, deliberately blowing smoke circles into my face. He leans in close, breathing icky smoke breath all over me, and I jerk back on instinct, pressing up against Saint’s broad chest in the process. “What you wear won’t change that fact.”
“You’re a bigger slut than me,” I say, shoving his shoulders and trying to ignore the feel of Saint’s hard-on pressing into me from behind.
He straightens up, his smirk deepening. “Jealous, angel?”
I snort. “Hardly.” My lips twitch as I prod him in the stomach. “I was the one who rejected you, remember?”
He blows more smoke in my face, and it’s irritating as fuck, but nothing can wipe the smug smile off my face. A muscle clenches in his jaw as he loses the smirk, narrowing his eyes at me. Thank fuck, my fourteen-year-old self pushed him away that day.
“We’re wasting time,” Saint says, trailing his fingers along the hem of my towel. “Dad wants us downstairs before the guests arrive.” With the way he’s toying with the towel, I know he plans on exposing me to the room again, and I refuse to give him that power.
This is my bedroom, and these dicks don’t get to come in here and act like they own the place and me.
Without stopping to overthink it, I let the towel drop to the floor, standing assertively in front of them. I’m proud of my body, scars and all, and I’m not going to bow down before these jerks.
Theo tilts his head up from his tablet, his eyes locking on the scars covering my stomach and upper arms before his gaze meets mine. I flip him the bird, because fuck him for his too late pity. He looks at me with the saddest expression before lowering his head to whatever he’s doing.
“Get dressed.” Saint rubs his erection against my ass, trailing his fingers up the side of my body, brushing against the swell of my breasts. Galen stares at Saint, and some unspoken communication filters through the air, bringing Saint to his senses. He slaps me on the ass and shoves me at his cousin. Galen instantly thrusts me at Caz, scowling and rubbing his hands down the front of his jeans as if I’m diseased. But his eyes roam my body, even as he sneers, and he can’t disguise the reaction poking the crotch of his jeans.
“Get the fuck out of my room,” I demand, my hostile gaze bouncing between them.
Caz holds on to me, running his hands all over my body, as his eyes flare with need. “Nah. The view’s much better in here, and it’s fun watching you squirm.”
I dig my elbow into his ribs and wrench myself free. “Suit yourselves.” I stroll into my walk-in closet, silently talking myself off the ledge. I’m three seconds away from grabbing my gun and riddling these assholes with bullets.
I yank my undies drawer open, removing a black lace bra and panties set. Nimble fingers pull them from my hands, tossing them aside. I spin around, glaring at Saint. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“Not slutty enough,” he says, rubbing his chin as if my underwear choice is worthy of lengthy contemplation.
Pushing me aside, he rummages through my drawer, extracting a trashy red lace bra and matching crotchless panties I bought to entertain Darrow last Valentine’s Day. He thrusts them at me, his inked fingers brushing against the swell of my left breast. “Put those on.”
“Fuck off.” I throw them on the ground, unzip the altered dress, and step into it, holding it up with one hand as I use the wall to steady myself. Then, I slip my feet into the five-inch black and gold stilettos I’d laid out to wear.
Something akin to admiration flits across his face for a fleeting second, and then, the mask comes down again. His eyes trail the length of my body as I shimmy the tight-fitting dress on. Keeping his gaze pinned on me, he walks right up to me, spinning me around and pressing me into the wall. He moves my damp hair to one side, running the tip of his finger down my spine.
I could have him off me in seconds, but I’m interested to see where he’s going with this, and how far he intends to push it, so I don’t struggle or protest, holding my breath as his fingers latch around the zipper and he slowly pulls it up. My skin vibrates in all the places where his fingers touch my exposed flesh, and I bite down hard on my lip to stifle a moan.
He takes his time zipping me up, and it’s a slow form of torture. Between the warm breath on the back of my neck, the touch of his fingers scorching my skin, and the heat rolling off his body as he presses up against me, I’m soaked and already regretting my reckless decision to forgo underwear. This dress is short, and I’ll be lucky if I can sit down without flashing the goods.
As if he’s a mind reader, his hand drops low, his fingers inching up under the hem of my dress.
“Get your hands off me.” It comes out less of a threat as I’d intended.
He chuckles before placing his lips on the back of my neck while his fingers move higher and higher up my thigh. “Try to sound convincing next time,” he rasps as his hand moves to cup my crotch from behind.
This time, I don’t smother my moan in time, and he chuckles again. “We own this,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers up and down over my pussy. “No one touches this cunt but us,” he adds, sliding one long digit inside me. “Understood.”
“I thought you weren’t interested,” I pant.
“We’re not,” he says, adding another finger and pumping them leisurely in and out of me. “But we’re quickly learning what we need to do to keep you in line.”
His words snap me out of the sexual bubble I’m trapped in, and I enjoy his howl of pain as I slam the heel of my shoe into his shin.
“Fuck!” He leans down, rolling up his jeans as he stabs me with a dark glare.
“The sooner you learn you won’t keep me in line, the better this goes for both of us,” I say, looming over him with my hands on my hips.
“That’s not how this works,” he hisses, unfurling to his full height. “The sooner you do what we say, the easier this is on you.”
I snort. “I’ve never taken orders from guys, and I’m not about to start now.”
I flounce out of the closet and over to my dressing table. Saint hobbles out behind me.
Caz chuckles. “I’m beginning to think we need to wear full body armor or our Kevlar vests when we’re around the princess.”
The nickname pisses me the hell off, but I’ll never let them know that.
Ignoring them, I focus on blow-drying my hair, gloating as the noise drowns out their conversation. They refuse to leave, sprawling across my room, watching me studiously, as I style my hair and apply my makeup.