Chapter 21 #3
We shouldn’t stare at each other like this. Jake knows that. I can see him knowing it. He leans in anyway, and when his mouth lands on mine, I freeze.
Because—
Because Alistair is watching. Everyone is watching. Jake is giving me something to do with my face and my panic. He’s giving Marcus Wilder a reason to look wrecked. So I kiss him back. As cover.
Jake kisses me like none of that is true.
His hand slides to the side of my neck, thumb pressing under my jaw, and the sound he makes into my mouth is almost angry with himself.
Heat punches through me. I give in because we’re being watched.
I give in because Alistair seems to approve.
I give in because Jake is helping me. And then, God help me, I give in because I want to.
Wilder wants to, but my body ruins the distinction.
I’m hard. Here. Now. With Alistair watching and Linus between two restrained men and the whole rotten deck cheering for someone to break.
Jake’s knee presses against mine, and my hand finds his waist, bunching the loose linen as I pull him closer before I can remember which one of us is supposed to be pretending.
Across the table, Evan’s voice turns raw. “No, fuck. No. I’m not—”
I try to pull back, but Jake follows me for one last desperate press of his mouth, and I don’t know whether he’s protecting me or ruining us both.
“I’m not close,” Evan chokes out. “I’m not. I’m not fucking—”
His denial breaks into a guttural sound.
Jake lets me go just as Evan comes, his body snapping tight against the restraints.
He looks furious before he looks shattered, betrayed by his own body while the table erupts around him. Linus strokes him through it, Evan’s release streaking across his oiled hand as the restraints hold him through every helpless jerk.
Dae lasts through Evan’s first violent shudder. Then the chain pulls taut and his body bows.
“Oh, fuck you,” he bites out, spilling in messy pulses over Linus’s wrist and halfway up his arm.
Linus keeps both hands moving until Evan’s jerking slows and Dae sags against the chair, trembling through the final aftershocks. Only then does he let them go.
For a moment, there’s nothing but ragged breathing. Evan’s head falls back, his face slack and shining with sweat. Across from him, Dae sits blindfolded, still trembling. Linus remains between them, throbbing for attention, both men’s release streaking his hands and forearms as his chest heaves.
Alistair lets the silence stretch until every man at the table remembers who owns it.
“Linus, you pass. Dae, you pass. Barely.”
Across the table, Brad’s shoulders loosen by a fraction.
Evan’s head jerks up.
“Evan is out.”
Evan stares at Alistair, still strapped down, bare in a way no amount of confidence can make look like winning. His mouth opens around a laugh that doesn’t come.
“Please,” he says. “Alistair, come on.”
Alistair rises as if the interesting part is over. “Brad.”
The summons has him moving before Alistair finishes saying his name.
Linus cleans his hands and forearms with one of the discarded strips of linen before removing Dae’s blindfold. Dae looks at the table instead of anyone around it.
“Untie me,” he says quietly.
Linus bends to set him free while Brad unfastens Evan, ankles first. No more flexing. No smile. When Evan’s arms come loose, he twists toward Alistair.
“I can do another one,” he says, voice cracking around the offer. “Whatever the next thing is. I can—”
Brad catches his elbow when he nearly pitches sideways getting down. One steadying hand is all it takes for Evan to fold toward Brad.
I understand that terrible relief of someone solid reaching for you when you’re coming apart. I shouldn’t have Jake’s mouth still burning on mine. I shouldn’t be half-hard while Evan is being escorted toward consequences I don’t understand.
Alistair turns with a bored sweep of his hand. “That will be all for me. Those of you still interested in entertaining yourselves may continue.”
He leaves with Brad guiding Evan into the beach house, and the deck tries to restart around the hole they leave behind. Chairs scrape as someone pours more wine, and the kissing on the other side of the table grows louder.
Jake shifts beside me, and this time I feel his attention without looking.
“Marcus,” he whispers.
No. I can’t do this. I can’t sit one minute longer wondering what I did because I had to and what I did because I wanted to.
My hand closes around one of the embroidered napkins beside my wine glass. It feels flimsy, not nearly enough, but at least it’s a start.
I stuff it into my pocket, shove back from the table, and head for the stairs, aiming for the torchlit trail beyond the pool, anywhere that isn’t this table, this game, or Jake looking at me like he wants more.
He says my name again behind me, but I keep walking.
By the time I make it past the pool, the laughter has started up again without Alistair there to bless it. Let them keep pretending if they want to. I have proof in my pocket, Marcus Wilder wrapped tight around me, and no intention of taking him off until I’m safe.
Now I just need him to behave.