Arsen’s thumb lifts, tenderly gliding along my lip.

“The shorts, Arsen. Take off the shorts.”

Arsen steps closer, pausing dead in his tracks when I say, “no.”

I spin, facing Ransom.

The hand gripping his unfastened belt, ready to yank it free, freezes in place.

I stare him dead in the eye, witnessing his eyes sharpen with every second that passes.

I don’t have to look behind me to know Beretta and Arsen are frozen in place, I can see them from the corner of my eye, but I don’t pause.

I walk closer to Ransom, and with each step I take, his muscles grow stiffer, his gaze snapping from me to his buddies and back.

“No?” he rasps.

I shake my head, stopping two feet in front of him. “Not him. You.”

His eyes tighten in protest, but then they fall to my body, slowly devouring every inch, every curve.

His want is clear, undeniable and straining against the briefs peeking from the open zipper of his black jeans.

My pulse jumps, a flair of expectation flickering low in my belly. The stupid thoughts from moments ago evaporating as he brings himself closer.

He takes slow steps, each one eliciting something deeper inside me. It’s torture, waiting for him to reach me, to be close enough to reach for me, but then he’s right there.

His chest brushing mine, causing my nipples to harden beneath my bra.

His breathing grows shallow, labored, and the pit of my stomach tingles, the need building inside me overwhelming.

Our eyes lock and a pulsing knot forms in my core.

He reaches out, and my body shivers in anticipation.

With my gaze as his prisoner, he licks his lips, his brows caving as his knuckle comes down on my cheek.

His chest rises, his hand twitching until his thumb meets my lips.

He shuffles even closer, and I would stumble back, if a warm chest wasn’t already there to catch my fall.

His lips lower, and he glides them along the tip of his thumb.

My breathing quickens, my head dropping onto Arsen for support.

Right as his thumb slips from between us, his lips land on mine...

And the lights go out.

My eyes, that must have closed for a split second, fly open, my muscles locking. The room may now be a blur, but the situation couldn’t have become clearer.

I’m the toy.

Ransom doesn’t want me, he just wants to play with me, the same way Anthony will, like a doll he can pull out and dust off as he wishes.

I willingly accepted the role, I know that, so it should be a relief to realize this, to know I’m simply the girl they chose as their latest game piece and will likely replace tomorrow. As they should.

I’m unkeepable anyway.

Greedy, heated lips, I don’t know whose and I don’t care, fall on mine and I meet their every sweep with my one. Hands glide along my thighs, and when my shorts are pushed down, I step out with ease, prepared to enjoy every second of what comes next.

Because I am the plaything.

It’s not like I can offer them anything else anyway, so yeah. It should be a huge relief, an easy ending.

It really really should.

So why do I feel like a bitter ex ready to run on a rampage of twisted proportions?

“Man, Mom shot to kill.” Monti grins, sliding the last bobby pin into my hair, smoothing the deep part down so it’s slick to my head, my curls falling over it and giving Jessica Rabbit a run for her money. “You look like a goddess.”

I frown at the light enhanced mirror. “I look like Belle.”

“If Belle was a Roman plaything and not a Disney princess.”

I glare. Two words I’m sick of hearing.

A car door closing reaches us and my sister walks over to the open window, peeping outside with a grin. “And they’re walking up to the door,” she singsongs.

I move over to my nightstand, tugging the drawer open. “Tell them I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Jameson wants to make a grand entrance?” Monti teases, her palm flattening on her chest as she bats her lashes, but then her eyes fall to the heart-shaped crystal in my hand, and her playfulness washes away.

She nods and steps out.

Opening the small trinket, a frown attempts to slide over me as I realize I haven’t refilled my prescription this month.

It makes no fucking sense.

I’ve never felt so much in my life, yet for the first time in my life the need to drown it out has evaded me.

It must have, because I still have a handful left... something that has never happened.

I take a deep breath and place a pill under my tongue, my lips pinching together as I move back to the mirror.

A ball gown with heavy garments underneath, the finest silk laid perfectly over and framed just above the hip. Golden, sequined lace draped all around, and of course, the slight train in the back.

Tags: Meagan Brandy Romance
Source: readsnovelonline.net