Page 75 of Drop Three

“Okay, well, good talk. If you’ll excuse me…”

My plan to leave is stopped short at the feel of Bodhi’s thick and calloused finger feathering the curve of my breasts. A grin full of sin meets me head-on. “You wear this for him, terremoto?”

His hand slips inside my blazer, making himself comfortable.

I nod. “Sure did. Now, let me go.” His caress doesn’t stop. For being this angry, Bodhi’s touch is gentle.

It feels like he’s soaking me in and memorizing every freckle across my body.

“A bra was not quite what I had in mind.” His dark eyes penetrate mine.

“It’s a good thing I wasn’t worried about what you wanted me to wear,” I snap back at him.

Bodhi lets out a menacing chuckle. “Mhm, is that right?” His index finger slips under the bottom of my push-up bralette as his large fingers caress the bottom fullness of my breasts.

Goosebumps flood my body and my core aches for his touch.

This can’t happen. He needs to stop touching me.

“Bodhi, I need to go.” Briggs has been waiting for far too long and I’m hoping he hasn’t already dipped out.

My hand finds Bodhi’s arm still caged over my head, and I use all my strength to shift and slide under his muscular frame.

Where in the hell is Cal? He should have saved me by now.

Bodhi lets me wiggle free before pulling me toward him again. “If he lays a single finger on you…”

I shoot him an incredulous look. “Seriously? Briggs is your friend. He would never hurt me.”

“That’s not what I meant, Navy,” Bodhi bites through his teeth.

Ah. He means I shouldn’t let him touch me—intimately.

Well, too bad that’s one more thing Bodhi doesn’t get to decide for me.

I hold tight to the front doorknob and pivot my body to face him. “If he’s man enough to admit he wants me, I’ll let him touch me however I very well please.”

I send Bodhi one last spiteful smile before opening the door to find Briggs with a large bouquet of yellow roses. I smile to myself as he leads me to his car.

They aren’t marigolds, but yellow roses will do. How thoughtful.

Briggs opens the door for me like the perfect gentleman, and before he can settle in the driver’s seat beside me, my phone alerts me to a text.

Bodhi:Strike two.

My stomach drops.

As much as I want to say screw him, I can’t. I feel myself come alive at the sound of his threats. Except they don’t feel like threats; they feel like promises.

A promise of something much more exciting.

I need to figure out a plan for next time before he can call strike three.

23

NAVY

I tiptoe through the foyer,hoping not to wake anyone in the house.

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