Page 26 of Tell Me Why
His mouth is close to mine, and I pull in a trembling breath. His face is so close, I can’t see his smile, but I can hear it in his voice. “Ah-ah.” He rips the pillow out of my hands and throws it out of my reach. “You had your chance to back out and you didn’t take it.”
“So, I’m your hostage now, is that it?”
He gently strokes my bottom lip.
“Tell me what you want, and it’s yours,” I say, trying a new strategy.
He pulls back, and I can see that wicked smile now. It stretches across his beautiful face, making him look cocky. Arrogant. And just seeing that lights something inside me—defiance. Before I can think better of it, I lift my hand and slap him. His head moves slightly, but his smile only widens. “Nice. I like my girls spicy.”
Ugh. Gross.
Grabbing my arm, he steps off the bed, yanking me with him. The second my feet land on the rug, I pull back and use my full weight as leverage to twist my arm out of his grip. Finally, I’m free.
“You’re fucking sick, you know that?” I bite out, holding my arm. It feels bruised.
He chuckles again and heads into the closet. He’s only gone for a second before he emerges with a swath of lacy material draped over his arm. He tosses it onto the bed. “Put that on.”
I take a closer look and notice the fabric is completely transparent. I might as well wear nothing.
“I’m not putting that on.”
He lifts a pale brow. “It wasn’t a question.”
I stare back at him and consider whether or not it’s worth the argument. There’s a flicker of something in his eyes—almost like he’s hoping I challenge him so he has reason to put me back in my place.
I won’t give him the satisfaction.
With a huff, I snatch the lacy thing off the bed and walk to the bathroom with it. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me. I shut the door and strip down to my panties. The fabric is so flimsy, it takes me a minute to untangle it and sort out which way is the front and which is the back.
Once I get it sorted, I realize it’s a robe, actually. I slip my arms into the wispy sleeves and pull the bodice closed, wrapping the thin belt around my waist. Itbarelycovers my heavy breasts. There’s a lot of nipple action happening.
Turning, I glance in the huge mirror over the his and her sinks.Wow, fuck.My dark hair is a tangled mess, and it’s obvious I’ve been neglecting my skin care. Stress is bad for the skin, and I’ve been nothing but stressed lately.
Opening a drawer, I sift around and find a stray hair tie I can use to gather my hair into a messy bun, securing it low to get it out of my face.
Once that’s done, I push out a long, slow breath and tilt my head back. I’m just over two weeks into this and I’m already tired of being yanked around by these assholes. And I’m sick as fuck of being afraid.
Don’t let know you’re afraid.
It’s my brother’s voice, whispering in the shadowed recesses of my mind. Between the two of us, he’s always been the brave one. I suppose he had to be—after Mom’s death, we were essentially orphaned, so he had to step up for both of us. But having to do that at such a young age changed him. Over the years, he became more and more protective of me. More controlling—of everything and everyone around us.
Vulnerability is a big thing with him, and he’d hate that I’d shown the Sacred Sons even a fraction of the fear I’m feeling.Don’t show fear. No matter what.That’s what he always tells me.
My throat tightens at the thought of my brother. He’s going toflip the fuck outwhen he eventually finds out I’m here. I’ve managed to put him off for the past two weeks, but that won’t last forever. Eventually, he’ll figure out where I am, and when he does, God help anyone standing between him and me.
Sucking in a tight breath, I shove thoughts of my brother out of my head. I can’t feel guilty about Sinandsurvive this hellhole at the same time. It’s one or the other, and right now, I need to focus on surviving the night…
CHAPTERELEVEN
Christian
When Eve stepsout of the bathroom, my eyes wander over the curves of her body, which are only accentuated by the sheer, flowing fabric of the robe. My cock instantly stirs to life and I shift in the chair I’m sitting in.
She lifts her arms, then tugs at the low neckline of the robe. “Well. It fits. Barely. It’s as loose as it will go.”
The robe belongs to a Deb who’s several sizes smaller than Eve—and yet it drapes over Eve’s body like it was made for her, the thin fabric showing a hint of her flushed skin beneath, the front straining against her pink, round nipples.
She looks like a William Waterhouse painting come to life.
