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I watch her resolve harden and force myself to hold back a smile as she stands taller in front of me. It would be a site to behold if she wasn’t so damn infuriating. “You are not in charge of me. I am a grown woman and can take care of myself. You’re lucky I’m even staying in this damn apartment!”
Before I know it, I’m standing so close I can feel her tits against my chest. I wrap my hand around her throat and push her back against the wall. I bend down so my lips brush her ear, “You think just because you saw me come, you can talk to me however you want? You can do whatever you want? News flash, Baby…” I push my hips against her… leaving not an inch of space between us. “You are ours now.” Slowly, I move my mouth to the front of her face. I’m grazing her lips with mine, and I can feel her breathing stop. I tighten my grip around her throat, “Which means I will not hesitate to punish you for disobeying me.”
Harper’s eyes close, and she lets out the breath she was holding. I genuinely can’t tell if she’s more scared or turned on. I hope, for both our sakes, she’s afraid of me.
She should be.
Slowly, she opens her eyes and looks up at me. Our lips are still slightly touching… but not kissing. I know she can feel my hard cock pushing against her stomach, but she doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, she whispers, “Is that all?”
Is that all? Is that fucking all? No, that’s not all. Not even close.
For some reason, I cannot understand, all I want to do is pick her up and bend her over my desk. I want to fuck her so hard that she screams my name. I want her to know who’s in charge.
But I can’t.
The last thing I need is to be screwing a girl I live with, especially a girl my dad asked us to keep safe. I am the exact opposite of safe. Plus, something shady is going on with him. Never in my life have I known him to want to protect anyone. Let alone go to these lengths. I know he has an ulterior motive, and I will figure it out. He may be my dad, but I don’t fucking trust him.
So, I lower my hand and take a few steps back instead of doing what I want. “That’s all, Harper.”
She side-steps out the door, and I slam it closed behind her. Sitting back in my chair, I notice my dick is still hard. Painfully hard.
9
Harper
I storm out of Ronan’s office towards my room. My skin feels like it’s on fire. “Who the hell does he think he is?” I shout as I slam my door closed. I flop down on my bed and stare up at the ceiling, willing myself to calm down.
There that word was again, ours.
Mac said it to me this morning, and it elicited the same response when Ronan said it.
“I can’t be theirs. I’m safer when I’m no one’s. When I’m alone,” I whisper.
For the life of me, I can’t figure out why I’m so attracted to the three of them. Sure, maybe it’s the tattoos. Or the muscles. Or the designer suits. Or the hair I’d like to run my fingers through. Or the perfectly luscious lips I’d love to bite. Or the…
Well, I guess I do know why.
The way Ronan felt against me was practically heaven. I felt his cock against me. His hard cock, at that. I know what that cock looks like. I saw it first-hand this morning, and it took every ounce of self-restraint not to reach down and grab it.
It’s been so so long.
The way his hand felt around my throat, his lips against my ear, then my neck. It was simply sinful. I didn’t want any of it to end. Did I turn him on? Or was he just trying to threaten me?
I know which one I hope it was. I wanted him. I wanted him badly. I want them… bad.
But they are so damn annoying. I am not their property. I can do whatever the hell I want. I have survived, albeit barely, this long without them. I’m not asking to run away to the other side of the world. I just want to go to my apartment and get my shit.
You know what, “Screw this.” I stand up. I quietly open my door and peer down the hallway. I can see Ronan’s office door, and it’s still closed.
I tiptoe towards the elevator and hit the button. You don’t need the key card to leave, but I will need it to get up. Oh well, I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.
* * *
Once I return to my apartment in Greenwich Village, I quickly shower, change my clothes, and start packing a few bags to bring back with me.
My apartment certainly isn’t anything to write home about. I bought it a few years ago with money left for me by my parents. I wanted something I could call my own. It’s small, but it’s mine.
The entire thing is an open-concept studio. The walls are painted a deep navy blue with dark wood floors. Rugs in different shades of red are scattered throughout, and plants and books rest in every nook and cranny. Random tchotchkes and pictures of my parents and Cece fill my shelves. Reminders of the family I once had.
