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I spot the knife in Asher’s pocket, and before he can comment, I slip my hand inside. His eyes widen and he freezes as I nearly stroke his cock before pulling it out. I stab the can and pop the top before draining it. Crushing it, I toss it into the bin in the corner.
“That all you got?” I challenge and shut the switchblade, handing it back to Asher with an innocent blink. He takes it, his teeth caught on his lip before Cyrus breaks our eye contact.
“Don’t encourage her, just drink,” he tells Bray.
“I know! How about truth or dare?” Bray jumps off his stool as he speaks.
“Why not?” I purr and smile at Asher as I move past him, purposely brushing my breasts against his chest. Throwing myself down on the sofa, I watch them get the drinks as I cross my legs on the table and wait.
Cyrus brings over a bottle of vodka, while Bray carries over a crate of beer and Asher some chasers and glasses. They lay it out as Cyrus pours me almost straight vodka with a dirty look, as if daring me to protest. I don’t. I take it and shoot it back without missing a beat, then return it. “Another.”
His eyes darken, but he loses the scowl as he tops me up, and I lean back. “Who first?”
“Ladies, of course.” Asher grins.
“Fine, dare,” I reply instantly. Truth is too... honest. They could ask me about my mum, my past, anything. That’s not happening, so instead I’ll distract them and let them think they can control me by daring me to do crazy things. They just don’t know there is nothing they could dare me to do that would scare me anymore.
I expect Bray to ask for something dirty, or even Asher, but Cyrus surprises me. Leaning back in his chair, holding vodka on his jean-clad leg, he orders, “Dance for us.”
I arch my eyebrow, and he leans forward, his dark hair falling across that heartbreaking face. He takes my breath away, all three of them do. Men shouldn’t have this much power or be this attractive.
“Right here, right now... unless you’re scared?” he taunts.
He’s wrong, I’m not scared. Dancing is my escape, my happy place, the area where I have the most power. He’s just given me the key to controlling all three of them because when I dance, they want me. It’s not me being cocky, it’s just the truth.
He wants me to dance?
It’s his own blue balls.
I drain my glass, get to my feet, and leap onto the table, kicking off the random cans and decorations. “Play ‘Such a Whore,’” I call, and the music switches. The entire time, I keep my eyes on him. This is a power play, a game.
He wants to be in control and does so by asking those around him for things they don’t want, making them bend to his will. But I don’t bend, I don’t break.
Not for him, not for anyone. Ever.
Rolling my hips, I press my hands to my thighs and grind, and once the beat truly kicks in, I drop, shaking my ass and winding my hips. I keep my eyes on him as I slide my hands up my body, across my stomach and breasts, to my neck and across my mouth, which I open as I toss my head back.
I hear Bray swear, and when I look over, he’s leaning back and wincing as he tries to rearrange the huge bulge in his jeans. Asher’s gaze is locked on my movements as if memorising them, and Cyrus? He observes me intently, as if this dance is just for him.
His show. His pleasure.
Spinning on the table, I bend, shake, do the splits, and bounce before grabbing the poles on the ceiling and twisting upside down before dropping to my bare feet on the table.
Eyes still on him, I press my foot to his chest and push him back. He grunts but moves, and I step on his leg, holding onto the ceiling as I wind my body and slowly lower myself. Before I touch him, I shimmy back up and then drop again, my knees going to either side of his legs as I roll my hips on his lap. I let him feel every inch of my body and the power it holds.
He sucks in a breath and grips my thighs, stilling my movements, so I lean down. My lips almost touch his as I twist my hand and stroke his as I feel his hard cock press against my stomach. It’s like a fucking steel pipe. “Truth or dare, stepbrother?” I whisper silkily.
He snarls, grips me harder, and stands, throwing me onto the sofa and giving me a dirty look. Laughing, I tumble onto my back as Bray applauds, getting to his feet and clapping as Asher wolf whistles.
“My turn,” Bray says, and I shake my head, sitting cross-legged and glancing back at Cyrus as he tugs at his hair and turns away to hide his obvious erection.
“Well, truth or dare?” I prompt.
“Dare,” he snarls and grabs a can. He pops it and downs it before licking the beads off his lips. My eyes follow the movement, and only when he looks over with an arched eyebrow, more in control of himself, do I shake myself out of my ogling.
He’s expecting me to be a bitch, I can tell, so I surprise him instead. “Down the vodka bottle.”
His eyebrows rise, but he takes it and downs it. Luckily, only half of it is left. “Bray,” he gasps when it’s finished. “Truth or dare.”
