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“Christ.” Will shakes his head. But he doesn’t leave. The game doesn’t come apart. I don’t think I want it to end. Oh, Jesus. I don’t know what I want, not exactly, but I don’t want Will to cause a scene. He lets out a heavy sigh. “I think you’re a bastard for showing her off if you’re not going to share her.”
Emerson keeps his eyes on mine. “You don’t get to touch a piece of a collection unless you own it.”
The three of them come closer.
I open my mouth again. It’s dry. “All of you are bastards.”
A pause.
“She’s innocent, but there’s a spark to her,” Sinclair says.
“A spark? She’s pissed.” This, from Will.
“No.” A smile curves the corner of Emerson’s mouth. “Look at her body.”
“At your bite marks?” Will sounds more jealous than anything else.
“At the color,” Emerson corrects. “She’s flushed and pink. She wants this. She’s not even struggling.”
I struggle to make a point.
“Well,” Sinclair says, “there you go. Is she struggling because she likes it or because she doesn’t?”
“In my opinion, it’s to show me what struggle looks like on this particular piece.” Emerson’s placid art collector tone is driving me out of my mind. I wish he would kiss me again. “What do you think, Will?”
Will scowls. It doesn’t last very long. He shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’s hard, too. I can see it. I guess the only question is whether he’ll deny it. “I think she likes it,” he says, and I can’t breathe. “I think she’s mad that she likes it.”
“Unobservant,” scolds Emerson. “She loves it. Look at how aroused she is. Her nipples—”
“Are like that because you obviously fucking bit her,” Will shoots back.
“Her nipples remain peaked, despite the fact that I bit her some time ago. The real tell is in the eyes.”
They all look.
“Her pupils are huge,” Emerson says. He steps even closer and uses his hand to frame my face. “It’s more difficult to tell because her eyes are so dark and the color is so singular and stunning. Look carefully.”
Both of his brothers move in, but they stay a few inches behind Emerson.
“I am definitely not turned on by this,” I announce.
Emerson’s eyes light up. “We’ll see.”
He hands off his drink to Sinclair, who takes it without comment. And then he’s close again. He circles one of my nipples with his fingers, then drags them down the front of my chest. Down my belly. He pushes them between my legs. A shudder rocks me at the contact. I’m sensitive from before. They all see it.
Emerson works two fingers into me again, his expression neutral. Oh, god. It’s on the insides of my thighs. I was like this before he touched me.
He takes his fingers away and I bite back the word please. As in please keep touching me.
Emerson holds his fingers up. As he does, the lights in the room change. They must be on a timer. The sun went down while I was framed here on his wall. The lamps inside the room take over, casting a soft glow over everything and making my juices glisten on his fingers.
“See?” Emerson says.
“She does like it,” Will agrees begrudgingly.
“Watch this.” Emerson puts his fingers back between my legs. I hold my breath on instinct. He’s doing this in front of them, again, and when he pushes them inside—
A sound escapes. Something like a relieved moan. But then he starts stroking them in again. Oh, Christ.
