Milo pulls me back around, shoving me head first through a door. He grips me hard, holding me as I stumble down some stairs, another hallway, and into a room.
I smell water. Is this a basement? Those aren’t common in Florida.
I spot a few more bodies in the room and instantly stop, dread coiling its way through my gut.
Two other men wait in the room, and a young woman leans against the back wall. Next to the pool table.
She cocks her head, taking me in, and I know that she’s for me.
Petite, blonde, blue eyes…like Clay.
But not Clay.
Walking over, she smiles gently, her long, smooth hair falling over her left eye just a little, and her full red lips open to perfect, white teeth. She’s dressed conservatively in tight black pants and a short-sleeved, tight black T-shirt, and I don’t think she’s more than a year or two older than me. Beautiful, young, soft...
But then she drops her gaze, noticing my arms behind my back. “Why is she tied up?” she asks.
Callum comes around to my front and looks between the girl and me. “This is Morgan,” he tells me, ignoring her question. “Your date.”
Her finger slips inside the hem of my panties, and I fire up. Shooting out my foot, I kick her in the stomach. “Ugh!”
She yelps, stumbling backward, and I steel every muscle, preparing.
“What the hell?” she blurts out, holding her middle and glaring at Callum. “You didn’t tell me she wasn’t into this.”
“She’s into it.”
But she charges to the wall again, grabbing her bag as she continues to hold her stomach. She marches for the door. “I don’t do shit like this.”
And before I can follow, she’s gone. She no doubt has a pimp they don’t want to mess with.
I hold my head up and meet each of their eyes. “Looks like you’ll have to do your dirty work yourself,” I tell Callum, as I try to work my hands free. “Come on. Who’s first? It’s my first dick, so I’d prefer a little one to start. Milo?”
I meet Krisjen’s ex’s eyes, and a snarl crosses his mouth.
“Come on,” I chirp. “Blow my mind. Fuck me so good I go straight.”
He charges up to me and grabs the back of my hair, shoving me onto the pool table. “Shut up.”
My heart races, fear coursing through me, but I’m angry, too. I flip over, sitting up. “Come on, baby. Come on. Show me what a man is.”
He reaches down, unfastening his belt and jeans and breathing hard, ready to show me what I’ve been missing, and I almost crack. Tears pool, but I shove them back down.
“Yeah, look at that thing,” I grit out, biting my lip and staring down his pants. “It gets bigger when it gets harder, right? I can’t wait to see.”
He grasps my throat. “Shut. Up.”
He’s getting angry.
I tip my head back, laughing, and I know I sound crazy, but it’s like I’m not in my body right now, and it’s either this or cry.
I laugh harder, rolling my wrists and working the bandana or necktie or whatever they tied me with looser and looser. “Oh, come on, baby,” I growl. “You wanna feel me? Huh? Wanna give it to me? Wanna show me how it’s done? I know you can. I know it.”
He shoves me back onto the table. Tears hang at the corner of my eyes, and I arch my back, moaning.
“I don’t think you can,” I groan, writhing. “I bet your dick is so soft, it’s like a floppy, wiggly worm.” I cackle wildly. “You’ll have to turn me around so you don’t have to look at my face. Isn’t that right, Callum?” I look to his friend, standing back by the door. “Isn’t that how you’ll have to do me, too? Turn me around and jam that pathetic, droopy appendage inside me by pretending I’m him. By pretending I’m—”
“Shut up!” Callum yells.
Milo’s hand whips across my face, but it doesn’t wipe the smile off my face. “I’ve got five of you motherfuckers at home!” I shout to the room. “Is that the best you got? Huh?”
Not that my brothers hurt me, but I’ve gotten used to rough-housing.
I work the tie, almost able to slide it over my knuckles, but Milo grabs the backs of my knees and yanks me down to the end of the table.
“You’re such a man,” I coo. “Come on. What are you gonna do? Huh? Do it. Come on, baby. Do it. Blow my mind.”
He reaches inside his jeans, and I stare, feigning excitement when I just want to throw up.
“Oh, yeah,” I say. “More, more. Come on, come on.”
“Come on, Milo!” someone shouts, but his brow is etched in anger, and I can see his face flush with strain.
“So, is this it?” I laugh. “Is it happening now? Is this what I’ve been missing?”