Page 2 of Claimed By Rage

Licking my desire from his knuckles, he hums happily. “You taste like honey,krosotka.Sticky and sweet.”

My face burns. The problem isn’t just Rage—it’s his brothers, too. The three of them have been paying me visits throughout the day, each one with their own MO. Rage likes to taste me. Rebel likes to touch me. Ruin likes to watch me. It’s only been two weeks, and they’re already tearing down the structure and routine I’ve carefully crafted in my life and creating space for themselves to fit.

I used to be civilized. I’d have sex at home, in bed, instead of wherever the hell the mood strikes. I’d be able to look my partner in the eyes and hold love in my heart while wemade love—but nothing about these men isloving.

They take what they want, when they want.

The only blessing is that they take turns. Rage is a morning man, appearing while I’m at work and disappearing within an hour. Rebel likes to appear in the evenings, drinking my best coffee or lounging on my couch by the time I make it home. But Ruin is the true wild card—I never know where or when he’ll strike. His brothers, I can predict pretty well. Ruin is another story entirely, appearing out of thin air at all hours of the day, demanding that I touch myself… while he watches.

Sometimes, in the moments before sunrise when I’m finally alone, I tell myself that it’s all one crazy dream. That I’m stillCelia Monrovia, a loveless, sexless divorcée who puts on a pretty smile while her heart secretly cracks into sharp little pieces.

But then our new routine starts all over again, and Rage reminds me that this impossible situation is very real andverydirty.

I take a deep breath as I come back into my body. That’s Rage’s cue to help me up. He puts me back on my feet and straightens my skirt, as though that makes me modest again.

There’s nothing modest about what we just did. What wekeepdoing.

Clearing my throat, I adjust my hair clip in the mirror. “You should leave. There are customers waiting.” I nod towards the back exit, determined not to look directly at him. I might combust from the lust burning in his gaze. I haven’t reciprocated his oral advances—not even once. He hasn’t asked.

I haven’t offered.

“Don’t do this again, Rage. Not this close to the lunch rush.” I exit theemployees onlysection and return to the sales floor, smiling at three new customers and praying they don’t notice the scent ofwet pussylingering around me.

I move behind the counter to ring up one of the ladies. “Oh, I love this top. Did you see that we carry it in blue? It’s right over here?—”

Her gaze drifts from the garment in my hands to my right, the tiniest gasp passing her lips. Her expression softens immediately, her posture shifting as she pushes out her chest and juts out her hip. She’s older than me by a few years, maybe a decade at most, but when it comes to desire, age doesn’t matter. People have the same tricks and tells when we see something—or someone—we like.

My smile freezes in place, my skin tingling as I imagine Rage running his hands over my body. He might as well be—I can feel his eyes roaming my curves like he didn’t just feel me up twominutes ago. I told him to go out the back door, didn’t I? What the hell is he doing up front?

“Ma’am?” I try to get her attention. “Did you want to see this in blue? It would look great with your skin tone.”

She turns her gaze back to me slowly. “That’s… not necessary. Just ring it up, please.”

As I’m folding the garments into her bag, she slinks toward Rage. I stare at one of the mirrors across the room and catch a side-view of him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, a scowl twitching onto his lips as the woman approaches him. He’s probably annoyed that she’s blocking his view.

I’m still wondering why the hell he hasn’t left yet.

I set the brunette’s bag aside while the next customer comes to the counter. While I chat with her and ring up her items, the brunette tries to start small talk with Rage. He doesn’t respond. I’m not even sure he gives her a pitying glance.

That’s how all three of them are—laser-focused on me.

What a fuckingblessing.

I roll my eyes before I catch myself, and the customer with me frowns. “Excuse me?”

Shit.

“I’m sorry, I’m—that wasn’t meant for you.” I force a smile. “Mybrotherwon’t leave,” I lie, raising my voice to make sure Rage can hear me. We’re in no way related, but I’d rather people think my brother Mikhail pays me regular visits than Mr. Tall, Tattooed, and Temperamental. “He really needs to listen when I tell him that I’mworking.”

The woman glances between the two of us, but I can tell she doesn’t want to get involved. She grabs her bags and heads out the door without another word. The third customer leaves without buying anything.

I wait for the first customer to leave, the brunette with a big smile and bigger tits, but she pulls out a pen from her purse andgrabs Rage’s hand, scrawling something on his wrist. Her smile is seriouslyhuge—too much teeth, not enough lip—as she blows across Rage’s wrist to set the ink. I’m pretty sure she grazes his knuckles against her boobs—ugh—before letting go. Then she takes her sweet ass time meandering to the door, fondling racks of clothes and casting furtive glances in Rage’s direction every few seconds.

I glare daggers at her back the entire time, hoping she’ll turn around to see me and get the hint that she’s not welcome back if she’s gonna hit on strangers in the shop, but she doesn’t spare me a single glance.

That’s probably for the best. I’m not on my best behavior today.

Once the door closes behind her, I turn my ire onto the real problem. “Listen,asshole, you can’t just—” I gasp as Rage closes the distance between us in three long strides. Flinching back, I stumble against the front counter, the words I mean to say sticking in my throat. He slams his palm against the wall beside my ear, the blue ink on his wrist catching my eye. Turning my head, I ignore the heat of his stare and read the message.

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