Page 65 of Séance

“You’re so strong,” Rue says, but not in flattery, more like she’s surprised. “And warm.”

When she snuggles into him more, his stride hitches, and I suddenly don’t envy him. Even with his iron control, I doubt he’ll be able to remain unaffected. Holding her close without touching her must be torture for him. He doesn’t do softness or kindness. He’s more of a fuck them and leave them type of guy. Having her in his house and tucked close to his body must be fucking with his head big time.

No wonder he is so on edge.

I’m not sure if I feel sorry for him or want to laugh at his predicament.

Rue is slowly turning our world upside down, cracking each of us out of our protective shells. I should hate it, but I can’t deny that I’m excited to see what she’ll do next.

Chapter Twenty-one

RUE

Apersistent slash of sunlight against my eyelids pulls me from the best slumber I’ve had in ages. I shift to stretch but find myself unable to move. My eyes pop open, adrenaline flooding my veins, and I curl my hands into fists to keep from moving as I assess the situation.

It isn’t the first time I’ve woken up tied to a bed or chair.

Nothing will keep my father and his minions from beating me, but the less I react, the faster they’ll lose interest.

When I survey my unfamiliar surroundings, it takes my brain a moment to catch up.

I’m not home.

My father is not here.

I release a shaky breath, then my eyes widen once more when I see the reason I can’t move. We’re on the ground, each of the guys wrapped around me. After we came downstairs last night, the guys moved all the furniture to give us room to stretch out on the floor.

Jameson’s arms are wrapped around my legs like tentacles from an octopus, his head resting on my stomach. Jaceson is on the opposite side of him, cuddled up to my side near my hip, his hand curled possessively around my upper thigh.

To my shock, Hicks is at my back, cradling me against his chest, his hand stretched wide across my ribs like he couldn’t resist holding me close in his sleep. He’s half sitting up, using the couch like a backrest. Thankfully, he’s still out cold, or I would no doubt face his wrath for daring to touch him while he slept. My face heats in mortification, and I slowly ease away from him, grimacing when I notice a spot of drool on his shoulder where my head was resting.

Unfortunately, I don’t get far. Ellis is on my other side, his arm thrown across my chest, where his hand boldly cups my left breast. To my chagrin, my nipple hardens. My breath catches when he shifts, his grip tightening on my breast, and heat pools low in my belly.

A soft breath against my ear distracts me, and I carefully shift to see Gunner still asleep, stretched out on the couch behind us. His hand is draped over Hicks’ shoulder, and I realize it must have shifted off me when I moved.

My survival instincts scream at me to bolt to my feet and run, and it takes me nearly a minute to claw back the blind panic that says being near a man automatically means pain. The guys haven’t hurt me. In fact, most of them are actually very sweet and gentle.

The way they often watch me sends a shiver through me, but not in a bad way.

I’m not sure what any of it means, but I want to explore the unique experience more.

I glance around the room, and my lips quirk when it looks like a tornado tore through it. A dozen or so abandoned blankets are scattered throughout the room. Candy wrappers cover everysurface, and I nearly snort at the amount of popcorn crumbs sprinkled everywhere. Apparently, it’s a thing to throw popcorn at the screen when the characters do something stupid, or that’s what Jameson claimed.

My smile spreads when I remember watching one movie after another, the guys cheering or cursing at the screen, each of them so vocal that it was almost overwhelming.

I’ve never had so much fun.

The last thing I remember is the guys arguing about what movie we should watch next. That was near five o’clock. I don’t remember anything after that. Part of me wants to go back to sleep, but unfortunately, the enormous glass of slushy lemonade Jameson handed me last night, which he called a Big Gulp, is wreaking havoc on my bladder.

I carefully extract myself from the guys, barely daring to breathe each time one of them shifts or grumbles in their sleep. It takes nearly ten minutes to free myself, and I dash toward the bathroom at a dead run, afraid that I’ll embarrass myself.

By the time I’m done, I sigh in relief. That relief vanishes when I catch a look at myself in the mirror. I resemble a hedgehog, my hair going every which way. No matter how much I try to tame the curls, the strands refuse to stay put, and I finally give up with a frustrated huff.

I tiptoe out of the bathroom, not wanting to wake the guys, then freeze in place when three pairs of eyes lock on me mid-sneak. They are standing in the kitchen like this morning is any other day. Hicks has his back turned to me as he presses buttons on a coffee machine. His shoulders tense slightly, so I know he senses me, but he purposely doesn’t turn and look at me.

Used to my parents dismissing me and pretending I don’t exist, I don’t take offense.

In fact, I’m almost grateful.

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