Page 60 of Deadly Rival

“I can make you orgasm right here, in front of the whole room. Or you can spend the rest of dinner on your knees beside me while I feed you, and I’ll do it later. In private.”

I watch her face for the moment I know is coming, and it arrives right on queue. She looks for help. To the girls first. All she gets from them is a sympathetic look from Eve and a mouthed “Fuck him” from Quinn.

Then she tries Jacob, who she must think has some sort of authority. People often do. He shrugs. “Sorry, love. What your Patron says goes.”

Next, she scans the rest of the room. Most of the other diners have gone back to their meals, our brief scene forgotten already. The few still watching return her look without expression.

She tries me, and I return her pleading look with the flattest stare I can muster. “The rules are different here.” I move my fingers again, and her eyes flutter closed. “I make them.”

Will she let me push her over the edge? I can’t decide what I want more. Having her at my feet would be fun, but if she climaxes here, it’s a victory. The moment balances on a pin head, stretching out until she jerks away, shoves the chair out from under her, and drops to her knees.

There’s fury in her eyes, and it’s beautiful to see. I smile down at her. “Only a few more courses to go. I’ll—”

A chair scrapes, and Quinn thumps to her knees right next to Ophelia. “Well, I guess this is how we’re all eating, then.”

My eyes are drawn to Eve. She hesitates, then her face sets and she gets to her knees. She looks up at Gabriel, and I swear he fucking melts. He bends to whisper something in her ear and pets her hair. Zero chance he’ll pull Eve into line.

This is turning from a teachable moment into a joke.

Jacob’s hand covers his mouth, and his shoulders shake. No help there either. If I want control of this situation back, I’ll need to do it myself.

Fuck.

Twenty-Five

Ophelia

I can’t believe Eveand Quinn did that for me. It’s a single bright spot in the fucked-up nightmare of this evening, the one thing that stops it being unbearable. I’ve only known these women a couple of days, and they’re on their knees in their lovely dresses. For me.

The pathetic thing is, I can’t think of one person I know in the outside world who would do anything half as kind.

My dad only allows me to be friends with a certain type of woman. Any friends who don’t fit the social mold he wants are discouraged, first subtly and then with a firmer hand. I have a lot of acquaintances among the wealthy socialites, women I exchange air kisses and vapid gossip with. But not a single one would dirty an evening gown for my sake.

The Compound should be the loneliest place on earth, but it isn’t.

Quinn gives me a wicked grin, then stretches up to Jacob. They aren’t as in-your-face affectionate as Gabriel and Eve, but even so, I can see the connection between them. The little glances and subtle touches. He’s terrifying, a giant who could snap her in two, but she needles and sasses him like it’s a game.

She returns clutching a toast point smothered in pâté. Before she takes a bite, she whispers, “The hot salve is evil. Jacob once tied me up and covered me in it as a punishment. I had to lie there and watch one of his stupid soccer games, and he played with my nipples the entire time. He gagged me to keep me from screaming.”

“Gabriel uses it on me, too,” Eve chimes in. High spots of color stand out on her cheeks, and her words run together as though the wine is hitting her. “Sunday is our day together. Some days, he reapplies it all day long because he loves to make me beg.”

She covers her mouth, cheeks growing redder. I doubt she normally shares this much.

The confessions should horrify me—they’re one more example of how messed up this place is—but all they do is make me feel better. Eve and Quinn have been through the same thing. I’m not pathetic for how I’m reacting to the stupid salve.

Sebastian’s hand on my head snaps me out of the slumber party mood. He finds my ear, and it’s yet another spot he can use to torture me. I didn’t even know I was sensitive there. Why do I have to be? He traces his finger along the edge, and everything comes to life again. My body is a rollercoaster, and every time I hit the downslope, I almost lose my mind with need.

He grabs the leash where it meets the collar and gives a gentle tug up. I rise with the pressure until I’m high on my knees, staring up at him in his chair.

I expect him to be angry, but I’m wrong. I never seem to guess his moods correctly. He angles his seat so I’m between his thighs and smiles.

The intimacy of the position hits me in a rush, and I start to sink back down, but he keeps a tight grip on the collar. “No, youdon’t. You’re not having a picnic with the girls under the table. This is where you stay.”

Waiters arrive, older men in tailcoats and white gloves. They don’t even glance at the three kneeling women, just clear the plates and replace them with the next course. It’s like we’re invisible.

The next dish is a tiny coil of thin steak, rare and coated in some sort of sauce. Sebastian spears it. “Open up.”

“I’m not hungry.” It’s a lie, but my stomach is coiled up in knots.

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