Page 53 of Tempted to Rebel

Celia

While Rebel smokesa cigarette on the front porch, I keep my distance from Ruin. Thankfully, he has the same idea, staying out of whichever part of the house I’m inhabiting long enough for me to pretend he doesn’t exist and that everything is back to normal.

But evennormaldoesn’t feel quite right.

I stare at Rebel’s silhouette through the window and wonder when that changed. Was it the moment I came home after work one day and found him rummaging through my kitchen cabinets? Or before even that, when Rage first appeared at my shop door with a cocksure grin and an unshakable belief that I was his girl?

How long have these men been so intertwined in my life that I can no longer imagine it without them?

Sighing, I stare at the canvas backpack sitting on my dining room table. It’s not mine—but apparently the contents within it are.

Thanatos got these for you,Rebel said nonchalantly once we returned downstairs,something about doing you a favor.

I flip open the top and unzip the main pocket, surprised to find my laptop case nestled snugly inside with the binder I use tocatalog different color swatches sitting beside it. Digging further, I find various items from my office tossed inside at random. One of my favorite pens. A half-used sketchbook. Old invoices and magazine clippings of inspirational designs I meant to scan onto my computer.

Thanatos went to my boutique.

He got these things…for me.

I worry my bottom lip between my teeth and slump into a kitchen chair. Things have been tense during our morning training sessions, and we’ve only had a few of them. Thanatos doesn’t speak—not with words. He uses his body as a language, spinning me around and around, throwing me to the mat, forcing me to fight to get back up again. It’s brutal and unrestrained and nowhere near ethical, but even when Rage stands watch or lifts weights from the other side of the room during our sessions, he doesn’t question his brother’s methods or tell him to take it easy on me.

It’s like he approves whatever Thanatos deems effective for making me stronger.

The thing is, it’s workingtoowell.

I’m learning Thanatos’ movements. His mannerisms. And he’s learning mine. Showing me how to maneuver around a man twice my size, or how to use my weight and flexibility to my advantage. I don’t know much about martial arts, but I gather that he’s well-versed in various disciplines, using them all to his advantage not only to take me down, but to give me a well-rounded foundation for attack.

Because not only am I defending myself from his advances, I’m learning to strike back, too.

I’m grateful for the lessons. If their father comes after me, he won’t pull his punches or go easy on me because I’m a woman. He’ll go in for the kill, and I need to be trained accordingly.I wouldn’t receive this kind of training anywhere else—or from anyone else.

It’s becoming clear, however, that as calm and collected as Thanatos thinks he is, he lets out some of his frustration on the mat. He pins me on my back, on my front, wraps his arms around my body from all different angles, forces me into pretzel-like positions and pushes the limits of my flexibility, all because he likes seeing—and feeling—what my body is capable of.

The perpetual hard-on gives him away.

But unlike his brothers, he doesn’t tear my leggings off and dive between my thighs. He keeps his impulses to himself, keeping the dick-to-female-body contact as minimal as possible.

Still, I notice his body’s reaction to mine.

And still, he doesn’t talk about it.

I’ve been grateful for the silence since it means there’s at least one man’s problems I won’t have to detangle, butthis—the backpack filled with supplies from my boutique—speaks volumes.

It’s a kindness that I never asked for, one that I don’t want. Not if it comes with heartstrings attached. I already have three men—three very complicated, chaotic men—to contend with. I don’t need a fourth man added to the mix.

I can only handle so much trauma-laced testosterone.

Dropping my head onto the kitchen table, I groan loudly. My relationship with these men was meant to be a fun, easy little fling, but it’s getting more complicated than I ever imagined. Ruin’s a hot mess with a hard-on for knives, Rebel’s currently chain smoking to cope with his stress, and Thanatos is in denial about his physical attraction to me. At least Rage seems to be coming around in his own way. He hasn’t tried to have sex with me since the cage incident, and he’s been gentle in the mornings we spend together.

If Rage can put in genuine effort to change for the better, I know his brothers can, too.

I lean back in my chair and look down at my stomach. “Your daddies have issues,” I admit, whispering to the little life growing inside of me, “but I know they’re trying to be good for us.”

It feels silly to talk to a bundle of cells, but?—

A cell phone rings from inside the backpack, making me jump in my seat. “Um, Rebel?” I look over my shoulder, but he’s still smoking outside. Unzipping the front pocket of the pack, I reach inside to find the phone. “Is this your pho—” A pale pink case, complete with a swirling rhinestone pattern on the back, means that the phone isn’t Rebel’s.

It’smine.

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