Page 19 of Runaways

"Hey, at least let me clean that up for you!" Calvin shouts at my back. "With my mouth!"

Laughter fills the room as we leave, and Silas steers me toward the staircase.

"Where are we going?" I ask as we make our way up to the second floor.

"I believe you're not supposed to question me," Silas says. "Remember the name of the game?"

"Yes, sir," I mock. "Whatever you say."

He turns to me, looking me up and down, raising one eyebrow. "You be careful with that mouth, Noah," he says. "Or I might have to teach you how to use it."

"What makes you think I don't know how to use it?"

Shit. I said that out loud. I blame the whiskey.

"Do you want me to tell you to prove it?"

I swallow hard, feigning laughter even though I'm pretty sure he isn't joking, and avert my gaze, following him until we reach one of the last bedrooms. Silas immediately goes to the window, unlocking it and throwing it open so Tate can climb inside.

"Ah, thank you very much," Tate says. "How's it going? Is Noah obeying or does she need to be spanked?" He crinkles his nose as he approaches me. "Why do you smell like old beer already?"

I shrug. "Because I'm a fucking house plant."

He purses his lips. "Not sure what that means. Do house plants drink beer?"

"Are you serious, Tate?"

"I don't know. I don't have any fucking house plants."

He steps around me and opens Calvin's closet. "Ah, here you go," he says, pulling his jersey from a hanger. "Take off your clothes and put this on instead."

I open my mouth to protest.

"Please, say no and see what happens," Tate says. "Make my day, Noah."

Sighing, I pull my tank top over my head and then put on the jersey before stepping out of the skirt. It's just long enough that it reaches the back of my thighs, but if I lift my arms over my head, I'm sure anyone who's looking would get a full view of my ass in this pink thong.

But hey, maybe they'd remember my fucking name if they did.

"Much better. We're looking for a small black metal box. We'll have to look high and low," he emphasizes, "so…Noah, you should look low. You have to crawl."

"Perfect."

I drop to the ground, get on all fours, and start crawling around the room, "looking low" for the black metal box. I'm aware my ass is entirely visible, and I feel their eyes on me, but I don't care. Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's just that I'm so fucking used to going unnoticed, and I'm so fucking tired of it that this actually feels good. But it does…it feels better than good. My clit pulses as I crawl around on the carpet on my hands and knees, squeezing my thighs together to relieve some of the pressure.

I check under the bed and in the nightstands as Silas turns out drawers and Tate tears apart the closet.

"I think I'm out of low places to search, Tate," I say.

"Really? Well, then, I guess you can just crawl over to Silas and rub up against his leg like a cat. For moral support."

Silas laughs. "Jesus Christ."

"What's wrong, Silas?" I joke, crawling in his direction. "You don't want any moral support?"

"No, I want moral support, Noah," he replies.

"That's hot," Tate says as I take my time, rubbing up against Silas's leg before I notice a duffle bag under the desk. It smells like shit when I open it up, and I almost don't even bother looking inside, but I decide to dump it, and a box like the one Tate is looking for falls to the ground in front of me.

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