Page 28 of House Rules
She is still just Phoenix Jones, daughter of a deadbeat gambler, and we are still us. The Titans.
They don’t call us that for nothing. We’re the children of the Titan-Wynn Conglomerate, a business started by our parents to create resort and casinoexperiences across the U.S. The founding resort, Titans’ Folly, is the pinnacle of entertainment and guest hospitality here in Savannah.
There are others, scattered across the United States in other cities. They, too, are impressive in their own right, a legacy we can be proud of.
But it’s here, in Titans’ Folly, where we developed our reputation for ruthlessness.
We are in charge.
Through slitted eyes, I let my gaze wander over the room. We decided on a party tonight…kind of a welcome event for our little nanny in the event tonight was the night that she showed up. The living area, consisting of an airy living room, kitchen, bar, and dining table, is full of people. Most of them are naked, or nearly so.
A little smile tugs at the corner of my mouth. Our naughty nanny.
After the way her body reacted when I took control of her in my room, I have a feeling she’s actually going to enjoy this arrangement a lot more than we had planned.
It’s fine. I’m all for her enjoying what we decide to allow her to enjoy.
She used to tremble for me. Not in fear. In anticipation.
I can still feel the way her fingers curled around my belt one long ago night on the roof of the hotel, before she ever tasted money or danger or any of this bullshit. When it was just her and me and a bottle of stolen vodka we barely touched. When I thought maybe I could trust her.
That was before she ran. Before she fucking wrecked me.
And now she’s back—on her knees or on the run, I’ll make sure it’s my rules she remembers.
The elevator doors slide open, revealing her standing there, rooted in uncertainty.
Fuck.
It shouldn’t hit me like this.
But it does—like a gut punch in the middle of the chaos I orchestrated. The second she steps into view, my cock gets harder, my pulse gets meaner. It's not supposed to be like this anymore.
I tell myself it’s the game. The setup. The contract. But I know better. I feel it in places I swore I killed off in the past several years.
I watch as her gaze flits around the casual mayhem we’ve designed, watch as the doors begin to slide shut and she sticks a hand out to stop them.
When she walks in the room, the energy shifts—a kind of subtle inhaling of her presence—and I know every one of us is completely, one hundred percent aware of her. We lock in on her, predator to prey, all of us absorbing her every micro-expression and movement—and yet none of us actually look at her.
Storm’s shoulders tense first. Barely. A slight twitch beneath the collar of his black tee as his knife stops mid-flip. Atticus’s thumb pauses on the controller. Maverick lets his poker chips fall in a loose clatter onto the table, his hand curling tighter around his whiskey like he’s imagining it’s her throat.
We don’t speak. Don’t move. But we all feel it—her. The way she smells like fear and pride and bravado, the way her breath catches when she sees us. Her presence coils through the room like smoke, sticky and charged. A promise. A threat.
It takes everything I have not to break formation.
But we made a pact. Tonight, we don’t touch. We don’t speak. We watch. Let her feel the heat of it—every hungry, unforgiving ounce.
We’re pack animals in this moment—calm, still, but ready to strike. She doesn't know it yet, but she just walked into a room where the hunters are only pretending to sleep.
The rules say don’t touch her, so none of us will. But we all want to.
I watch her for a moment through the reflection of a mirror while the big-breasted blonde I hired for the occasion continues to rock on my lap.
Technically, she’s a stripper, hired to dance, but she understands the assignment, and she’s all too willing.
I pretend to watch the way her bare breasts sway in my face as she dry humps me, rubbing her barely covered cunt against my cock while I steal glances at Phoenix. I wonder if she realizes that I only got hard once Phoenix walked in the room. I doubt it.
Maverick sits in the middle of the room at the table, playing strip poker with several girls who are eithershit at poker, generally stupid, or very smart judging from their lack of attire. I guess it depends on your point of view.
