Page 56 of House Rules
“Answer me, kitten. Would you be a good girl for me? Would you follow all of my orders like a well-behaved little pet? All to get your reward?”
“Yes,” I say in a breathy moan, wanting him to touch more of me. Wanting to finish what we started earlier.
“Then all you have to do is?—”
Whatever he is about to say is cut off when Maverick comes up to the top deck. Atticus whispers something under his breath, but Maverick just gives him a shit-eating grin.
“Come on, little firebird, time for dinner and some real fun.”
18
Maverick
I knewthat asshole was going to try something.
Atticus is so fucking sneaky and diabolical, and he was seconds from leading our little toy to the finish line. Telling her to beg would be fucking cheating, but I had a feeling he was going to pull some shit anyway.
All of us are determined to win, and he’s no exception. Not just because we love a good game, and we’re competitive as fuck. But because we all want the prize.
Atticus is the type of sadistic son of a bitch who would get her to beg on the top deck of that boat,knowing we would all hear it and delighting in our irritation.
I wasn’t about to let that happen. I interrupted him in mid-sentence and retrieved my little firebird, bringing her back down to the party. He’d had her long enough.
They all had. Earlier I even accidentally (wink wink) set the grill on fire—mostly to get her away from Con—only for Storm to go in and snake her, anyway.
Fuck it, he’s an asshole, too.
Still, dinner is now ready, and we can all just hang out, eat burgers, and chill. After this, when everyone’s chill and drowsy, I will take my turn. The others can suck it; she’s going to be all mine.
We do what we do every time it’s just the four of us out on the open water. We laugh and drink and trade stories, Phoenix easing her way into the group as if she’s always been a part of us. She doesn’t share any of her own stories, of course—I’ve noticed that she’s too private to let much of anything personal slip. She relaxes, though, smiling at the funny stuff and letting the cooler night air wash over her as she lifts her face to the stars.
I don’t offer much in the way of tales, either. The guys know, but I’m not much for broadcasting the fact that my mother is very likely insane, in a certifiable sense. I don’t know if it’s simple paranoia, or schizophrenia or something else, something bigger…but something is wrong with her.
I also don’t like anyone knowing that my deepest fear is that I might turn out just like her.
Eventually, the storytelling dies down, and we sit quietly around the propane fire table we have on the deck. Phoenix stares dreamily into the blue rocks at the base of the flames, her expression faraway.
This is the first night we haven’t paraded other women in front of her, flaunting our ability to have anyone we want. I wonder if she knows that none of those women satisfy us, that we are almost always thinking of her when we mess with them.
It’s Phoenix we all want, Phoenix we’re all determined to have, and I’m not so sure having her won’t tear us apart. I’m at least willing to take this fucked up arrangement Con has maneuvered and try to make it real. Sustainable.
But what happens if she doesn’t want all of us? What happens if she chooses him, and only him?
I’m not so sure the others feel the same way, and I don’t know how it would work if only one of us had her. I glance over at Con to find him studying her in much the same way I am, and the uneasy awareness that there’s no returning to who and what we once were settles deep within me.
Does she even know she has the power to rip us apart?
No, of course she doesn’t know that. Part of her appeal is that she has no idea how different and special she is. She’s not like the Botox bred, silicone stuffed, bleached-blonde girls who normally chase after us. Those girls know they’re gorgeous because they bought their beauty, and they know how to use it to wrap a man around their little fingers.
I am absolutely not shaming that. To each their own. A little plastic never hurt anybody.
But they’re not Phoenix.
Phoenix’s beauty isn’t just in her face and her body—though God knows they’re both stunning. Her beauty lies in her odd mix of stubborn resilienceand innate obedience. In her fierce resolve to make it on her own mixed with an underlying vulnerability that we can all see.
Phoenix tucks her legs under her like she’s been here a hundred times, not just once. Her eyes stay fixed on the fire, and I swear she’s seeing something I can’t. Storm hasn’t said a word in twenty minutes. Atticus is doing that thing where he watches her too long. And Con’s jaw hasn’t unclenched since she smiled at me across the table.
“We should play strip poker,” he says suddenly, sitting upright.
