Page 71 of House Rules
And then he dragged me off that floor and knelt between my legs like he was starving for me. Like I was something he needed. It was the single-most erotic, consuming experience of my entire life.
I thought it would satisfy me. But the near-orgasm didn’t quench anything; it just made things worse. Made me ravenous. I wanted more—of him, of them, of whatever this twisted, glittering world was becoming to me.
But afterward... he left me. Cold. Detached. Like none of it mattered. Like I was nothing.
He looked at me with disgust. Real, burning disgust. And I don’t know what I did to earn it.
I still feel the shame clawing up my throat as I think about how close I was to begging him to fuck me, to just take me right there in that conference room. He had to have seen it in my eyes.
I don’t understand why he didn’t just do it.
Why any of them don’t just do it.
I cleaned myself up slowly in the staff locker room. By the time I returned to the suite, the party was already underway. Hookers. Champagne. Music so loud I felt it in my teeth. The usual chaos.
I asked Maverick what the night’s plans were. He didn’t answer. Just handed me a dress made of delicate chains—silver and gold, whisper-thin, barely covering anything.
It clung to my body like a second skin. It was bold. Daring. Beautiful.
But even draped in gold, I’m still on the wall. Still just a decoration. Still excluded.
Con disappears into his room with one of the girls. I’m done pretending this doesn’t affect me.
I push off the wall and start walking toward the bar.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Atticus’s voice slices through the noise.
I don’t flinch. I don’t slow down.
“This is a party, isn’t it? Why shouldn’t I have fun, too? It’s not like I have anything better to do,” I say, shrugging as I walk over to the bar and pour myselfa double shot of some tequila I can’t even pronounce.
I don’t know where this bravado comes from, but I am going to roll with it. What’s the worst they can do to me? Kill me? Better dead than a prostitute for some gangsters.
“Who gave you permission to play with us?”
“No one, because I didn’t ask,” I say, smiling at him sweetly over my shoulder as I pour a second shot of liquid courage, or maybe in this case it’s liquid ‘I don’t give a fuck.’
“Let her stay. I want to see what she thinks partying is,” Storm says, giving me an intense look that I can’t really read, but I find both sexy and a little terrifying. “She thinks she can keep up with us. Let’s see exactly how wrong she is.”
As if I haven’t been keeping up with them every night. Although, I guess I haven’t been because I haven’t been drinking nearly as much as they have, and I haven’t done any recreational drugs.
The guys, meanwhile, haven’t been doing anything more illegal than usual. There’s been no weapons, no brawling, no theft, and nobody up here otherthan hookers or strippers or wayward members of the staff.
From what I can tell, there hasn’t been a single cartel member around to launder money or ship people, so why not? What are they going to do? Fire me? No one else is ever going to sign that fucking contract.
Besides, the contract says I am supposed to be drinking, doing drugs when asked and even giving them full access to my body, even if they have apparently chosen not to use it.
I don’t know why that idea makes me feel some kinda way, but I shove the thought aside and scan the bottles of liquor. I think I have some catching up to do.
Emboldened by the tequila burning in my gut, I pour a third shot.
Instead of just drinking it down, I pour it down the throat of the nearest girl, letting it spill over her lips and chin. I lean in and lick the rest from her skin.
"Fuck me," I hear Maverick mutter.
The girl wraps an arm around my waist, giggling.She smells like cinnamon and rum. Her pupils are huge.
I let her guide me to the dance floor. We move together easily, like we’ve done this a hundred times. Her hands roam freely. Mine do too. When I turn in her arms, she slides her fingers beneath the chains of my dress, brushing against my nipples.
