Page 55 of In Control

And fuck, I love this girl.

12

Sophia

Newton’s waitingoutside my door when the three of us stumble out of the elevator. Liam’s shirt is half undone and Gabriel has my lipstick smeared all down his neck. I dread to think what I look like. The make-out session in the back of the taxi and all the way up in the elevator had been intense.

Newton looks at me with disgust.

“He doesn’t like visitors,” I say.

“All animals love me,” Liam says, bending down to pat my cat’s head. Newton hisses at him and Liam snaps back his hand.

“Don’t take it personally. He doesn’t like anyone except me. He thinks my honour is his to protect.”

“Are we going to have to leave then?” Gabe teases with a twinkle in his eye.

“No,” I tell him, hooking my finger through the belt loop of his trousers and pulling him into my apartment.

Newton weaves around my ankles as I flick on the lights, and Gabe whistles as he scans the open-plan kitchen living space.

“This is nice, sweetheart. Rich daddy, because I’m guessing you couldn’t afford this on your student budget?”

My shoulders stiffen, but I shake the feeling off, finding a packet of cat biscuits in the cupboard and tipping them into the bowl.

“It’s OK,” I tell them, “Newton’s like most men, distracted easily by food.”

“And other things,” Liam growls, beckoning to me with his finger, “come here, sweetheart.”

But I’m not in the mood to be told what to do. I’m still stinging from my encounter with Professor Arsehole even if I did manage to laugh it off earlier. I’m still stinging from it.

I shake my head and weave through the furniture, switching on something sultry to play over the speakers.

I kick off my shoes and drop down onto the sofa, curling my legs under me.

The two men are watching me hungrily.

“You know what alphas do to little things who don’t do what they’re told,” Liam says, striding towards me.

I shrug, pretending not to care, when really my blood is thrumming.

“Tell her, Gabe.”

“What they do – what mine do anyway – is bend you over their knee and spank you.” He drops down onto the seat beside me and whispers into my ear, “Of course we pretend we hate it when really it feels divine.”

“Do you want me to spank you, sweetheart?”

I shrug again. I’ve been spanked before, but that was on their terms not mine, their fantasies. I was a vehicle, not a participant.

“Yank up your skirt.”

I shake my head slowly, licking my lips as I do, letting him know I want him to continue.

“Sweetheart, do you want to play this game?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “I want to play.”

“If you want me to stop, you just say the word. You tell me ‘that’s enough’.”

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