Under normal circumstances, her annoyed grumble would be adorable. This isn’t a normal circumstance. I want to kill her.
“You pissed, Wraith?”
I step into the room and close the door. “Was your tongue just down her fucking throat?”
“She was determined. It was me or someone else.” Then Jester gives me a crooked grin and a shrug. “Not that I’m saying she had to twist my arm.”
“Damn right I didn’t,” Jamie snaps.
“She had two shots and a few sips of beer.” Jester pushes off the bed. “She’s funny drunk.”Because she’s not busy worrying over every word about to come out of her mouth.“Nothing happened.”
Jamie’s mouth is twisted in a smirk. “You can leave now, Wraith. Wouldn’t want you to keep your trollop waiting. Her pigtails might get all in a twist.”
Trollop?
Did we travel back in time a few centuries?
This can go in one of two ways. I can walk out of this room and pretend I don’t give a shit if she lets every guy in the Northern Hemisphere run train on her.Yeah, no.Thought I could play this game. Thought by hurting her, it would ease the betrayal of her walking away a second time.
Shit’s backfiring on me like a motherfucker.
Another way is for me to admit I’m a dick and apologize. Again, no. I’ve sacrificed enough of my pride groveling at people’s feet. Can’t—won’t—do that again. I’ve created this mess and made Jamie and Jester unwitting participants in my self-destructive game. But now that Jamie’s embraced the challenge, I realize I have a third option, and it’s diabolical.
I love diabolical.
Ferryman might spread the word that Jamie’s mine, but she has to make the ultimate decision for herself—and I’m done waiting.
Tonight, in this room, she has a choice to make. She was supposed to have made it in Gomorrah, but apparently, she didn’t. Tonight, though, it’s all or nothing. Not saying we’re going to go all happily ever after or anything, but this bullshit where she’s in my arms one minute and thinking about leaving the next stops now.
Jester strides toward the door, but I stop him with a curt shake of my head. He frowns in disapproval. I throw him a look withtrust mewritten all over it. He rolls his eyes. I cock a brow. His expression tells me he wants to kill me, but he plays along and turns back to the Jamie in full predator mode.
He gets where I’m going.
I lean my hip against the dresser, smirking, and nod at Jester. “You want him, Jamie? Come and take him.”
A subtle flare of her nostrils betrays her as she slides off the bed, tugging to keep her skirt from riding up. Haughty as hell, she hoists her chin, but it’s there—the subtle quiver of her bottom lip. Hear it too, in the rasping misery of her every breath. But she puts up the wall, ducking behind it, her pride the mortar sealing up any cracks in the stone.
“You heard the man.” Jester tilts his head, his smile pure aggression as he cups his dick through his jeans. “Come and take me.”
“You think I won’t?”
Her tone is colder than the Delaware River in the heart of winter, and that’s Jamie’s tell. The greater her fear, the more she withdraws.
Not tonight, runt. All in or all out.
Jamie hisses in a breath when Jester snakes an arm around her waist. He backs her up to the bed. Turns and sits on the edge and positions her between his spread legs. He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Traces his fingers down her cheek. Follows the path along her jawline.
“Nah, sweetheart, I don’t.”
It takes every ounce of control to keep my feet rooted to the spot. Can’t tell if the pounding I hear is from the music drifting in from the main room or the hammering of my heart. But when Jamie grabs a fistful of Jester’s shirt and leans into his touch, I know with certainty nothing I suffered in the dungeon hurt half as much as watching Jamie and Jester together.
“Easy, Jamie. I’ll take care of you,” Jester says. “By the time we’re done, you won’t even remember this asshole’s name.”
Jamie arches her back when Jester slides his other hand down her spine. I can’t see her face. Can’t see her nuanced reactions to his touch. I can only imagine what’s going on in her mind and wonder if she likes his touch over mine. It’s a new form of psychological torment unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.
“What’s the rules, Wraith?”
“Ask her.” My voice is hard, battle ready.
