I cross my arms over my chest and nod, confirming I’m ready. Sitting back, I wait to hear what other asinine requirements will come from his mouth.
22
ARIAH
“We have to go to etiquette classes, get married in a year, and don't get me started on the birth control shit,” I shout.
Owen’s and Wyatt’s sprawled forms take me in from their places on my bed as I rant about the bullshit I heard in the meeting last night.
Thank fuck the kids are all out with Tabitha and their security team until later. I can picture the look on Jamie’s face hearing I’m being forced to put a birth-control rod in my arm. I’m still fuming over the audacity of dead men.
This can’t be real life right now. How can a group of men dictate what happens tomybody?
“Ariah, Angel, it’s precautionary.” I listen to Owen try to reason with me as he and Wyatt lay on my bed.
Of course it makes sense. Who the hell wants to get pregnant at this age? But that’s not the point.
“I’m not disputing the validity of what it’s for. I’m trying to figure out why a group of men is dictating my uterus,” I snap.Fucking patriarchal bullshit is what this is.
Wyatt rises to his elbows and tilts his head, processing what I’ve said. His brows arch, his pupils dilate when he understands my point of contention. “It’s not that you don’t want birth control. It’s the fact that it’s being demanded of you instead of you having the right to choose.”
“Tell him what he’s won, Alex,” I snark, still annoyed at the idea that my bodily autonomy has been taken from me. “I would’ve gladly decided to get the implant if someone had asked. Instead, a bunch of middle-aged men, who probably have prescriptions for Viagra, have decided and that’s that,” I continue to gripe as I pace across my heated wooden floor. That comment was uncalled for, but so was their birth control proclamation.
Owen jumps up from the bed, reaching me in two strides, and scoops me into his arms. “I’m sorry this decision was taken from you,” he breathes me in. “I’m sorry so much was taken from and forced on you. This will all be over soon. It will be June before we know it.”
Sighing, I nod. He’s right. As fucked as this whole situation is, there is some sort of end in sight, and again I would’ve wanted protection anyway. Shit, even with the implant,no glove, no love.Not while this whole twisted version ofThe Bacheloris happening.
His breath on my skin makes me squirm, and I feel the moment he realizes its effect because his lips brush the hollow of my neck.
“Does.”Kiss.“This.”Nip.“Feel good?” he murmurs as his teeth graze up my throat, sending sparks along my spine and making my body hum to life.
I moan myagreement as he walks us back toward my bed, stopping only to toss me into the waiting arms of Wyatt.When the hell did he sit up?
Wy’s hands move from my waist up my stomach until they’re under my shirt, palming and squeezing my breasts over the cups of my lilac and black lace bra. My body heats at his touch.
“I think she’s wearing too many clothes, O. What do you think?” he asks, pausing his movements to pull my shirt off before unhooking my bra and sliding it down my shoulders, dropping it to the bed.
I don’t fight him, eager to feel their hands on me again. My body buzzes with anticipation, my nipples hard long before the air caresses them.
Resting against his chest, Wyatt kneads his thumbs into the base of my skull, massaging his fingers into my temples, relieving some of the day’s tension from my body.
I whimper, lulling my head forward to provide him greater access when I feel my right leg being hoisted into Owen’s firm hold.
These tag team massages will never get old.
“I don’t know who taught you both how to do this, but they deserve all the money in the world,” I sigh in utter contentment.
They both huff a small snort of laughter.
“We haven’t ever done this with anyone, Angel. Care isn’t something we do unless you’re involved,” Owen professes.
I lift my eyes to his, and again I’m met with a faraway look before he blinks his gaze back into focus. I seriously need to get him alone to find out what causes that haunted stare.
However, before I can fully catalog that thought, Wyatt captures my hardened peaks and rolls them between his calloused fingers, leaning me further into his body. Pleasure spikes in my veins as he increases the pressure, pinching my nipples until my mouth falls open with a panting mewl.
My attention snaps from Wyatt’s hands on my tits to the feel of air hitting my thighs and the sound of tearing fabric. Goosebumps line my legs as he cuts my pants. I gawp, too stunned to speak.
“I agree. She does indeed have on too much,” Owen murmurs, slicing through the last of my leggings, leaving me in only my matching lace boyshorts.
