I grab a couple of towels from the patio, tossing one to Saige as she climbs out of the hot tub.
"Jesus, it's fucking freezing," she complains, wrapping it around her body and rushing toward the house, seeking shelter from the crisp October air.
"Be careful," I tell her as she steps inside. "The floor is going to be soaked."
It's an understatement, and I'm going to have to clean this up before one of us ends up slipping while drunk later tonight and busts their fucking skull, but it's okay.
I'm happy.
"You can go upstairs. I'll make us something to eat."
"Where upstairs?"
"Left at the top of the staircase, and then the third door on the right. Take something from the bar if you want."
While I search the fridge, pulling out everything I need to make nachos, Saige scans the bar, first grabbing a bottle of whiskey and then a good bottle of champagne.
She's fucking adorable, a pinched expression on her face as she tries to read the French label, holding the whiskey under her arm so the other hand can cling to the tiny white towel that's slipping from her body. Her hair has started to dry in messy light brown waves, the pieces around her face that she normally keeps bright pink have faded into kind of a rose-gold blonde. She looks like an angel—a fallen fucking angel that landed right in my lap, and now she's all mine.
Ours,I correct myself.She's ours. And that's even better. That's brand fucking new.
I want to mark her body with my cum and my teeth. I want to cover her skin in my art and make her mine forever in that way. Maybe she thinks it doesn't mean anything anymore, butthat's okay. I'll talk her into it one day after I fuck her senseless; I'll make sure she puts it somewhere Elias will always have to see it, too.
"Can I take this?" she asks, holding out the bottle.
"You can take whatever you want, baby."Take my fucking soul. Rip it right out of my chest. You're killing me, anyway."You're too sweet for me to tell you no."
"Okay." She smiles a little, her eyes running over my tattooed chest, then down my abs to where the towel hangs low on my waist. The horny brat just got bent over and tag-teamed in the hot tub, and she's still eye-fucking me.
Like I said, this girl feels like a Christmas present.
I stop her before she gets to the staircase. "Saige, wait."
"What?"
I move toward her, stopping in front of her and pushing my hands into her messy hair before kissing her. "I hope you're happy, Ripley. Because I'm never going to let you go."
I can see it in her eyes—the internal debate on whether or not she trusts me. But I don't need her trust to possess her, not as long as she needs me. Not as long as I can make her toes curl and her eyes roll back in her head.
It makes it a little more fun, doesn't it?
"I'm happy, Dax. I just don't know if that's a good thing."
"I'm not Elias. I don't want to hurt you; it doesn'tthrillme." She looks hurt when I mention him, but quickly shakes it off. "Go find Nolan. I'll be up in a little bit."
Saige nods. "Okay."
I watch her go upstairs, and then turn on the stove and preheat the oven. We better have a jar of fucking jalapeños.
I finish making a giant pile of nachos, grab a six-pack of beer, and then head upstairs with both, hearing Saige's soft moans coming from my bedroom as soon as I hit the landing.
Those fucking brats. Couldn't even wait thirty minutes for me?
When I push the door open, Nolan has Saige handcuffed around one of the headboard slats of my Alaskan king-sized bed, flat on her back, chest heaving with her thighs around his head.
"Nolan…" she says as she writhes against his tongue. "I-I can't take anymore."
"What'd you do to her?"
