Page 31 of Possessive Ink

I’m half asleep when the apartment door opens, and Felix strides in.

Panic has me straightening, then freezing as I take in both mine and Atticus’s nakedness and how I must look kneeling on the floor at his brother’s feet like a slave in a romantasy novel.

“Hey, Att. Hey, Lemon,” Felix says, not looking remotely surprised to see his twin brother unclothed and hard with a naked woman at his feet.

“Hey, bro,” Atticus greets calmly, his posture relaxed and unperturbed.

“Atticus,” I whisper-yell, my eyes so wide they start to hurt.

“You’re okay, Princess. My brother doesn’t care.”

“I care,” I hiss.

“Why?”

“Because I’m naked.”

“He isn’t looking,” Atticus says airily.

“I’m naked,” I hiss again, pushing to my feet and dashing toward Atticus’s room.

“Felix,” Atticus calls. “Look at Lemon,” he orders. “Princess, stand still.”

“Atticus,” I say, feeling hot, humiliated tears pooling in my eyes.

“That collar looks perfect on her,” Felix says, smiling at me before he strides into his bedroom and comes out a few minutes later with a small notebook gripped in his hand.

Without another word or even glancing in my direction, Felix leaves, and I feel the first tear slip from my eye and roll down my cheek.

I don’t know if I’m crying from embarrassment, humiliation, or hurt that this was all some kind of game that Atticus and his brother have clearly played before. But more tears follow the first as I turn and walk into Atticus’s bedroom, looking for my dress or anything to cover me.

Lazily following me, Atticus’s expression is calm as he saunters into his bedroom with his hard dick swinging from side to side. “Why are you upset, Princess?” he asks.

“I don’t like being treated like a toy. I’m not part of this game,” I hiss, rushing from one side of the bed to the other, looking for my underwear, clothes, and shoes.

“You’re not a toy, and nothing about this is a game.”

“Are you seriously telling me that you didn’t plan that? That your brother just happened to come upstairs while I was sitting at your feet like a slave. He didn’t even blink, Atticus. If this wasn’t a setup, he would have been surprised at seeing me. Unless this is what you do? Do you regularly have naked women in your living room?”

“I don’t ever bring women home. My brother has never met anyone I’ve been involved with,” Atticus says.

“Bullshit,” I snap, spinning to face him. “Where are my clothes?”

“I hung your dress in the closet. Your bra is in the laundry hamper, and I’m not a fan of panties, so you won’t be needing them back,” he replies so easily you’d think I asked him if he preferred still or sparkling water, not angrily demanded to know where my clothes are.

Marching into the closet, I eventually find my dress and pull it from the hanger, sliding it over my head and almost zipping my skin into it in my haste to fasten it. “I’m leaving,” I say, finding my shoes sitting beside his on a shelf and forcing my feet into them.

“Why?” he questions.

“Why?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes, Princess. Why do you think you’re leaving?”

“Because this is mortifying. It’s cruel to play with people, Atticus.”

“I’m not playing at anything, Lemon. My brother didn’t react to you being at my feet or the fact that we were both naked first, because he doesn’t care, and second, because he understands my preferences, and he saw and recognized the gold around your throat the moment he stepped through the door.”

“He called it a collar,” I say slowly, remembering his words.