Page 132 of Breathe Like Hell

She fell onto the bed, her blonde hair flowering around her on the dark comforter, and Micah walked back out of the room, bypassing me without a word. I stared at his back as he disappeared down the hallway, the taper of his waist under his cotton shirt.

Dakota was lying on the bed with flushed cheeks, her legs bent up and thighs pressed together, fingers toying with the silver locket resting between her collarbones.

“Did you invite him here, baby?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t know what’s happening.”

Great.

I thought about the beach again, about my gun in Dakota’s hand.

I wasn’t sure why the lie rolled off my tongue so fucking easily then. She’d never even directly asked me a question; I simply offered up false information myself, telling her I’d never shot anyone either. Which was false. I’d shot Micah before, at his request. Then he did it to me. Just to see how it felt. But for whatever reason I told Dakota I hadn’t. Maybe to avoid creating a more elaborate lie about the fictional person I’d have to explain I shot.

Micah reappeared in the doorway of my bedroom with a chair from the dining table I’d never once used. Solid wood, dark, slightly dusty. He continued into the room, dragging the chair behind him to sit at the corner of the bed.

I had a decent guess as to where this was going, seeing as he’d also brought rope to my apartment. Somebody was getting tied up, and I had a feeling it was not going to be Dakota today.

Micah leaned in to whisper in my ear, “Your turn to be the cuck.”

“Fuck, no,” I scoffed, despite the heat in my veins.

I was not a stranger to being restrained by Micah Killshaw.

Dakota’s eyes bounced back and forth between us.

“Masters,” Micah started, still staring me down as he addressed her. The dark arrogance on his face was affecting me more than I wanted it to. “Do you want Mason to watch how I fuck what’s mine?”

Don’t say yes.

You’re not his.

And you know I can’t deny you anything.

“I think yes,” she said, her voice shy as she put the pieces together on Micah’s revenge plot. I’d fucked Dakota in his bed, and now he would do the same to me. Micah’s satisfied expression in my peripheral vision had my muscles coiling tight.

But watching them fuck wouldn’t be the worst thing to ever happen to me.

I’d thought about it before.

And it was impossible to date Micah without turning into somewhat of a masochist. I could withstand a bit of pain with my lust. He could do worse.

Micah pulled Dakota off the bed and started taking all her clothes off. She didn’t protest a bit. He tugged his own shirt off over his head, then palmed his dick over his pants as Dakota stepped out of her underwear, her body fully unclothed now.

“Back on the bed,” he instructed.

She obeyed him right away.

It was fascinating and sickening at the same time, watching him with her, watching their relationship play out in front of my eyes. I’d never submitted to him like that, but he was still the same person he’d been with me. He still liked the same things, still spoke in a way that held his favorite silent threat. Don’t deny me.

Then he turned in my direction

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered, his tone offering no room for resistance. But I resisted anyway, staring flatly at him, my hands clenching into fists.

Micah grabbed the front of my t-shirt and ripped it straight off me.

I did nothing except stand motionless. I wasn’t going to help him do this to me.

He was undeterred, shoving me back towards the chair and yanking my shorts down. Since he had his back to Dakota, she couldn’t see the vulgar way he was looking at my body.