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Cain tugs my dress up just enough for his hand to move in, rubbing up and down along the bottom of my thigh.

“I didn’t consent to participate in your weird kinks!” Pru chucks an oven mitt for Cain’s head.

His lips tug into a smile against my neck with a chuckle. Cain releases his grip on my hair and lowers me to the floor. My cheeks blush, and I hide behind Cain while I straighten out my dress.

“Cain, they’re all looking at us,” I whisper. I’m in a fog, like this is a dream. It’s not real; Cain and I don’t exist around others as we do in private.

The door clicks, and Cain grabs my waist, gluing me to his side as he walks us to the kitchen.

“Sorry, Deaniel, I need to go,” Pru says as she jumps down from her chair, goes around the bar, trying to make it out unseen. Cal steps in and removes his shoes and coat.

“Not so fast!” Dean says, grabbing Pru’s wrist as she tries to sneak out from behind him. “You can’t leave yet; we’re still waiting for one more!”

My gaze darts to Dean, and I freeze. We all freeze. We are the only people Dean has in his circle since we met him. Dean tugs Pru in front of him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“Well, don’t look so horrified, guys.”

Cal walks over to the pair, pulls Dean back by his nape, and grabs Pru by the waist. Her eyes go wide as she slams against his chest. Their size difference is more noticeable now. Pru is tiny in every way. No taller than five feet and just enough curves to not look bony. While being Cain’s brother, Cal is nothing like him in stature or frame. While Cain is around six feet one inch tall, Cal is closer to five feet ten inches. Where Cain is solid with planes of lean muscle, Cal is stocky with heavy muscles that bulge through his clothes.

“Don’t touch her,” Cal’s deep voice rumbles as he walks past Dean with Pru. He takes a seat and tugs her down onto his lap.

“Sorry, man.” Dean holds his hands up a bit dramatically. “Okay, okay, everyone, be reeaalllly nice.” He gestures to Cain, “none of that scary shit you always have going on.” Cain blows him a kiss. Then Dean takes a breath, runs his fingers through his hair, and goes to the door.

“It’s just Dahlia,” Cain says when Dean opens the door and Dahlia walks in. “What do you think we would do to scare her?”

“Proof that I know her better than you.” Dean grabs Dahlia’s face and crashes his lips to hers.

“Ugh, not another one,” Pru grumbles.

“Guys, we’re getting married.” Dahlia’s eyes widen a fraction, tugging him down by his collar.

My stomach knots. I smile through it. After all, I am happy for them. Maybe I had gotten used to the idea of Dean being my backup for when Cain and I inevitably end, because he will never have a public relationship with me. Maybe this makes me an awful person, but I feel like I’m falling from the tightrope, and my safety net has just been ripped from beneath me.

I know what I’ll have to do now when the time comes.

I won’t allow my life to be in the hands of people I don’t trust.

Cain

Chapter 17

My mood has taken a one-eighty since opening our relationship to our friends. We’ve been spending double the time together, and I’ve kept her glued to my side every night before we even make it back home. Her touch is enough to release my tension, to breathe and enjoy the moment. Dean asked me on our climb yesterday what had gotten into me. Apparently, I “haven’t been a prick” the past few weeks.

My answer? It’s more like what I’ve gotten into.

Then he asked me if I was ill, because that’s something he would say. It’s true, though. Every night after mindset, I fuck her. A few nights, I couldn’t bring myself to leave and fucked her again the next morning. If I time it just right and wake up at four thirty, I can play with her while she sleeps and wake her up with an orgasm. She senses enough, moaning, whimpering, and even talking while I play with her.

It’s truly more than that, though. Without hiding from our friends, I get to look at her and touch her openly. The glint in her ocean eyes sparks when she catches me watching her, which is essentially all the time now.

“You sure you don’t want to stay for dinner? You know I always make plenty,” Dean asks.

“Thank you, but I can’t. Cain set up the theater for us to do some painting together.”

Dean glances at me, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. He knows exactly why we need the theater for this project. Violet has an idea. A couple of years ago, I tied her up with rope in the most intricate knots, covered her with paint, lifted her into the air, and swung her over the canvas while the paint dripped down. Her hair is long enough that it would graze along the canvas. It’s one of my favorite projects and currently covers an entire wall of my studio.

But that won’t be today. Ropes are fun and all, but this sight of my dreams. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll go limp in my arms. That’s one of my favorite feelings. When she loses consciousness, everything she is, is left to me.

I know that makes me sick. Dean tells me as much; he doesn’t get my excitement about unconsciousness. His depravities lie elsewhere. He may have fewer morals than I do.