27. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Emery

Darcy and I don't talk for the rest of the shower. He spends several minutes washing my body with the hotel-provided body wash and a small cloth. When I get out, I find Viper in nothing but his package-hugging boxer briefs waiting for me, a towel in his hands, like he plans to dry me himself.

A blush threatens to spread across my cheeks, but I refuse to let it get the better of me. Being naked in front of this man, or any of the others, is nothing to be embarrassed about. They just used me like I was their own fuckable sex doll.

The water shuts off behind me, and a tattooed arm reaches around me as Darcy snatches up the remaining towel from the shelf. I stand there, dripping on the mat, staring at Viper, but startle when I feel the softest brush of lips against my temple.

"See you out there, princess."

Darcy skirts around me with the towel wrapped around his waist, and I get an eyeful of his back and the intricate lines of a tattoo that wraps over his shoulder.

When it's just me and Viper, I turn my attention back to him, goose bumps starting to rise on my skin from the cool air, wet skin combo I'm rocking right now.

He holds up the towel, outstretched between both hands. "May I?"

I manage to keep my face from revealing all my thoughts, but the effort results in me blinking like an owl. Eventually, I manage to nod, and the tension in Viper's shoulders relaxes.

He steps right into my space. I expect him to accidentally brush his fingers against me, but he doesn't. There is nothing but the terry cloth touching my skin as he goes over every inch of my body with the towel.

"Open," he quietly demands when he gets to my thighs.

I shuffle my feet open, staring down at the blond hair of the man kneeling at my feet, carefully removing water from my body.

For some reason, the fact that I don't feel his fingers brush against my pussy makes my heart tumble. The damn organ doesn't know what to do with itself, and it's unsettling.

It's supposed to just beat in my chest—circulate my body with blood and keep me alive. It is not supposed to be doing acrobatics.

When Viper is satisfied that he hasn't left a single drop of liquid on my body, he tips his head back and looks up at me—which, admittedly, isn't that far up, with his head being in line with my ribcage—and smiles. "All done."

When he stands, I come face to face with his chest and the absolutely gorgeous piece he has inked into his skin, which actually looks like a series of images that have been stitched together with time.

An eagle sits at the base of his throat, wings outstretched as its feet grip onto one of the many cursive letters written over his right pec. The font is outdated, slightly hard to read, but I can tell it's a quote about perseverance and strength.

His shoulder converts into the night sky, with several constellations clearly visible. The other side of his tattoo is made up of geometric designs, interposed with thorny roses and music notes. Before I even realize what I'm doing, my fingertips trace along the edge of a set of triangles arranged in a line.

He captures my hand, thumb across my palm as he cups my hand in his. "Hudson."

My eyes dart up to his face, and I remember my manners right at the very last second. "W—excuse me?"

"My name. Hudson. In case you wanted to know it. We didn't have much time to introduce ourselves," he responds with a wink.

Of all the fucking times, now is when my cheeks decide to bloom red. I lower my eyes, not really sure what he is implying. Did they not like it? They seemed to. Did I break some rule? Were we supposed to sit through stupid awkward chit chat before someone worked up the nerve to make a move?

Embarrassment still burning in my chest, I try to come up with a response, but I end up making a series of unintelligible noises. "I, ah, it was . . ."

"Come on, kitten. We'll get you dressed, and then we'll go see what the others are up to."

It sounds like a suggestion, but the way Hudson pulls on my hand until I follow him back into the bedroom lets me know I won't be getting my own way about any of this.

That's okay.

I can keep playing along for a few more minutes. Then we'll go our separate ways, and everything will be over.

Besides, I'm kind of enjoying letting someone else take charge for once. Well, besides Oakley making me dinner last night. Holy shit. Had that only been last night?

Damn, that feels like it was a million years ago.

"Derek found your bag. I assume all of your things are in there?"

Hudson's very neutral tone snags my attention, my eyes zooming from his face to my ratty-ass backpack that's held together with duct tape and safety pins.

Ah, fuck.

With my eyes trained on the backpack, I nod.

Silence emits from the man by my side, like toxic smoke from a chimney, and it occurs to me that he is waiting for something very specific.

"Yes, Daddy." I ignore the slight shake in my voice. Hudson has the manners to ignore it as well.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him raise his arm, and I flinch, a tiny whimper escaping.

Motherfucker.

If the silence a moment ago was toxic, this silence chokes me and makes my vision go black. My breaths stutter, and it is taking all my willpower not to grab my bag and dash out of the hotel room and into the corridor, naked as the day I was born. Fuck the money.

But then, a warm hand cups the back of my neck, and an equally warm body brushes against my arm, before lips press into my hair. "Get dressed, kitten. Then come out and talk to us. We have something we would like to discuss with you."

I start to nod, but then remember myself. "Yes, Daddy."

Another kiss, then he slips away from me, closing the bedroom door behind him. I am alone. So, so alone.

Tears are burning the back of my eyes, so I close them.

I will not cry.

I will not cry.

I don't even fucking know why I want to cry.

I haven't cried since—nope, not going there.

I inhale deeply through my nose, something I'd seen a TikTok therapist recommend on a live stream once, and hold it for four. I continue doing box breathing until I don't feel like my emotions are going to explode across the room like a Jackson Pollock painting.

When I have myself under control, I open the bag and sort through my things until I have the clean sweatpants, oversized ratty T-shirt, fresh panties, and bralette elaid out on the bed. I stare at the clothing and regret not packing one of the negligees they bought me.

In my defense, I didn't expect them to hang around like this. The men normally left before I could even sit up.

Once I have everything on and my bag zipped back up, I carry it over to the door and place my hand on the handle. Before I can talk myself into living in this room for the rest of my life, I press down and push the door open.

The low murmur of masculine voices cuts off as I walk into the living space. They are all seated in the positions of their kisses.

Darcy leans against the end of the table. Hudson is in the chair beside him. And Hunter and Daddy are on the couch. I wonder if I will get to know their names too? At the sound of the door opening, their heads swivel in my direction. I'd laugh at how psycho-movie the motion is, but my stomach is tied so tightly in a single gigantic knot, I'm pretty confident that if I open my mouth right now I'll vomit.

Not wanting to draw more unwanted attention to my backpack, I drop it on the floor by the kitchen, then pad over to the coffee table, which is still super close to the TV. I desperately want to curl my legs up and under me, forming a tight little ball, but I force myself to just cross my ankles under the table and to grip the edge with both hands.

They've all managed to get their clothes back on, but their shirts are in varying stages of done-up. Completely undone, partially done, fully done. Why the fuck am I noticing all of these tiny details?

"Emmy."

My eyes flutter shut, and I take a breath before forcing myself to look at Daddy. His gaze is roaming all over me, stopping on my white knuckles before coming to rest on my face.

"What can we do? What do you need from us right now? There is no wrong answer."

My mouth drops open as I stare at him.

What do I need from them ?

Have I stepped into an alternate reality? Was the doorway from the bedroom to here some sort of portal to a land where fuck-and-run doesn't actually mean run?

What the fuck does he mean, what do I need from them?

What words does he want from me?

I furrow my brows as I stare back at him.

Hunter makes an annoyed sound next to Daddy, and before I can actually puzzle out what my answer is supposed to be, Hunter strides across the room and scoops me up, bridal-style. My head spins with how fast he marches us back to the couch, turns, then sits back down with me in his lap.

Now, instead of staring at Daddy with an open mouth, I'm gaping at Hunter. This time, my words don't fail me. "Fucking excuse you. Put me back on the coffee table."

There is a huff of laughter from the direction of the table, but I don't break eye contact.

Hunter stares back at me, dark eyes unreadable, before giving me a one-word answer. "No."

I glare back at him and raise my hands to shove at his chest, but he captures both of my wrists in one.

"Let me go," I demand through clenched teeth. Involuntarily, my eyes dart through the gap made by him and Daddy, spying the door. My heart rate escalates in a less than pleasant way, and I'm suddenly regretting telling Oakley not to check in with me until lunchtime tomorrow.

If I can get free, I can be gone in seconds. I can take the stairs instead of the elevator and dip out.

"Jesus, Xavier, let her go. You're scaring her."

The warmth of a hand landing on my knee and gently caressing it breaks through the thundering in my ears. I turn and face Daddy again as Hunter's—no, Xavier's—grip loosens on my wrists, but he doesn't let me go all the way.

Daddy has concern written all over his face, and it is so damn weird to see it aimed in my direction.

My mind rattles back around to thoughts from just a moment ago.

Why the fuck is he concerned about me?

Wasn't I just a hole—well, two—for him and his friends to stick it in? What's with this schmoopy-give-a-crap act?

"Emmy, breathe with me." It's a very clear order, and if it wasn't for the fact that my heart feels like it's in my stomach and the edges of my vision are going fuzzy, I would tell him to fuck off and demand to be allowed to leave.

They've gotten what they wanted. What else do they need me for?

Instead, I breathe, mimicking Daddy's inhalations and exhalations until the ringing in my ears fades away.

"That's it, good girl. Relax, keep breathing."

His words mesmerize me, and without consciously intending to, my body relaxes, and I tip into Xavier until I'm nestled against his chest. He finally releases my wrists, then wraps his muscular arms around my body.

Somehow, this calms me more, when not just thirty seconds ago, I was desperate to leave.

Leave. That's right. That's what I need to do.

But not yet. Right now, I just want to sit here, wrapped up in Xavier.