“Please don’t tell anybody,” I pleaded. “Trevor and I got in an argument, and I just needed to relax.”
Not that he’d tell anyone I was drinking. Everyone drank, but I wanted him to see me as easy prey. Miles and Astrid were aware I knew about the episode on St. Patrick’s Day, even though I couldn’t remember it, but I was hoping he would buy the fact that I was too drunk to care right now.
His lips quirked, and he handed me back the flask. “What did you fight about?”
I dropped my head back, like the alcohol was getting to me as I moaned. “He thinks I belong to him, and I disagree,” I played, bringing my eyes back to him and giving him a “fuck me” look.
I saw the heat grow in his eyes and felt his hands hold my hips possessively.
“Holdin’ out for someone else?” he whispered, getting closer to my mouth.
I licked my lips and hung a lazy arm over his shoulder, my hand dangling behind him. “Maybe,” I taunted, forcing myself to sway in his arms.
“Can’t really blame him, Rika,” he spoke low, yanking my body into his. “I mean, look at you.”
I smiled, forcing down the bile coming up from my stomach.
Stumbling backward, I groaned, acting like I was dizzy. “The room is spinning,” I whimpered. “I think I need to splash some water on my face. Where’s the bathroom?”
He took my hand, leaning in and whispering, “Come on.”
I didn’t bother looking back to see if his girlfriend or friends had seen. I knew they had, and hopefully Astrid would only be a moment behind.
Letting him lead me, we walked through the bar and around the corner to where the bathrooms sat. He pulled me into the men’s room, and I immediately went for the sinks, turning on the water. Thankfully, the room empty.
Leaning my hand on the side of the basin, I got my other one wet and patted my chest and neck, making a show of arching my back and flipping my long hair over the side.
Come on, guys. Get in here.
“Oh, that’s better,” I moaned, continuing to slide my wet hand around the back of my neck and letting it glide down my chest.
And Miles didn’t waste any time. Coming up behind me, his hands gripped my hips as he pressed himself into my ass.
“God, I bet you’re a hot fuck,” he breathed out, bringing up one hand the squeeze my shoulder at the neck while the other reached around to take my breast.
My breath shook and my mouth went dry.
Michael.
I kept going anyway, forcing a small laugh and pushing his hand away. “What are you doing?”
He grabbed for my tits again, growling low in my ear, “You know what you want.” And he reached down, fiddling with the button of my pants.
My pulse pounded in my ears, and I glanced at the door.
You’re not a victim, and I’m not your savior. My eyes burned, and every inch of my skin crawled with fear.
Where were they? What the fuck?
I gritted my teeth and inhaled a deep breath. Breathing out slow and steady, I calmed down.
“You think that’s what I want?” I said, trying to sound less nervous than I was.
My phone was in the car, and my keys were in my sweatshirt. I was naked in here. No weapons, and my only hope was to make it out of the bathroom.
I spun around, leaning my hands at my sides on the sink. And then my hand froze, falling on something small and sharp.
I held it as Miles dived in, kissing my neck and pawing my ass. “I know exactly what you’re begging for,” he replied.
I gripped the metal in my hand, realizing it was the pump for the soap dispenser on the granite top. It had a long, metal spout that was thin and sharp. I tensed my arm, slowly and quietly wiggling it out of its hole until it finally popped off, and I hurriedly hid it behind my back.
“Get off me,” I ordered, done playing.
But then he grabbed my hair, and I cried out as he yanked my head back. “Don’t tease me.”
He slipped his other hand in the top of my tank and squeezed my breast as he smothered my neck with his mouth. “You can cry, though, if you want to. Just get those fucking pants off.”
I cringed, gripping the soap pump and raising my arm to bring it down across his face, but then the door burst opened, and we both shot our heads up, relief flooding me.
But that was short-lived.
Astrid.
My chest caved, and my eyes flared, quickly hiding my weapon behind my back again. She walked through the door and shut it behind her, looking like she wanted some trouble.
“So you think you can fuck my boyfriend, you little slut?” She held my eyes, looking half-amused and half-daring.
I loosed and retightened my fingers around the makeshift weapon in my hand, liquid heat pouring under the skin of my neck and chest.
Jesus, I was scared. Michael.
She walked over, hooking an arm around Miles’ neck and darted out her tongue, flicking his lips. He dived in for a kiss, tightening his hold on me, and I winced, pushing away from him and darting for the door.
But he caught me, throwing me back against the sink. My skin crawled, and I started to breathe hard and fast. No.
I wanted out of here. I wanted to go home. I wanted my mom.
Astrid leaned back, speaking to Miles, “You want her?”
He dragged his bottom lip between his teeth, jerking me into him like I was his dinner. “Fuck yeah,” he growled, and I let out a small cry, feeling the ridge of his cock rub against me.
“Bend her over and give it to her from behind,” Astrid ordered him. “And be rough. I don’t like her.”