With slow shuffles of his feet, the dark-haired one creeps closer.
We’re near nose to nose and he tips his head, a slow grin forming on his lips as the sound of the door clicks, and in walks the third and final asshole from the party.
“What the hell are you doing?” I say, forcing my eyes to stay on the one in front of me, but the question is for all three.
“We haven’t met.” The smile I spotted the other night slips over his face. “I’m Beretta.”
“You’re a perv.”
“Most days.” The corner of his mouth hikes higher and despite the situation, a light huffed laugh leaves me.
I look to his forearm, and sure enough, the bit of damage I inflicted burns a deep red.
“Nice scratches.”
His gaze flicks to my chest and back. “Nice paws.”
My lungs expand with a quick breath.
I half-expected them to feign innocence, not instant, unapologetic, confirmation of what I already knew, but I don’t know why. They wouldn’t be standing in my dressing room right now if they gave two shits about, well... anything.
I frown, clutching the dress tighter. “How did you even manage to get back here?”
A rapt grin lights up his eyes. “We’re quite persuasive, and that seamstress chick is quite repressed.”
“I’m sure,” I deadpan. “Now get out of my dressing room.”
“Not until you get out of that dress.”
My ribs cave, my attention snapping over to the guy in front of my shoulders.
I’m met with hard-focused, bright blue, iced-over eyes.
“Fuck you.”
“Once you’ve earned it.”
My stomach clenches, and he lifts his chin.
“But back to what you’re wearing. Beretta’s right and you know it.” He boldly rakes his gaze over the length of the dress, which is nonexistent—it’s a mini. The apex of my thighs is where his focus freezes. “It does nothing for you.”
I roll my eyes and as if sensing the move, his snap to mine, a dark brow hiking high with slow surprise.
He kicks off the door, and as if his advance triggers an activate button, I’m suddenly the center of a cavernous carousel.
My pulse jumps with their synchronized movements, a hint of dizziness swathing over me as they loop around, and then I’m surrounded, the brassy-haired one having claimed the position at my front.
With the help of my heels, we’re near eye to eye, lip to puffy, perfectly-shaded lip.
“The dress.” His head falls back in full-on cocky boy quo. “Off.”
I swallow, flicking my gaze over his aesthetically pleasing but basic, and, once again, all black outfit with a scoff. “What are you, some kind of fashion guru?”
He watches me intently, his gaze strong and commanding. “I’m a guy who likes what he sees... and you’re ruining it.”
Following his response, another comes from my left, right against the hollow of my ear. “Don’t ruin it, Trouble.”
I fight the urge to blow cool air down my neck, fully committed to hiding how my blood is heating beneath my skin, but the goose bumps are beyond my control, and they are not missed by the beastly boy sharing my air.
In an attempt to breathe easier, I turn my head to the left, but it doesn’t help. Beretta stands too close to allow for a fresh inhale that isn’t infused with unwanted invitation.
Friction tickles my exposed shoulder to my right, and my focus shifts that way, my palms pressing more firmly into my chest.
This one’s yet to say a word, but his sensuous eyes speak volumes. They’re blue, as well, but darker, near navy in color.
“That’s Arsen,” once you’ve earned it says.
The back of Arsen’s hand ghosts along my upper thigh and I pull in a long breath when his fingertips curl around the hem of the dress. He gives it a single, gentle tug.
If someone were to come to me later asking for an explanation as to why I allowed his hold to remain where it was, why I allowed any of this, all I’d have to offer is a weedy little shrug.
Especially when Beretta’s firmer, far more unwavering grasp latches on to the other side, and my double-crossing body’s response is to drop my arms in surrender.
I face forward, staring right into the eyes of the one in front of me while his friends work the fabric from my hips.
Those eyes, they don’t fall as the dress does, and fervor threatens to govern my mind.
“Oh my god!” Cali shouts.
I jump away from the three, my head hitting against the triple mirrors at my back, knocking some much-needed sense into me.