Taking Turns (Turning #1)(34)

Her gaze slowly lifts up to mine.

“Just say it,” I whisper. “Because I get it. You’re turned on, Chella.” I slide my fingers into her, making the wetness pool around my skin. “It’s erotic, right? The thought of the three of us sharing you?”

She swallows hard, but she nods her head. My eyes search her eyes. I watch her breasts lift and fall as her heart rate picks up.

“It’s OK. If we didn’t think you’d be into it, we’d never have asked you in the first place.”

“Whose idea was it?” she asks. “Yours? Or Bric’s?”

“Why not Quin’s?”

“Ha.” She laughs. “He hates me.”

“He doesn’t have to like you to want to f*ck you.”

“Was it you? Or Bric?” she repeats.

“Does it matter?”

“It matters,” she says, “because I’d like to know who’s on my side and who’s just here for the game.”

I press my fingers deeper into her * and she closes her eyes for a moment, unable to stop herself. I move close, erase the space between us until her knee bumps up against my hard cock. “We’re all here for the game. It’s just a peek, Marcella. A little glimpse into the forbidden. Just some filthy, taboo sex, and nothing more. Don’t read too much into it. But don’t take it for granted, either. We can vote you out if we get tired.”

She gives in. Her shoulders slump and the tight line of her mouth drops into a frown.

“Don’t worry so much,” I say, taking her hand and placing it on my cock. She squeezes without any more urging from me. A few seconds later, she’s stroking me through my pants. “It’s just fun. It’s not a life commitment. We’re not holding you hostage. And if it makes you feel better, if you had said no, I’d have given you your key and new alarm code back at Turning Point Club. I’m not about to f*ck up my life over a woman.”

She looks up at that, still frowning.

“Do you want out?” I ask. “Do you want my key back?”

She shakes her head no. But she is still frowning.

“Good,” I say, leaning in to kiss her lips. “Then let the games begin.” I hold up my glass and say, “Make a toast.”

She looks away, maybe thinking of something to say. And then she raises her glass and looks me in the eyes. “To the peek,” she says. A long inhale of breath to steady herself. “Because that’s all it is. Just a peek.”

“To the peek,” I say.

We drink. But I catch a small whisper just as she brings the champagne to her lips. “I just hope I don’t get lost in this peek.”

“You’re gonna,” I say setting my glass down and taking my attention back to her *. “That’s how we keep them, Chella. We feed the craving, turn it into an addiction, and then we own you. We will own you. There’s no telling how long it will take for you to kick the habit of us. But after this week, you’ll be in too deep to walk away. You’ll need your fix. You’ll see what I bring to this little arrangement. You’ll want Bric to do things to you that will make you feel shame. You’ll fall for Quin and his contagious personality.”

She laughs and breaks a smile. “I don’t think so.”

“You don’t know him yet. I know him very well and I know he’ll be the first one you fall in love with.”

“Come on,” she says. “That’s never going to happen. I know what this looks like, but it’s not what it looks like.”

“Liar,” I say. “You’re hanging in mid-air right now and what happens next is just… gravity.” I kiss her again. She responds with her tongue. We linger in the kiss as I insert another finger into her * and my thumb finds her clit.

She’s moaning when the angel on my shoulder surfaces.

Just for a moment.

So I do my good deed for the day. I warn her with a whisper into her mouth. “Just don’t fall too hard, Marcella Walcott. Because that’s exactly when we’ll cut you off.”





Chapter Twelve - Chella




I don’t know what to feel. I am angry because he made a copy of my key. He changed my alarm code. I’m angry at myself too. For being weak. For giving in to them. For putting my weakness in writing for anyone to see.

Because they know me. They understand why girls like me will agree to do the things they want.

And I hate it. I am filled with shame for what I am. A sick, sick woman with a sick, sick fetish. I am obsessed with sex and everyone will know.

I sigh. Everyone will know. How long did it take Bric and Smith to see through me? Minutes? In that closet the first night? The next night when Bric came to see me?

Is this why my family life fell apart so badly? Why I have no one?

I know it is.

But I don’t care. They’re right. I’m addicted to the dark. I want what they’re offering and I don’t care.

I kiss Smith back. I want more of him, even as I feel the repulsion inside me.

“Chella,” Smith says, trying to get my attention. Like he knows what I’m thinking.

And even that pisses me off. Why does he get to see through me? After all this time, after all the walls I’ve put up, after all the years of denial and self-deprivation, why now, when I have it well under control? Why now?