Take (Need #2)(38)

That tutu doesn’t cover shit. Her tiny as hell underwear are bare for the whole world to see.

So is her ass when staring from down here.

Goddamn this girl.

That’s mine. All of it. Enough is enough.

I follow her, as I’m always doing lately. There’s a certainty that grows with every step take, one I can’t even begin to describe.

Kira turns left down the hall, and I speed up to catch her. She’s halfway down another hallway when I get within a few feet and reach out for her.

The certainty solidifies.

It’s over. I’m done giving her the choice. Even if she ends up f*cking despising me even more than she already does, this bullshit ends now.

She’s going to admit she’s mine. Tonight. My mind's made up.

I take that last step, reach out, and turn her around. That beautiful little demon glares at me. Her eyes caress me, anger mixing with lust, and I know I’ve got her.

We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be—on the same page. Ready to f*cking devour each other.

Locked by the same desire-fueled rage.

“What the f*ck do you want?” she growls.

“What the f*ck were you thinking when you decided to wear that?” I growl back.





“What the f*ck were you thinking when you decided to wear that?”

It’s one of those moments when someone’s audacity just leaves you utterly speechless. That’s me right now. Jaw completely unhinged. Anger skyrocketing to a whole new level.

Who the hell does he think he is asking me that? Did he see himself before leaving his damn apartment?

His pirate costume was obviously put together last minute, probably with clothes he already had in his closet, but that only makes it look more rugged. The light beige shirt he’s wearing has a wide-open collar and he rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, leaving his forearms exposed. The black leather vest he threw on top of it has gold buttons and adds the perfect touch, and matches the leather combat boots on his feet.

Mussed-up hair, light jeans, the thick leather bracelets encircling his large wrists . . . the eyepatch covering one of his gorgeous eyes. The exposed eye is narrowed and glaring at me.

He looks just as dangerous as he is.

No, his costume doesn’t show nearly as much skin as mine does, but it’s just as bad. I heard him walk into the house—and by that I mean I heard the collective sighs that left the mouths of every female within eyesight of him.

He knew damn well what he was doing when he put on that costume.

“You have a lot of nerve asking me that.”

“You’re wearing a bra!” he snaps, his expression hard. Vicious. His jaw twitches, and he takes a step toward me.

It requires every ounce of strength in me to step back. “It’s not a bra, it’s part of the costume—”

“I saw your ass in that f*cking tutu while you were walking up the stairs!”

“And?” I knew how short the black tutu was when I decided to buy it, but it matched perfectly with the black and pink cat ears on my head.

Brayden’s hand shoots out, latching on to said tutu. He yanks me into him, pretty much growling in my face.

My heart beat drops between my legs, pounding, sending blood rushing to my clit.

“If I saw it, everyone else did,” he says, enunciating each word slowly, his breath sliding between my lips. His scent is too strong now that he has me so close.

Oh God. “I . . . and?” Speech has left me and that’s all I can give him, because I can barely think clearly. It’s a fog—a hot, needy fog. I’m suffocating. I . . . f*ck, I want him, and he hasn’t let me go.

His fist tightens around my black tutu. He pops his jaw and leans down into me, lips right there. So close. “How many f*cking times am I going to tell you that you’re mine, Kira?” His eye flickers up to my cat ears and back. “My Kitty. No one gets to see what’s mine but me.”

My heart gives a wild kick.

No. No.

I can’t be excited about this. I refuse to admit just how turned on it makes me when he gets possessive like this. I am not his. Never will be. He has no right.

“You’re going home right now and changing.”

Motherf*cker. “Get off me,” I hiss, anger mixing, churning, reminding me that I can’t have him no matter how much I f*cking want him.

He doesn’t answer for a beat, that single, emerald eye glinting in the dim light of the hallway. Then he shakes his head one time. “No.”

I grab his stupid, sexy shirt and push him back, right into the wall. “I told you—”

Holy f*cking shit.

I stop mid-sentence, eyes locked on what I’ve accidentally exposed, my brain misfiring. Brayden’s heart races under my hand, but the rest of him remains still. So still. I yank the shirt further aside, fully exposing the left side of his chest—

And the stylized K tattooed right onto his left pectoral.

What. The. Fuck?

“Brayden, there you are!”

Brayden tenses and lets go of my tutu as if burned.

All the while, my eyes are locked on that stupid, beautiful K.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Jennifer says, coming closer.

I bet she has. She, like every whore in this house, wants him.

She, like almost all of them, has had him.