Page 161 of The Final Cut

Unease shivers through the heat curling low in my belly. “To what?”

“To your hard head.”

“Nash…”

“I’m going to blindfold you,” he says, voice calm enough to make my thighs clench. “Then I’m going to sit in that chair and direct this scene since you’re too determined to fight everyone who touches you.”

I swallow. Behind me, Shiloh goes very still, but a wicked little smile teases his lips. It’s the first smile I’ve seen on his face in what feels like days.

Ever’s silence changes, becoming something heavier.

“And you’re going to listen,” Nash continues, stepping close enough that the silk brushes the back of my hand. “Or you’re going to be punished.”

My breath catches.

Nash lowers his mouth to my ear.

“But then…you like being punished, don’t you, brat?”

The rush of wetness between my legs is so violent I almost groan.

He knows. Somehow, he knows.

His hand slides between my thighs over my leggings, cupping me with firm, deliberate pressure. His chuckle is low against my skin when he feels me.

“Furious,” he murmurs. “And soaked.”

I grab his wrist. I do not push him away.

His mouth brushes the edge of my jaw. “Say no, and every man in this room leaves you alone.”

My fingers tighten.

That’s the doorway he always gives me. No matter how dominant his voice gets. No matter how hard his hand is or how much he likes me trembling. He makes an exit available and waits to see whether I take it.

He knows I’m not going to take it.

“I hate all of you a little,” I whisper.

Shiloh laughs under his breath. “Fair.”

Ever says, “Clothes off, Reva.”

My gaze jerks to him.

Nash’s hand presses once more between my legs, then moves away, leaving me empty and aching. “You heard him.”

I should be embarrassed by how fast I obey, but I’m too turned on for embarrassment to find a place to land.

My hoodie hits the floor. Then my tank. Leggings next, shoved down with shaking hands, underwear peeled away after. The air touches my skin, cool from the hotel vents, and my nipples tighten before I can pretend nonchalance. Shiloh’s eyes travel over me with open hunger. Ever’s are darker, fixed, possessive in a quiet way that makes my knees feel less reliable.

Nash circles behind me, and the silk slides over my eyes.

Everything goes black.

My breath stutters.

“Color?” Nash asks.