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Sloane makes us stand in a line. Three naked men beneath a crooked cross. She takes her time looking. Not at the Reaper, Devil, and Scarecrow, At us. Rhys stands with his hands at his sides, allowing her inspection without shame. Dante tries to pose. Sloane points at him.

“Stop flexing.”

“I’m not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“It happens naturally.”

She turns toward me.

“Tell him to stop.”

“No.”

Her eyebrow rises. I correct myself.

“Make me.”

Something wicked enters her expression. She approaches until her naked body nearly touches mine.

“You enjoyed telling me what to do.”

“Yes.”

“You liked having me on your altar.”

“Yes.”

“You told me I was yours.”

“For tonight.”

The qualification tastes like blood. Sloane presses one hand against my chest.

“Then kneel for me.”

Every muscle in my body locks. Rhys watches carefully. Dante stops smiling. Sloane is not mocking me. She is offering trust in another form. I lower myself to my knees. Her fingers enter my hair.

“Good boy.”

A sound tears from my chest before I can stop it. Dante’s eyebrows rise. Sloane smiles.

“Interesting.”

I grip her hips. She catches my hands.

“No touching until I give permission.”

My cock jerks. Her attention drops.

“Very interesting.”

“Sloane.”

“That sounded like a complaint.”

“A warning.”