It fucking pisses me off, and she hasn’t even said a word.
Why do I even care? I should be glad if she wants to take him off of my hands. But for some reason, the idea of Dean looking at Winter the way he does me, touching her, kissing her, licking strawberry jam off of her at the breakfast table, makes my stomach twist with a sick jealous sensation that is totally unfamiliar to me.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Sorry I’m late,” she says, smiling brightly as she sits down in the chair her father pulled out for her. She’s wearing a fitted pink wrap dress with tight cap sleeves and a mid-thigh hemline, a little too short for this place. I’m guessing that Mr. Romero is someone important enough that no one will tell his daughter she’s out of dress code.
I’m also guessing the low neckline and short hemline are for Dean’s benefit.
“Where were you?” Mr. Romero asks; his tone is faintly remonstrative. “We’ve been waiting on you.”
“I was getting a blowout.” She shakes her thick, shiny red hair, looking at her father from under her long false eyelashes. “Sorry, daddy.”
Something about a college-age girl saying the word daddy really makes me lose my appetite.
“Who is this?” She looks across the table at me. “Dean, I didn’t hear that you had a girlfriend.” She pouts prettily, her full, glossed lower lip poking out. I suddenly hate the stupid outfit that I’m in, that I look like an attempt to be a carbon copy of this girl instead of who I really am. If I were sitting here in jeans and my combat boots and my leather jacket, with my makeup on, I’d feel a lot better about myself. But right now, I just feel small and insecure, and I don’t like that feeling at all.
Especially not when the gorgeous girl sitting across from me clearly wants the man I’m here with.
“This is Athena,” Dean says coolly. “My pet.”
I’m not yours,I want to snap, but I don’t. I keep my lips thinly pressed together because suddenly, I don’t want Dean to follow through on any of his threats more than ever. I don’t want to be humiliated in front of this girl, my powerlessness put on display for her to see. I’m not powerless, I tell myself, but here, I’m pretty sure that I am.
“Oh! I remember her,” Winter says, not even bothering to look at me, as if I’m not even really here. “I met her at Cayde’s rugby game. She’s living in the house with you and Cayde and Jaxon, right?”
“Yes. But she’s mine now.” Dean’s hand goes to my thigh. “As is the town, once the proof is shown at the next meeting.”
“You’ve done very well, son,” Mark says, a hint of pride on his face as he looks at Dean. “You’ve got some time before the real responsibility starts. But for now, you’ve done your job just as we asked you to.”
“Enjoy the rest of your time fucking that sweet piece,” Bosworth says with a laugh. “I’m curious, Dean, have you taken her ass yet? I caught a look at it when she was walking in. It’s a good one. I bet that’s a great view from behind—”
“Enough!” Mark snaps, catching the glowering look on Dean’s face. “There’s a lady here, so let’s act like gentlemen.”
“That’s no lady. She’s a fucking pet,” Jacob Woodruff says with a smirk. “Nothing but three holes in a dress.”
“I was talking about Winter,” Mark says stiffly.
Winter smiles prettily at him, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger. “It’s okay,” she says, her voice sweet. “After all, she’s not really a person, is she? Just a well-trained house pet. I’m surprised Dean even brought her along.”
“We asked him to,” Mark says. “We wanted to see how well he’s done with her. And I’m satisfied so far. She’s behaved very well.”
My back is so ramrod straight that my spine hurts, my hands knotted in my lap. It’s all I can do not to shake with the effort not to say something back, to keep quiet, to look down. And I know Dean can tell, because his hand tightens on my thigh, sliding up under the hem of my skirt by an inch.
As the waitress comes to take our orders, he leans over. “Careful, Athena,” he whispers. “I can tell you want to open that pretty little mouth of yours. But you’re wise not to.” His hand goes up another inch, his fingertips pressing into the inside of my upper thigh. “I can do anything I want with you here, and no one will stop me. I could fuck you over this table while they eat their appetizers. I could give you to all of the men here, let them have you however they like. I could tell you to get under the table and blow all of them, my father included. You’d either do it, or I’d make sure that the whipping you got the other day paled in comparison to the one you’d get when we made it back home. And they’d all be glad to stuff you full. You’re nothing, Athena,” he hisses. “Nothing but my pet. You’re only what I tell you that you are, and nothing more.”
I can feel hot tears burning behind my eyelids, but I refuse to let them fall. No, I think as his hand slides up my inner thigh, his fingers teasing at my naked pussy, and I flinch when his fingertips slip between my folds, brushing over my clit and down to my entrance.
“Fuck, you’re soaked,” Dean growls in my ear, still low enough that no one else will hear. “Was it me talking earlier about fucking you over a table or just now telling you I could make you suck everyone’s cocks? What if I finger you here and make you come while everyone watches? They’ll all know what I’m doing, but they’ll pretend they don’t.”
Oh god. I feel a fresh wave of arousal soaking Dean’s fingers, but I grit my teeth, refusing to give into it. When did I become so depraved? The idea of letting Dean finger-fuck me here, in the middle of all these people, doing something so taboo, so wrong, makes my pussy throb and clench with need. But I know the more I give in to the desires he’s rousing in me, the desires Cayde and Jaxon are rousing in me, the more I belong to him. The less power I have. And I can’t allow that to happen. I have to take back my power, not give in to them.
So I summon every bit of self-control I have and reach over, clamping my hand over his and yanking it down, away from my aching pussy.
Dean’s eyes widen, and I have a sudden jolt of fear, knowing that I’ve defied him. He might follow through on his threats, he might order me under the table now, he might—
“Sir? Ma’am? Can I take your order?”
The waitress is standing right there, interrupting whatever Dean is about to say or do. I breathe out a sigh of relief even as my face flushes with embarrassment, thinking that she might have seen Dean’s hand underneath my dress.