A crazy smirk tipped up the corner of his delicious mouth. “Afraid I’ll bite, Cherry?”
I was afraid I might like it, but I didn’t let my face show my true feelings for him. So I wore my usual mask.
My gaze moved between them. “I’m not sleeping with both of you.”
“Just me,” Bastian said, his voice deep and modulated. “Damian sleeps alone.”
That was a relief.
“Okay,” I agreed, since Bastian was the lesser of two evils.
“Wear something tight… or nothing at all.” He winked. “Your choice, Cherry.”
I slid off Damian’s lap and rushed into the store before they could request anything else from me.
Around eleven o’clock, I heard Bastian and Damian stumble down the hallway. I kept my door open, so I would know when they were back from wherever the fuck they’d been for the past six hours.
“Cherry?” Bastian called out.
I popped my head into the hallway. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Now.” He tapped his palm on his thigh. “C’mon, woman. I’m not in the waiting mood. I told you to be in my bed when I got home.”
I stepped into the hallway, dressed in silky black shorts and a matching spaghetti strap top. A bra didn’t go with my pajamas, and that drew both of their attention to my chest.
Damian appraised my body for a moment and licked his lips. He had streaks of red on his neck and shirt collar. With his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, I glanced at the dark ink on his forearms. I couldn’t get a good look at the detail in the designs, but as I moved closer, I saw more blood on his skin.
My mouth widened as I inspected his body. Then I took a second look at Bastian, not surprised to find he also had blood on his shirt. Though he wasn’t as bloody as Damian.
I inched closer to them, naturally gravitating toward Bastian. “Why are you both covered in blood?”
Damian’s lips parted as if he were about to speak, and then he disappeared into the room beside mine. He slammed the door, which caused me to jump.
“What’s his problem?”
“Ignore him.” Bastian waved off my concern. “He gets cranky when he doesn’t get his way.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“Don’t ask questions,” Bastian warned before he grabbed my arm and pulled me into his bedroom.
Like my room, this one had a wall of windows overlooking the bay. French doors led to an oversized balcony. A California King, decked in black silky sheets and pillows, sat at the center of the space. Almost everything in the room was black and white. He even had a grand piano by the window.
On a table on the other side of the room, a stack of notebooks sat beside an electric piano. His walls were black-and-white striped, which seemed odd until I recognized the familiar pattern.
“You painted your walls to look like the keys of a piano?”
He smirked. “Didn’t take you long to notice.”
“How could I not? It’s so different. Can you play the piano?”
Bastian nodded, then turned away from me to strip off his suit jacket. “Come here,” he said as he entered the walk-in closet.
I followed him inside, and when he raised his hand, beckoning me to come closer, my heart pounded with a strange mixture of fear and desire.
“Take off my shirt,” he ordered.
Hands trembling, I popped open the buttons on his white oxford. He was lean and muscular, but not as big as Marcello in the arms and chest. Built like an athlete, he looked like he spent all day at the gym.