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I lift them out to my sides, trying not to flinch when his fingers graze my hips, looping the measuring tape around my waist. I remain rigid as he brings it down to measure my hips, then slides it up around my breasts. He reaches over my shoulder to place it perfectly over both nipples, fingertips lingering until it’s right. After, I feel him crouch, his touch like a livewire when he measures my thigh, and then a calf.

“Have I—” The question gets caught in my throat, but I clear it out. “Have I grown any?” I find myself looking for it now, inspecting the shape of my body more often than I’d like to admit. It’s not vanity. A part of me just isn’t convinced any of this will be real until I can see it with my own eyes.

“Nothing significant,” is his short answer, and then, “this way.”

When I spin, he’s gesturing to the exam table, his gaze tracking me as I get into place. Even when I’m settling, paper crinkling below me as I shift, his eyes never once give me a reprieve, as if they’re documenting every twitch and jiggle. It’s not the same as when his brother watches me. With Pace, it’s this sense of being hunted like prey, but with Lex…

With him, I’m just a bug under a microscope.

He clicks on the overhead lamp, blinding me. “Do you need me to administer an orgasm?”

My eyes fly wide. “What?”

Lex takes his stool, flipping through the papers on the clipboard. “Your labs from Monday showed hormone ranges trending above average. Considering I can smell your arousal from here, you’re obviously struggling with your body’s reaction to physical stimuli.” Mechanically, he pulls on a latex glove. “I wasn’t intending to perform a vaginal examination today, but if you need it—”

“Rest assured,” I bite out, “there’s zero arousal happening right now.”

Lex’s eyes lock with mine, flashing in irritation. “Suit yourself.”

“I will!” Two offers of pleasure in one day are more than I ever got while any of them were fucking me. Then, his words more fully register. “Wait, so you’re not even going to…” I glance down at the awkward feather of my still-growing pubic hair. “Then why am I naked?”

He shuts the clipboard, tossing it onto the tray beside him with a jarring clatter. “Because you were told to be that way. Now stay still and keep quiet.”

I get the sense Lex isn’t happy about me turning down his offer. Can’tpossiblyimagine how I get that idea. Maybe from how he basically threw the clipboard. Or perhaps the way he tightens the blood pressure cuff, the edges digging into my skin as he pumps the balloon. Possibly even the fact he keeps taking these brief glimpses of my thighs, as if he’s sure he should be between them.

“Let me make something crystal clear. None of us are ever going to fuck you again.”

That’s what Wicker told me on Monday morning. So why do I get the feeling all it’d take is the smallest gesture to get Lex Ashby’s pants around his ankles again?

As he finishes up checking my blood pressure, there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Lex calls, focused on the instrument tray.

It’s Pace who waltzes through. He’s wearing a navy blue hooded sweatshirt now, hands cradled into the center pocket. His eyes find me like a dowsing rod, locking right onto my fledgling thatch of pubic hair. An inhale gets trapped in my lungs as he comfortably crosses the distance, never releasing me from his stare.

“Had to check on Effie,” he tells Lex in a low, reverberating voice. “Am I late?”

Lex is attaching a tube to the finger prick, which he clamps directly on my finger. “Right on time.” The sharp stab into my finger is always a surprise, even when I know better. “Is Wick coming?”

“No.” Pace’s eyes are still glued to me. I force myself not to shift. Being alone with these two, down in this room where I always feel vulnerable, makes me uneasy. “He’s in the solarium, playing for Michael.”

Lex’s mouth turns down. “Why? It’s not Wednesday. It’s not even the beginning of the month.”

Pace shrugs, wetting his lips. “You looked in her pussy yet?”

My thighs slap together while Lex sends his brother a disparaging glare. “Vaginal exam. And no. I don’t need to.” Lex removes the clamp from my finger. “Wick hasn’t fucked her.”

For some reason, Pace deflates, spitting a curse. “Then how can you tell? Because I know when ten minutes of my footage goes missing.”

“She doesn’t have any bruising.”

Pace stares at him. “So?”

There’s a long, labored sigh. “I’ve done dozens of exams on her body after his deposits, Pace.” Lex explains this as if I’m not even here. “Wicker always leaves a mark. Always.”

Face screwing up, I start, “Wicker and I haven’t—” but Pace interrupts me.

“What about this?” He marches up to me, uncaring of the way I cover my breasts, curling protectively into myself as if privacy or modesty is an option here. His dark twists fall in his eyes when he ducks down, pushing a thumb into my eyebrow.