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“I… umm…”

“Take. Off. Your. Clothes.” He repeats the command, slowly pronouncing every word.

Silence smothers the room, thick and oppressive. My breath catches in my throat, my fingers curling into the fabric of my dress as if holding on to my last shred of dignity.

I freeze. Not in fear—but in… fuck, I don’t even know. Anticipation? Before I can ponder it too much, a chair creaks. A slow inhale. They’re waiting. Watching. Expecting.

“Now, Piper,” he says, voice like silk over steel. “Or you can walk out of here and leave with nothing.” The ultimatum is like a knife hovering over my throat.

Everything in me rebels, screams that this is wrong. But louder than that is the voice whisperingthis is what it takes. I’ve clawed too far, bled too long, to lose it all at the finish line.

My body betrays me before my brain can intervene—my hands move, reaching for the zipper at my back, fingers trembling as I tug it down.

The soft whine of fabric sliding apart is deafening in the stillness. My dress loosens, slipping from my shoulders, baring more of my skin to the chilled room. It pools at my feet in a whisper, leaving me in nothing but my underwear and heels.

My arms twitch with the need to cover myself. But I can’t show any weakness. Reaching behind me, my fingers fumble with the clasp of my bra. Before I can undo it, I’m stopped by a warm hand on my shoulder.

“Keep your underwear on, little toy,” the third guy orders in a husky voice.

His hand lingers, sending electricity coursing through my veins. I’m so caught up in the way his touch makes me feel that I don’t notice he’s moved until I feel his hands on my calf.

“Lift your foot.” I obey, feeling him remove the dress from my ankles.

“Thank you,” I breathe, assuming he did it to stop me from tripping over the fabric.

Damnit, why am I finding that sweet? I shouldn’t because there’s nothing sweet about these men. I just know it. They’re all fucking watching as I stand there, almost naked for their viewing pleasure.

A long silence stretches between us. The pressure in the room squeezes around me, coiling like wire beneath my skin. But then, just as the urge to cover myself up becomes overwhelming, I roll my shoulders back and place my hands on my hips.

“Good girl.” Fuck, the rumble of praise from the third and unknown man punches straight to my core. My nipples harden, and my clit throbs in response.

Matteo and Rafe ask a few more questions. I answer—barely. I can’t think straight with the third man’s hand still on my leg. I’m waiting for his next move, not theirs.

“Do you prefer to be on top?” he asks, tone velvet-wrapped steel.

I lick my lips and roll my shoulders back. “I… err…” Christ, I’m not sure how to answer that question. Do I prefer it? Compared to what? I guess I like it fine… but it’s not my favorite.

The room feels smaller, closer now. His questions hang in the air, charged and heavy. I can feel his gaze on me, even though I can’t see him. I’m a deer in headlights, frozen yet painfully aware of every inch of my body.

“Answer me.” The words crack like a whip—sharp, impatient.

My mind reels, torn between maintaining my dignity and the desperation that had me blindfolded and half-naked in the first place. I’m ashamed by my body’s betrayal, the way it responds to his words, the ache that’s building between my legs.

I hesitate. “I… I don’t know how to answer,” I whisper. “It’s… umm… not my preferred way.”

There’s a low chuckle followed by another shift in the room’s energy. I feel him standing up. The slightest touch grazes my arm—just a whisper of contact—but it brands like fire. That’s what he is. Not a man, but a voltage.

“On your knees.”

Chapter 12

Piper

The words grind through the room like gravel beneath booted heels—low, sharp, and lethal in their simplicity. Not barked. Not begged. Just spoken with the kind of command that doesn’t require volume to demand obedience.

My breath catches in my throat, a sharp intake that echoes in the silence. The air itself tastes different now. Like static electricity before lightning.

I open my mouth, preparing to form a protest. But no words emerge. I… fuck. He doesn’t need to say it again. The weight of the command coils around my ribs, sinking into my bones.