Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(115)

I arched my back and stuck out my nipples. I could even see the outline of my abdominal muscles a little bit. I’d been getting some really great workouts.

“Margot! Are you even listening to me?”

“Not anymore,” I admitted. “Listen. I think you’re gonna be OK with this. I really do. You’ll see. Bye.”

I heard her protest fading as I dropped the phone from my ear and cocked my head at my reflection. Was this what they saw? Kind of thick around the thighs but strong. Handfuls of flesh available in strategic places. A neat triangle of pubic hair. High, heavy breasts.

It all looked OK, I decided. I approved of them seeing me like this.

It felt good to give myself a passing grade. For a long time I had tried not to feel anything. As Kevin’s interest in me waned, I didn’t want the physical reminder of his absence so I just put it out of my mind. I drove my body around all day like a forgettable compact car.

But now, after spending weeks being pulled, prodded, inspected, manipulated, carried, moved, and thoroughly invaded from every angle, I had come right back to life. All my old nerve cells turned back on with a teenager-like enthusiasm. It was like the old days. I used to be almost feral. I loved the touch of everything: fabric, upholstery, fingers… I used to wear fishnets in summer because I loved the complicated scritch of the pattern on my thighs and against the soles of my feet.

I clipped my hair on top of my head and turned on the shower. In seconds there were billows of steam coming out of the marble-tiled enclosure and I stepped in.

Each drop cascaded over my skin and I swear I could feel them individually. I grabbed the sea sponge and lathered it up with a slab of hand-made soap someone had given me as a gift at some point. The perfume was intoxicating.

Why had I never opened that bar before? I had been using the same economical drugstore brand for years, it seemed. I should have been using artisanal soaps, I scolded myself silently. I’m totally worth it.

My skin felt positively brilliant. I scrubbed and scrubbed, luxuriating in the smells and sensations until I was almost positive I was already running late for dinner party prep. I hated to leave the shower but there was so much to do.

Even the towel felt velvety and slightly naughty. Before I could walk to my closet, my reflections in the triple mirror caught my attention. Flushed pink and gleaming, I looked newly minted. I unclipped my long, dark hair and let it fall over my shoulders, just brushing the tops of my pale pink nipples.

Fuckable, yes.

Holding my arms out, there appeared to be some paint I hadn’t managed to scrub off. I raised my wrists and peered at them. No, those were bruises: finger marks from Declan’s strong hands when he had held me against the studio doors. I bit my lip, instantly wet and swollen at the memory of his sharp, decisive commands.

I chuckled to myself. Everything was so intense, I had a hair trigger. Was the whole world going to be one big turn on now?

Turning around in the closet, I picked out a flowing, empire-waist dress that draped and swirled loosely over my hips when I walked. The fabric was a hand painted, nearly diaphanous silk with tiny pearls sewn under the bodice. The dark blue set off the flush in my chest. I tried to imagine two pairs of eyes on me at the dining room table while Bridget ate her heart out. Oh yes, that was going to be fun.

Opening the closet door quietly, I padded into the bedroom and scanned the perimeter for my laptop. Declan inhaled deeply as I leaned to the top of the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“You smell nice,” he murmured sleepily. “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t,” I whispered, glancing at Jackson on the far side of the bed. His ribcage moved slowly with every deep breath. “Bridget wants to have dinner. I have to get some things.”

“Oh right,” he yawned in full voice, apparently unconcerned that his brother was asleep a few feet away. He sat up and rubbed his hand through his hair, his bicep flexing deliciously with every motion. “Anneka.”

“No, Bridget.”

“No,” he said distractedly as he stood naked and started walking toward the bathroom, his beautiful cock bouncing heavily from side to side. “I mean Anneka is coming to dinner.”

The fuck?

I stared at the half-closed bathroom door, listening to him pee and then flush. The tap came on and I held back my irritation with both hands while he washed up and brushed his perfect white teeth.

If he turns on the shower I’m going in there after him.

He came back out and gave me a superhero-style wink before pulling a pair of jeans out of the bottom drawer of the new dresser he’d had delivered.

“Who’s Anneka?” I said, stifling most of my irritation.