Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76647 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
He did sit, sinking deep into the armchair, but his legs were spread, and I could see everything.
Suddenly, I felt faint.
“Sierra?” This time it was Tristan who sounded concerned.
“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice sounded shaky.
“We can quit,” Drew said. “It’s getting late anyway.”
“I’m fine. But… are they always that big?”
Carter smirked, but it wasn’t just him I was talking about.
“Drew’s was, too, and…” I trailed off, gesturing in the direction of Tristan’s boxer shorts. “How… how does something that big… fit inside?”
“Oh, shit,” Tristan said, staring at me. “Sierra, honey… are you a virgin?”
“Of course she isn’t,” Drew said fiercely at the same time Carter said, “Of course she is.”
I said nothing, still feeling shaky. The acting skills that had helped me bluff my way through countless hands of poker had completely deserted me.
“This is fucked up,” Tristan said.
Carter shook his head. “She practically has the word ‘virgin’ tattooed on her forehead. You really didn’t pick up on that?”
Tristan turned to me. “I thought it was like the kissing. Like you’d done it, but it hadn’t been good. I’m sorry.”
He stood up, likely unaware that he’d just flashed me again. Why did men even wear regular boxers when they didn’t support or even conceal their cocks?
Tristan grabbed a blanket and threw it at Carter. “Cover yourself up. This evening’s over.”
Drew pulled on his shirt, but he was still watching me like a hawk. “Are you okay?”
I nodded, and then managed to find my voice. “Yeah. I just got a little dizzy. I think maybe it was the wine.”
Carter snorted. “No, it wasn’t.”
“Shut up,” Tristan ordered. Then he held out a hand to me. I took it, getting carefully to my feet. “I’m sorry, Sierra. We never would’ve done this if we’d known.”
He led me over to the door of my bedroom. It was only ten feet away, but it felt a little like a walk of shame—not because I’d done something sexual but because they didn’t deem me mature enough to do so.
Tristan paused at the door. “I hope you sleep well tonight, sweetheart.”
Since when did he start calling me that? I looked down, trying to make sense of what was happening, and realized that I was clutching Carter’s dress shirt.
Tristan kissed me lightly on the forehead and walked away. It was Drew’s turn, then. His shirt was on but unbuttoned as he brought me my shoe. “Care to try it on to see if it fits, princess?”
God, they were being weird. The only one not behaving abnormally was Carter—if a naked, hugely endowed hottie could ever be considered normal.
Drew smiled, squeezed my hand. “See you in the morning,” he whispered. He shut the door and left.
Kicking off my other shoe, I made my way to my bed and sat down.
What the hell had just happened?
One moment the four of us were having fun. Naughty fun, but fun nonetheless. And yeah, my eyes were probably bulging out of my head half the time, but wouldn’t they have done the same if I had been the one who lost my clothes? Hell, they did quite enough staring when they first saw me in my dress.
I slid my fingers down the slinky fabric over my thigh, enjoying the way it felt. I loved this dress. That was why I’d chosen it to go out on the town with Kylie and her guys. When Drew showed up with my suitcase today and I realized I could wear it for the three of them, I’d been so happy. A little shy, a little scared, but also happy.
And I’d been brave, dammit. During dinner. During the game. So why did they lock me up in my room like a child? Or, keeping with the Cinderella theme, it was like he’d locked me up in a tower. A princess wasn’t allowed to interact with the commoners.
Reaching behind me, I caught the zipper and pulled it down. Not an easy task, but I got it. Then I slid out of my beautiful dress. There wasn’t any place to hang it in the small room, but I folded it in half and then in half again and placed it on top of the dresser.
A small mirror over the dresser reflected my black balconette bra. It was one of my favorites, and the only one I owned that worked with such a low-cut dress. That’s why I’d packed it in the suitcase.
I’d gone into the strip poker game fairly confident I wouldn’t be showing my underwear to anyone, but would it have been so terrible if I had? It was true, I hated the idea of anyone seeing my body without my permission. Like when I was sleeping or filming an intimate scene. But if I chose to show myself to someone—or someones—I trusted, was that really such a bad thing?