Good girl. He really dared to say that to me. That phrase had a way of squirming deep into my brain and latching on, its poisonous bite making my knees weak and my palms sweaty.

A traitorous little voice inside me wanted to obey. It wanted to feel the satisfaction of giving in.

With a furious exhale, I tossed each of them a beer with the sourest expression I could muster. Just because I was obeying didn’t mean I was going to act happy about it. Lucas looked so damn smug as he took the bottle from my hands.

I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of another reaction. I avoided his eyes as I squeezed myself past him, trying not to deeply inhale his scent, but I got a whiff of it anyway.

Dark like black pepper, but there was a hint of something soft, like jasmine. It made me hesitate for a moment, my breath catching slightly as he looked down at me.

God, why did he look at me like that? Like he was enraged and fascinated at once. Or like he was holding something back…

I turned away from him, only to abruptly encounter another problem. A tall, pale, dark-eyed problem with a grin that ran an icy finger up my spine.

“I told them to be nice,” Manson said. I’d already caught my breath; but finding myself so close to him made me forget to breathe entirely.

His arms were bare and, like Lucas, he was far more heavily inked than when I’d last seen him. The twisted body of a snake was tattooed around his shoulders, the lines barely visible above his shirt collar. He plucked the beer from Vincent’s hand — who gasped with overexaggerated offense — then popped the top and handed it to me. “No drool on this bottle, I promise. I’ll punish these clowns later for their bad behavior.”

“Oh no, Daddy Manson is angry!” Vincent laughed. Jason clutched his heart, adopting a look of abject horror in Manson’s direction.

“Please forgive us, Jess,” he said, clasping his hands dramatically. “Tell Manson you forgive us.”

“No,” I deadpanned, rolling my eyes at their antics even though my insides were quivering to have them all so close to me. These men had trampled all over my pride the last time I’d seen them, yet no hook-up since had come close to replicating what I’d experienced with them — complete and total submission, if only for a night.

And Manson…

Manson had opened my eyes to a world I’d never known I so desperately wanted to be a part of.

I couldn’t look at his lips without remembering their taste. His eyes were intense; not heavy like Lucas’s or sharp like Jason’s. They were eerie, like a vague silhouette in the dark, a whisper in an empty house.

“You’re in my way,” I said softly. I pressed two sharp acrylic nails against his chest, giving him a little push. “Move.”

I’d called him Master that night, the last time I’d seen him. I could still remember how it had felt rolling off my tongue. How sweetly natural, how deliciously right.