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her knees with his, anchoring her in place so that when he parted his thighs, Hazel was also exposed, the babydoll rucking up her thighs to reveal her glistening sex.
    She wriggled a little in Dylan’s lap, but the twist in her shoulders was warning enough. Be a good girl and don’t move. Dylan was hard against her ass. It was enough to know this was having some effect on him, too, for her to stop trying to entice him. She’d never been good at playing the temptress, anyway.
    Not that I make a better virgin ingénue…
    Before Hazel could protest, Ward knotted a hand in the lacy negligee and roughly pushed it up. The fabric creaked, seams threatening to give way. Hazel’s rational mind hadn’t checked out completely and she felt a pang of regret for the money she’d spent on her outfit. Too late now .
    Ward put a swift end to her racing thoughts with his mouth on her cunt.
    He went down on her the same way he fucked—rough, tolerating no half-measures, but no less skillfully for all the inherent frenzy. As he parted her folds with his tongue, Ward settled both hands at her hips, kneading into flesh still bruised from his latest paddling.
    Hazel pulsed with pleasure, rutting against his mouth as best she could. Independent of thought, her pussy clenched, battered by his fervent licks. Her muscles quivered as he tasted her like the fine whiskey he’d been sampling earlier. It was almost too good, almost enough to push her over the edge. But Ward was clever, too, and he avoided her clit with wicked intent, leaving her whimpering when he pulled back.
    “Doesn’t take much to get you going, does it?” he rasped, wiping his lips with the back of a hand. “Greedy bitch.”
    The shrill ringing of the doorbell cut off any answer Hazel might have thought to give.
    “Ah,” Dylan chuckled, “that would be dinner.”
    Ward sat back, rising from the floor to settle on the edge of the coffee table. “We should let her answer—like this.”
    Hazel met his gaze with a challenge of her own. Order me.
    “Show her off like the wanton little slut she is?” Dylan mused, pinching one of her nipples.
    “Would be a sacrilege, keeping her to ourselves…”
    As if to underscore his point, the delivery man leaned on the doorbell again. Hazel still held Ward’s gaze, heart rattling in the cage of her ribs.
    Dylan released her hands. “Stand up.”
    It took a little effort, her legs like rubber, but she did it. She pulled herself upright, keenly aware of the slick running down her inner thighs. Her babydoll was askew, one strap hanging slightly lower than the other. She adjusted it primly, sure that her face was beet red, certain that Ward and Dylan expected her to chicken out.
    “My wallet’s on the side table,” Ward said.
    Hazel registered the observation for what it really was—a command. Orders had always sparked a flurry of nerves inside her in a way that wasn’t entirely virtuous. Nothing to do with fear, she thrilled when faced with real authority. Real power. Somewhere along the line, she had come to regard Dylan and Ward as worthy of her submission.
    She didn’t question the ease with which she went to her knees for them, much less opened Ward’s wallet and pried out a couple of twenties. The doorbell rang again. It didn’t fill her with dread. It didn’t make her hesitate.
    She grasped the massive handle.
    Dylan stopped her short. “Let me,” he said and took the bills from her lax hand. “Hi. Yep, that’s us. How much do I owe you?” Dylan was all charm and sophistication, chatting with the delivery guy as though he hadn’t been tormenting Hazel just a few seconds earlier.
    Between the angle of his body and the giant metal door, Hazel was safely hidden from view. She dug her toes into the floor, stomach pulling somersaults against her diaphragm. She’d never been more embarrassed. Where had she gone wrong?
    “I would’ve taken care of it,” she protested, once Dylan had sent the delivery man on his