Gabriella
The dining room looked like it had been set for a war council instead of dinner. Black tablecloth. Candles burning low and red. Heavy silver cutlery laid out like weapons. No flowers. No soft lighting. Just shadows and the faint smell of seared meat drifting up from the kitchen.
Aiden had chosen my outfit again. Black silk slip dress—thin straps, low back, hem barely grazing mid-thigh. No bra. No panties. Just the dress and the silver choker from the ball. When I'd looked in the mirror upstairs, I'd seen exactly what he wanted everyone else to see: a prize on display. Skin flushed from the shower. Hair loose and dark. Lips painted red like fresh blood.
He waited at the bottom of the stairs when I came down. Dark shirt, sleeves rolled, top buttons open. Eyes raking over me like he was already undressing what little there was to undress.
"You look edible," he said.
I didn't smile. Just walked past him into the dining room.
They were already there.
Jax leaning back in his chair, boots on the table, beer bottle dangling from two fingers. Scar across his cheek catching the candlelight. Grinning like a wolf who'd scented fresh kill.
Kade beside him—laptop open even now, fingers tapping idly, eyes flicking up when I entered. Smirk small and surgical.
Marcus across the table, arms folded, quiet. The observer. The one who noticed everything.
Rico—the new face—was younger. Lean. Tattoo creeping up his neck. Eyes hungry but nervous. Probably the rookie in their little club.
Aiden pulled out the chair to his right. I sat. Legs crossed. Felt every pair of eyes drop to the way the silk slid higher on my thigh.
"Evening, boys," Aiden said, taking his seat at the head. Voice easy. Like this was poker night. "Hope you're hungry."
Jax laughed. Low. Dirty. "Starving."
Kade closed the laptop with a soft click. "Progress report?"
Aiden poured wine. Red. Deep. Pushed a glass toward me without looking.
"She's learning fast," he said. "Called her mother last night. Told her she was fine. Cried after. Came on my fingers while she hated every second of it."
Heat crawled up my neck. I stared at the wine. Didn't touch it.
Jax whistled. "Damn. End-of-month still locked?"
"Locked and loaded."
Marcus spoke for the first time. Quiet. Measured. "She's quiet tonight."
All eyes on me again.
I lifted my chin. Met Marcus's gaze. Then Jax's. Then Kade's. Finally Aiden's.
"I'm listening," I said softly. "Figured I'd learn more if my mouth was shut for once."
Silence.
Then Jax barked a laugh. "She's got teeth."
Kade leaned forward. Elbows on the table. "Read the chat?"
My pulse jumped. I kept my face blank.
Aiden's hand found my knee under the table. Squeezed once. Hard.
"She did," he said. No question. Statement.
I didn't deny it.
Rico shifted. Uncomfortable. "So… she knows about the bet?"
Aiden's thumb stroked the inside of my knee. Slow. Threatening.
"She knows enough."
I picked up my wine. Took a sip. Let it burn down my throat.
"Then you know I'm not just a pawn," I said. Voice steady. Louder than I felt. "I'm the board. And you're all playing on my skin."
Jax grinned wider. "I like her."
Aiden's grip tightened until it hurt.
"Careful," he told Jax. Then to me, softer, deadly: "Don't get cocky, little wolf."
I turned to him. Looked him dead in the eye.
"You said the game was to make me love you." I leaned in just enough that only he—and maybe the table—could hear. "You didn't say I couldn't hate-fuck my way through it."
The room went still.
Aiden's eyes darkened. Pupil swallowing iris.
Then he laughed. Short. Sharp. The sound that usually meant someone was about to bleed.
He stood. Pulled me up with him. Hand around my wrist like a cuff.
"Dinner's postponed," he said to the room. "Enjoy the wine. We'll be back when I'm done reminding her who's winning."
He dragged me out.
Not rough. Not gentle. Just inevitable.
Up the stairs. Down the hall. Into the bedroom.
Door slammed.
He spun me. Pushed me face-first against the wall. Hands pinned above my head in one of his.
"You think you can talk like that in front of them?" he growled against my ear. "Think you can throw my own words back at me?"
I arched back against him. Deliberate. Felt him hard already.
"I think I just did."
His free hand yanked the straps of the dress down. Silk pooled at my waist. Cold air on my breasts. Nipples tight.
He spun me again. Back to the wall. Lifted me so my legs wrapped around his waist.
"You want to play dirty?" he said. Voice wrecked. "Fine."
He kissed me then. Violent. Teeth clashing. Tongue fucking my mouth like punishment.
I bit back. Harder.
He growled. Dropped me on the bed. Ripped the dress the rest of the way off.
No foreplay. No gentleness.
Just him shoving my thighs apart. Fingers testing. Finding me soaked. Cursing under his breath.
"You hate me so much you're dripping for it," he said. Almost reverent.
I grabbed his shirt. Pulled him down.
"Then fuck me like you mean it."
He did.
Hard. Deep. Relentless.
I clawed his back. Drew blood. Arched into every thrust. Met him stroke for stroke.
When I came, I screamed his name—not because he told me to. Because I wanted to.
He followed seconds later. Buried deep. Growling my name like a curse.
We lay there after. Sweaty. Breathing ragged.
He rolled off me. Onto his back.
I didn't move to cover myself.
After a long minute, he spoke.
"You just raised the stakes."
I turned my head. Met his eyes.
"Good," I said quietly. "Because I'm done losing."
He stared at me.
Then—slow—he smiled.
Not cruel.
Not victorious.
Something new.
Dangerous.
"Game on, Gabriella."
I smiled back.
Small. Sharp.
Game fucking on.