The Proposal

by Kitty Thomas

  This is so weird. I should ask the driver to take me home, but I can't bring myself to do it after they just heroically rescued me and got all of our dinner to go like it was fast food drive-thru and no big deal.

  “Sit,” Griffin says again, when we're standing in his dining room.

  I hand the jacket back to Soren and sit awkwardly at the table. I walked into the restaurant tonight feeling sexy and confident and on top of the world. And now I feel like a teenager about to be scolded for sneaking out of the house. They've each got eight years on me and the age difference feels bigger than usual tonight.

  The men take the food to the kitchen. When they return, it's on nice plates. Dayne brings in a couple of bottles of wine.

  I'm grateful when they fill my glass almost to the top. I need it. My hand is still shaking when I take a sip of the dark red Merlot. The Penne Bolognese is still hot when it's placed in front of me.

  “Eat,” Griffin says. I wonder how long they've known about each other... how long they've been planning to turn the tables on me?

  Nobody speaks as we eat, which is just fine with me. In fact, by this point I'm starting to think what was said at the restaurant was some hysterical hallucination. Maybe we're really only about to have a standard confrontation and break-up. And after everything else that's transpired tonight, I can almost handle that.

  In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize obviously they were just playing a game with me. Maybe the original plan was to con me into bed with all of them, but after what almost happened in the alley we'll probably all have a cordial and mature breakup and that will be that. I can't imagine they'd still try to get me into bed after the almost alley assault.

  When we've finished eating, Griffin pours himself another glass of wine, takes a sip, and calmly says to me, “Now, as I was saying back at the restaurant... you will legally marry one of us and the other two...”

  “And I said no,” I repeat.

  He laughs at this. “It wasn't a request. We've decided—”

  “You can't just decide. That's not how this works. I told each of you when we started dating that if someone proposed and I accepted, I would break things off with anyone else I happened to be dating at the time. So if one of you wants to ask me, I may consider the offer.”

  Though I'm not even sure if that's true anymore after this sudden Neanderthal act—not that I didn't know all three of these men were used to getting their way and how badly that could go for me if I lost control of this situation—which I clearly have.

  “No,” Griffin says as if trying to reason with a small child about the utility of eating vegetables, “We all want you. We're all taking you.”

  Again, my body is all in with this. And a part of my mind isn't sure about things. Only this afternoon I was in love with all of them and couldn't imagine how I'd ever be able to break up with the others if one decided to call my bluff and propose. And the only thing cooling my ardor is the way they've behaved tonight, but even that is leaving an unexpected and growing trail of wetness between my legs.

  Instead of giving in to any of my more primal and uncivilized urges, I stand because realistically there's only one thing I can do now. “Thank you for dinner and for saving me, but this isn't going to work anymore. We're through. All of us.” I manage not to start crying again as I make eye contact with each of them so they know I mean it.

  They let me walk out of the dining room, and I actually think I'm going to get out of the building. But before I reach the door, one of them—I'm not sure which—pushes me so that my breasts are pressed against the wall. A hand grips the back of my neck, holding me in place so I can't turn to see who has me. His other hand runs down my dress, and he shoves it roughly up so he can stroke between my thighs. I'm exposed, and I blush as I realize he can feel my arousal and knows how my body has reacted to their indecent proposal.

  I don't even care which one of them has me. I feel like a butterfly pinned to a board, wings desperately fluttering, fighting for an escape that isn't possible. Only I'm not moving. I'm not fighting or fluttering. I'm barely even breathing.

  I crave the press of his hard chest against my body. A part of me wants to surrender completely, to breach this barrier of enforced celibacy and give my body what it's been screaming for these past long months.

  “I want to bend you over the sofa right now and fuck the shit out of you,” Dayne hisses in my ear. “You little cock tease.”

  Dayne is the last one I expected it to be. He's been perhaps the kindest of the three—the most reserved up until tonight. But what happened in the alley earlier has caused a shift in him. The amount of testosterone coming off him right now is intoxicating.

  I mean to try to buck him off me, but it ends up being more me grinding my ass against his crotch. I feel his thick hard length straining behind his pants. It's been so long since I've been fucked—since I've had any real passion—since I've been wanted like this. A part of me wants to say screw my whole plan and just do it. Let them all fuck me tonight and who cares what happens tomorrow?

  I can take a break from men, eat some ice cream, heal, start again. It's not the end of the world. But isn't it?

  “Did you really think you could run this kind of game on us? Who in the fuck did you think you were playing with little girl?” Dayne hisses in my ear.

  I'm again shocked by his words. I've always thought of Dayne as the nicest, the least scary and intimidating. But in this moment he is all primal animal and I am reminded in the most stark terms possible that I'm alone in a penthouse with three large men who have been denied entrance into my body for months—three men who've decided they're all taking me for no other reason than they all want me.

  And yet I can't even be scared about this. I can't force that feeling into my mind or body. I know I should be, but I'm so aroused right now that no common sense thoughts are able to make the long trip up to my brain. Every cell that comes together to form me is consumed with preparing to be taken, and there's simply no room for anything but that searing need.

  He backs off me for a second, and I turn around, jerking my dress back down to find all three of them staring at me, jackets off, ties loosened, pupils dilated. There's nowhere for me to run, assuming I could convince my mind and body to do that right now, which I'm pretty sure I can't.

  “Why?” Dayne growls.

  “Why what?” I ask. Did I just black out and miss a whole conversation?

  “Why don't you want this? All of us together?” He says it as though my refusal to be their shared meaty bone is beyond his ability to comprehend. Of course they all think I'm a gold digger. So of course the idea of having all three of them fawning over me, buying me things, providing shit for me... that must be worth being their whore. I'm not even sure I could eye roll hard enough if I tried.

  It's only now, finally, more than an hour after the suggestion first came out of Griffin's mouth that I realize... they're serious. They aren't playing with me. They've decided instead of dumping me or fighting over me, that they want to share me.

  How would it even work? Would they keep discreet mistresses? Because it's definitely not fair for me to get three men and them to only get me.

  I don't want that. I want one man who can love me and be faithful to me who will provide and care for me, not three men toying with me while keeping other women on the side. I swipe at the tears which have begun sliding down my cheeks.

  Soren speaks. It's the first time he's spoken to me tonight. “I have a very good private investigator, and through some unexpected side trails I happened to find out something very interesting about your past.”

  I feel the blood drain out of my face. No one knows about this. No one. It can't be what I think. There's no way anyone could know. I was careful. There's no way anyone could know. I repeat this thought in my head like a mantra over and over as if just the power of my positive thinking can stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

  “Oh, yes. Livia Fairchild killed a ma
n. On spring break. Nine years ago.”

  My gaze shifts to Griffin and Dayne but neither of them look surprised, which means Soren already told them. They knew about this ambush.

  “I don't know what you're talking about.” Deny. Deny. Deny. There's no evidence. There can't be any evidence. There's just no possible way he could know... and yet he does.

  Soren just laughs. “You and your friend weren't as careful as you thought. So, you see, you will get married, Livia. It's one cage or the other. Prison, or us. Our cage is nicer. Think about it. And it wouldn't just destroy you. Your friend Macy is an accessory. She helped you cover it up.”

  “I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't kill anyone,” I say. Even though I know he can see the truth in my eyes.

  “Don't call my bluff, Livia. You won't win.”

  “It was self defense,” I say. “Please you have to believe me. It was self defense.” I look again to Dayne and Griffin. Griffin looks pretty tense, but Dayne is calm, leaning against the door frame now, his arms crossed over his chest, just observing me.

  “Self defense doesn't require ocean disposal,” Soren says.

  “It was self defense. I was afraid no one would believe me!”

  “I can't imagine chopping up a body with a friend is going to make you seem more credible now. So... like I said... you're ours.”

  I never should have let Macy help me get rid of the evidence. If it was just me to think about maybe it would be different, maybe I'd have a choice, but I can't let my best friend suffer for this.

  More tears come, but he isn't moved. “Griffin... Dayne... please... you can't let him do this.” But no one is moved by my tears. I wonder how long they've known this, how long Soren has held this card and waited to play it to get what he wants.

  I look at the ground unable to meet their eyes anymore. I could continue this melodrama. I could say I don't believe Soren would carry out his threat, but I do. I got just a little too greedy. Not for money—not really—but for men far outside the reach of the rules. Men with too much power. And it was sexy until it was turned on me.

  I could have played this game competently with the first three men I'd started dating when the idea of the roster was new and shiny. But every time I dumped one or one fell back, I gained confidence and replaced him with a better guy. Not just better than losers, better than what I was used to dating—men more attractive than I was used to, more moneyed than I was used to. Because I had begun to believe I was worth more than the scraps I'd been accepting from the table of life.

  I'd begun to think I didn't want to live like a peasant anymore and that I had every fucking right to go after someone much much higher. After all, I'd worked on myself. I was in a state of constant transformation and self-improvement while most of the men I'd been dating just... weren't. If I'd settled for a man like that, he'd be the crab pulling me back down into the bucket forever.

  I needed someone who was more. And somehow, that turned into Griffin, Dayne, and Soren. Practically all women are attracted to wealth and power. And not just... we like it... we are sexually attracted to it. It turns us on in the way D cups and slutty lingerie turn men on.

  But there's a double standard. Nobody says a single word about any man getting any pretty young thing he wants and can manage to acquire, but women... no we should sit pretty and smile and be good little girls gratefully accepting the first nice man who comes along. Anybody who isn't a serial rapist should “get a chance” because “he's a nice guy.”

  If we get lucky and this man just happens to live in a mansion, fantastic—that's okay, you're still a good girl. But if he's broke, love is enough and we shouldn't want anything more. We should be the one who believes in his potential whether or not he's ever going to do anything with it. Stand by him, help “build him” as if he's a Build-a-Bear workshop.

  To go and intentionally chase wealth and power? Gold digger. Slut. Whore. It doesn't matter if we really do love the guy... we wanted to rise above our station in life and that can't be allowed. People say we live in a classless society. Bullshit. We absolutely have classes and everyone is supposed to stay in their lane.

  And I didn't. And now Soren will see to it that I am punished because I made a stupid mistake in college and wasn't as careful as I thought I was.

  I know part of this is about the fact that all three of these men must have been convinced because of their wealth and power they could beat out whatever men they might be competing against. It never occurred to them that all my other suitors were just as worthy as they were in that area. They each were sure that eventually they'd break me down and be in my bed—or more likely me in theirs. I'm not sure what would have happened after that, but they've collectively decided to rewrite the entire script, so it hardly matters anymore.

  Soren has finally had enough of my crying and hesitating, he backs me against the wall. His mouth is suddenly on mine in a possessing kiss, his tongue tangling with mine as though it's just a new battlefield to conquer me on. He's never kissed me quite this way before, and I want to hate it. I want to be scared, offended, pissed off. I want to scream at him and push him off me, but all I can do is let my body melt into his as he claims me, every nerve ending on fire while the other two men watch—and maybe in part because they watch. I don't want to think about what that says about me.

  He pulls away, breathing hard, his dark green gaze locked on me. His voice is low and barely human when he finally speaks. “You belong to us. Now be a good girl and say: yes.”

  My eyes dart to Griffin and Dayne as if either of them can or will save me from whatever comes next. But each of them is a wall, closed off from me. No mercy.

  “Yes,” I finally whisper. I have no other choice, and all four of us know it. Soren is ruthless. He isn't bluffing. He isn't the kind of man who makes a threat he has no intention of following through on. If I don't do this, mine and Macy's lives are effectively over. Mine may be over anyway, but this is the only bridge left to cross.

  Soren jerks the top of my dress down to my waist and takes one of my breasts in his mouth. My clothes have never come off with any of these men before this moment. I've practically been a nun. It's been so long since I've done anything like this that it feels foreign and shocking like being plunged into a lake in the middle of winter. And tonight it feels far more angry than I remember it ever being with any of the other men I've been with in the past.

  I'm crying full on now, the fear finally kicking in as I begin to realize what's about to happen here. “Please. Don't do this...” I whimper, hating myself for sounding so weak and scared, and hating them for making me feel that way after they just rescued me from a different man who may have intended the same fate for me. Somehow this is an even bigger betrayal than all their plans behind my back.

  “Soren,” Griffin says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

  Soren snarls and pulls away, putting my dress back the way it should be. His smoldering gaze holds mine while he does this.

  “Fine. You know what? We won't touch you until the wedding night. We know you're not a virgin, but why ruin a good illusion? We'll let you sweat it out this time.”

  I swallow hard at this and look down at the ground, the enormity of tonight somehow engulfing me.

  Soren stalks off, and I'm left with Griffin and Dayne.

  “I'll drive you home,” Griffin says.

  I nod shakily and follow him to the parking garage. I still don't know which one of these men I'm supposed to be marrying or what the hell I'm going to say to my family about it. They don't even know I've been dating anyone.

  Soren

  The No Girlfriend Speech

  Eleven months ago. Last July.

  I've been seeing Livia over the past month. She's a strange and unique creature. First, despite my obvious wealth, good looks, and charm—I never said I was modest—she seems somehow unfazed by the catch every other woman seems to think I am. Women aren't a challenge for me. Ever.

  I can have any wo
man I want in my bed any time I want. That's not bragging, it's the actual fact of how it plays out. Usually I've got their panties off by the first and often only date. And I've never dated a woman who still turns me down on the third—until Livia—because the third date is the sex date for good girls who don't want to look too slutty. On a certain level, though I'd never admit it to another human being, I find this really disappointing—that it's all so easy. Only a century ago no man would expect a respectable lady to fuck a suitor by the third date. It would be expected that he wouldn't get to do that with her until they were married—until he'd offered her a life and safety. How much of this was religion and how much of it was the nature of the male drive to want to win something, I'm not entirely sure. I wasn't there. But I could take a guess.

  So here we are, on the fourth date with no sex. Other peculiar things about this woman: She hasn't called or texted me once. And when I text her, she doesn't reply. It's infuriating. She only responds to phone calls. I thought she was playing games at first, but she flat out told me she doesn't like texting, she probably won't reply, and it's not the best way to reach her. Oookay. Not once did she worry this would come across as difficult or that I wouldn't want to see her again. If the thought ever did cross her mind, she must have decided that would be just fine with her.

  This is an unusual situation for me to say the least. I'm equal parts intrigued and annoyed by it.

  Women are always trying to win me, earn me, impress me, like I'm a trophy they want to display on their shelf. They want to land a rich eligible bachelor so they can be the envy of all their friends. I'll admit, I preferred when things went the other way around, when it was women who were the prizes. When there was something to live for, fight for, die for. But people tend to overly romanticize the past, and maybe that's what I'm doing now.