Chapter 7 Threesome Trap (2)

The dining room was still buzzing with the echo of that crash when one of the workers—a wiry guy in a black polo, sweat beading on his forehead—rushed in, hands raised like he was begging for mercy. “Sorry, folks, just a minor power issue,” he said, his voice cutting through the chaos. “Tripped a breaker in the hall—knocked over a lamp. We’ve switched to the inverter, so no worries now.” A collective sigh rippled around the table. Aunt Marla clutched her chest like she’d survived a heart attack, muttering, “Thank God,” while Uncle Ted laughed, “Thought we were under attack!” Hailey giggled beside me, her curls bouncing as she leaned into Ryan, who’d slid into the seat between us like he owned the damn place. I smirked, sipping my wine, the silk of my brown gown clinging to my skin as I shifted. The lights flickered once more before steadying, casting a warm glow over Ryan’s stupidly perfect face. Those hazel eyes, that jawline—still illegal, still trouble. “Ryan, honey,” Aunt Linda started, leaning forward with that nosy-mom grin, “tell us about yourself. What do you do for a living?” “Yeah, kid,” Uncle Paul chimed in, swirling his whiskey. “You got a job to keep our Hailey in diamonds?” Ryan chuckled, that deep, smooth sound rolling out like he wasn’t fazed by the inquisition. “I’m a contractor,” he said, resting an arm on the back of Hailey’s chair—and damn near mine too. “Mostly commercial stuff—warehouses, office builds. Keeps me busy.” “Busy enough to afford that rock, huh?” Uncle Ted teased, nodding at Hailey’s ring. The table laughed, and Hailey beamed, holding up her hand to flash the diamond again. I caught Ryan’s gaze flick toward me, just for a split second, and my pulse kicked up. He was close—too close—his knee brushing mine under the table, sending a jolt straight through me. I adjusted my neckline, letting my cleavage catch the light, and smirked when I saw his eyes dip. Caught you. “So, Ryan,” Aunt Marla pressed, “you got plans to settle down here in LA with Hailey, or you dragging her off somewhere?” “Oh, we’re staying put,” he said, his voice steady, confident. “Got a project downtown keeping me tied up for a while.” His fingers tapped the table, inches from mine, and I swear the air between us hummed. Hailey was chattering about wedding venues now, oblivious, but I couldn’t focus on her words. Not with him right there, all heat and presence, splitting the space between us like a live wire. Then it hit me—the wine, the tension, the way my body was buzzing. I needed a break. “Be right back,” I muttered, pushing my chair out and standing. My gown swished against my thighs as I headed for the hallway, feeling Ryan’s eyes on me—or maybe I just wanted them to be. I needed the bathroom, fast, before I did something stupid like lean into him in front of everybody. The hall was quieter, the chatter fading behind me as I made my way to the guest bathroom, my heels clicking on the marble floor. I shut the door, locked it, and let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. My reflection stared back at me in the mirror—flushed cheeks, that brown gown hugging every curve, my cleavage practically begging for trouble. I smirked, running a hand over my hip. I was splashing cold water on my wrists, trying to cool the fire Ryan had lit under my skin, when a soft knock tapped against the bathroom door. My heart jumped, and I froze, hands dripping over the sink. “Who’s there?” I called, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “It’s me,” came the muffled reply. Derek. Shit. I hesitated, staring at the locked door like it was a line I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross. My reflection glared back at me—brown gown still clinging to every damn curve, cleavage spilling out, lips parted like I was already in trouble. I should’ve ignored him, but my hand was already on the knob, turning it before my brain caught up. The door creaked open, and there he was—Derek, all flushed cheeks and dark eyes, stepping inside like he owned me. He locked the door behind him with a quick click, and before I could blink, his hands were on my waist, pulling me close. “Fuck, Stacy,” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, “I miss that sweet pussy of yours so bad.” My stomach flipped, but not the way it used to. “Derek, I don’t have time for this shit,” I snapped, trying to keep my voice steady even as his fingers tightened, sliding down to cup my ass. He squeezed it softly, kneading the flesh like he was staking a claim, and I could feel his dick pressing hard against my thigh through his jeans. Thick, insistent, familiar. A year ago, I’d have been wet for it, begging him to bend me over right there. But now? All I could think about was Ryan—those hazel eyes, that deep voice, the way his knee had brushed mine like a fucking promise. “Derek, stop,” I said, shoving at his chest, but he didn’t budge, his hands still roaming, groping my ass like it was his lifeline. “Come on, baby,” he whispered, lips grazing my neck, “you know you miss this too.” “No, I don’t,” I shot back, and this time I pushed harder, breaking free from his grip. My heart was pounding, not from him, but from the heat still coiled low in my belly—the heat that wasn’t his to claim. “I’m done, Derek. Back off.” He smirked, leaning against the sink like he wasn’t fazed, but I was already halfway to the door, unlocking it with shaky fingers. I didn’t look back as I slipped out, my heels clicking fast on the marble as I headed back to the dining room. My gown swished, my ass swaying with every step, and I could still feel the ghost of Derek’s hands—but it was Ryan’s touch I wanted, Ryan’s dick I was imagining pressed against me instead. The chatter hit me as I stepped back into the room, the family still grilling Ryan like he was on trial. He glanced up as I slid into my seat, his eyes locking on mine for a beat too long, and my thighs clenched under the table. Hailey was babbling about flowers or some shit, oblivious as ever, but all I could think was how fucked I was—caught between a past I didn’t want and a man I shouldn’t.