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Bronx stands. He pats Riot’s shoulder. “Sorry, my man. Looks like she’s going to blow me after all.”

Riot says nothing. His gaze is on me. His jaw is clenched. He has that look that would normally have him reaching for his Zippo. But he doesn’t do that. He sits there like a stone. Only his eyes give away the turmoil inside.

“You can leave if you want,” I say. “Step out into the hallway.”

“That’s a good idea.” Sonatina rises.

“Not a fucking chance,” he tells me.

“Your choice.” I shrug as I turn to Bronx, trying to look unaffected by his decision to stay.

Tipping my head up, I make eye contact with Bronx while I reach for his fly. “Drummer Boy?”

He nods, so I undo the button and zipper. I tug his pants down just enough to release his heavy erection from the confines of his boxers. My fingers close around his cock, and I stroke it a few times.

He reaches down and caresses my face. “Put those perfect lips around me, Kells Bells.”

I guide him into my open mouth. If I’m going to be called a slut every five seconds, then I might as well play up to it and give Bronx’s cock a little suck. Besides, I want to taste him. I want to know what he would feel like sliding in and out of my throat.

Just not with this awful fucking audience. I pull back and give the head a little kiss.

He groans. “If only...”

“Later, Drummer Boy.”

He grins and lowers his mouth over mine. He has the softest lips, but they can be wickedly firm in just the right way. He teases mine apart and slides his tongue between them to taste himself on me. Cupping my face, he growls in my ear, “Only if your cunt is on my face at the same time.”

He helps me up and we both return to our seat. Mine is still on his lap.

“My turn.” Sonatina gets up. She focuses on Riot and spins the bottle. It twirls a couple of times before landing on Bronx.

Sonatina wrinkles her nose. “Eww. No.”

Bronx doesn’t look any happier, but he gets to his feet ready to take one for the team. I slip into his seat.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he grumbles.

“I’m not kissing you,” she says. “Not after you kissed her and she—”

“You don’t have to kiss him on the mouth,” Kodiak calls out. “You can kiss his ass.”

“What?” Sonatina looks horrified. If she were anyone else, I might actually feel sorry for her.

“Kiss his ass,” I say.

“Kiss his ass,” Golden hollers.

“Kiss my ass.” Bronx smirks.

“Lennon,” Sonatina shrieks. Marching around the couch, she grabs her assistant’s arm and drags her into the middle of the room. She shoves her at Bronx. “Kiss him.”

Sonatina leaves Lennon shaking in front of Bronx and returns to her seat. Lennon stares at Bronx’s chest while he stands as still as a giant oak. She rubs gently at the red scratch lines Sonatina left on her wrist.

It’s an uncomfortable moment for the rest of us, so it has to be worse for both Lennon and Bronx.

“Spinner’s rules,” he says. “But since this is your first time playing... and you’re standing in for Sonatina... amendment.”

“Amendment,” we all call back.