Thomas's head pounded. His vision blurred slightly at the edges.
The helplessness was suffocating, the kind of helplessness that stripped a man bare, left him vulnerable in the worst way possible.
"You won't choose?" Ross said, feigning disappointment.
"Such a shame. I was hoping you'd show a little backbone."
He chuckled under his breath, then turned back toward the women with a casual arrogance, as if he were simply selecting a dessert after dinner.
"Very well," he said with a smirk. "I'll choose for you."
His eyes locked onto Brenda.
"Come here, Brenda," Ross commanded, his voice low but filled with an iron authority that brooked no refusal.
Brenda flinched as if struck.
Tears welled up in her eyes as her body began to move against her will, one trembling step at a time toward the large bed at the center of the room.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her knuckles white. She was fighting it — Thomas could see that — but Ross's control was absolute.
