Ravaged By My Cold-Hearted Stepbrothers
"I’ll play the winner of your last round. Strip chess. One-on-one. Brandon can watch."
"And what, exactly, are the rules?" Jackson asked. He leaned back in the leather chair, his legs splayed wide, looking like he already owned every inch of the room—and every inch of me.
"Simple," I said, my voice gaining strength. "Every time a piece gets taken, the loser takes off an item of clothing. Pawns, knights, queens—it doesn't matter. A piece for a piece."
"And once the clothes are gone?" Brandon asked, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly register that made my toes curl.
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