Page 11 of Hearts Storm

“Depends,” Redhead purrs, leaning into my space. “What are you offering?”

“Whatever you want.” I signal the bartender, ordering three shots of tequila. The burn helps dull the edge of whatever the hell I’m feeling about Logan and the pretty blonde.

“Your friend too busy to join us?” Brunette asks, nodding toward the dance floor.

“Very.” I down another shot, ignoring the pang in my chest. “But I’m all yours tonight.”

Redhead runs her fingers up my arm. “We were thinking of heading somewhere more... private.”

I should be thrilled. Even though two gorgeous, ready and willing women are standing right in front of me, I side-eye the dance floor one last time. Logan’s hand is tangled in her hair, lips at her throat, and she’s melting into him.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” I smirk. Throwing my arms around their shoulders, I lead us out of the club and don’t look back.

As we pile into a rideshare, Redhead slides onto my lap, grinding against me. It should turn me on, but all I can think about is the way Pretty looked at me when I tucked that bill into her outfit. The way she turned her back on me, leaving me wanting more.

Brunette grabs my face, pulling me in for a kiss that’s all teeth and tongue. Her lip gloss tastes like cherries. Redhead’s hands slide under my shirt, nails scraping over my abs as she rocks against my dick.

“Fuck,” I mutter against Brunette’s lips, trying to focus on the two women that are all over me instead of the image of a pair of ice-blue eyes burning into mine.

Just thinking about her makes me hard.

“Oh, yeah,” Redhead giggles, breath hot against my ear. “Someone’s eager.”

The car hits a bump, and Brunette breaks our kiss, both of them laughing as Redhead nearly topples off my lap.

I chuckle along, using the momentary distraction to clear my head—convince myself that this is what I want—what I always want. Two beautiful women, no strings, and definitely no complications.

I force a grin, sliding my hands up her thighs, squeezing her ass. “You have no idea.”

seven

The stab of jealousy hits me hard. I don’t even know Hot & Smirky’s name, yet here I am cocooned in Dark & Broody’s arms wishing the hot, dark blond was still nestled up behind me.

Torn between the man in front of me and side-eyeing what the other is up to, it hasn’t even been ten minutes and Hot & Smirky already has his arms slung around two gorgeous women, leading them toward the exit.

Not sparing us another glance, he laughs at something the redhead is saying in his ear. Both women are all over him, hands roaming freely over his chest and abs.

My stomach sinks.

Seriously?

I shouldn’t give a shit. I don’t even know the guy. We shared, what, maybe five minutes on the dance floor? Two or three last night?

Logically, I know it’s stupid. Feeling this way. But there’s a bitter taste in my mouth as I watch him walk away as if I never existed—like he didn’t just have his hands all over me, offering me the chance to partake in their sexy-as-sin tube-steak sandwich.

What the hell is wrong with me? Twenty-four hours ago, I was on a stage looking into his lust-filled eyes, and now I’m getting territorial over a man whose name I don’t even know? Two men, actually, because the one currently holding me tightly against him is making my head spin just as much as the other one did.

Body tensing, Broody’s grip on my waist flexes as he follows my line of sight.

When he looks back at me, he’s studying me with so much intensity, it makes my heart leap.

“Jealous, Angel?”

The nickname sends an unexpected happy thrill through me. And when I open my mouth to deny it? The words stick in my throat.

Because, yeah, I am.

And that realization, for some twisted reason, bugs me way more than it should.