“Oh yeah. And how exactly would that look?” I ask, playing along with her.
“Well first, I think you’d need my mark on your skin.”
“That’s kind of permanent.”
“Didn’t bother you when you marked me,” she points out with a raised brow.
“Fair point. Then what, Hellion?”
“Then…” Lifting my shirt, she finds the button on my jeans, toying with it and me. “I’d show them exactly what they can’t have.” Finally, she opens my waistband, tucking her fingers underneath.
“Baby,” I warn, knowing that if she touches me, all bets are going to be off, her friends be damned.
“What?” she asks, innocently batting her eyes at me. “So it was good enough for you to expose me in front of all your friends, but I can’t do the same to you?”
“Hellion, if you wanna suck me off right here, there’s no chance I’d fucking stop you. I couldn’t give a fuck who’s watching.”
“You’re wicked.”
“Just like you, Princess. Match made in hell, remember?”
“Ashton!” Ruby’s cry pierces the air, but neither of us looks over. We don’t need to. We know exactly what’s happening on that sofa.
“So what’s it gonna be, Hellion? You gonna make me yours right here?”
Her hand dips lower, her fingers just brushing my dick before music fills the room and Harley shouts, “Let’s dance.”
“Aw, sorry, babe. Looks like our time is up.” She winks before jumping from my lap, leaving the very obvious bulge in my jeans open for everyone in the room to witness.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” I warn, running my eyes down her body.
“I’m counting on it.”
Reaching over, she helps Ruby off Ashton’s lap and drags her over to where Harley has decided the dancefloor is.
“Fucking tease,” Ash barks, tugging at his jeans in a very familiar way.
“What did I miss?” Kyle shouts over the music as he throws beers at both of us.
“Just them playing their usual tricks,” Ash snaps, shooting a heated look at Ruby as she dances with her front to Stella’s back.
“Fucking hell.”
Harley passes them both another shot that they both immediately throw back.
Kyle mutes the TV, both of them mostly giving up with watching the Panthers get thrashed as the three of us watch our girls let loose and drive us fucking crazy, dancing together.
And they know exactly what they’re doing.
“I need some of that vodka if I’ve gotta watch this,” I announce, pushing to the edge of the sofa.
“Got you covered, man,” Kyle says, passing a bottle over that I didn’t notice him carry in. “Let’s get fucked up. Show the Brit how it’s really done.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I could drink both of you under the table,” I say with confidence.
“Okay,” Kyle says, deep in thought. “Willing to bet tomorrow’s workout on it?”
“I go to training most days with a hangover. I’m all in, motherfucker.” Just to prove my point, I tip the bottle to my lips and chug a good quarter of it, the vodka burning down my throat and making me wince.