She turns around quickly, eyes widening in horror the moment she spots Roman and me in the booth behind her.
Her mouth opens and closes in shock, eyes never wavering off my face, even when Ivy comes up behind her. Only when Ivy whispers something in her ear does Sage tear her gaze away from me.
“Here you go, boys,” Ivy says, leaning down enough, so her fat tits almost spill from her tiny bra.
Roman takes the shot and gulps it down in a second, avoiding Sage’s beady stare and Ivy’s suggestive posture.
Sliding on my lap again, Ivy tries to pull my eyes away from Sage to focus on her enticing cleavage, but Sage traps my attention.
Like she’s the only woman in the room.
She watches Ivy grind on my swollen dick, swaying slightly in her heels as fire ignites in her rich brown eyes.
“Sit down, Sugar! You can take him,” she says, pointing at an uninterested Roman. “He doesn’t want me.”
“I-I don’t—”
I lift Ivy off my lap and drop her in the space next to me, needing her off my throbbing cock since she isn’t the one it’s crying out for.
“Sit down… Sugar,” I say, struggling to get her stage name out of my mouth.
I know she doesn’t want to. I can see it in the way her eyes search the room, looking for anywhere else to be. Finally, she gives in and reluctantly slides into the booth next to Roman, giving him an embarrassed and tense smile before glaring down at her lap.
My eyes focus on Sage fiddling awkwardly in her seat while Ivy’s fingers play with my hair, gently tugging at my strands until they’re wrapped seductively around her finger.
Sage’s eyes peer up, watching Ivy through her lashes, her glare moving from my face to Ivy’s fingers. I might be imagining it—I fucking hope not—but I see some jealousy in those fiery, amber eyes.
Chugging back my shot, I slam two twenties on the table, sliding them both to Ivy, one for the drinks and one for making her get them for us.
“So, Sa-Sugar… How’s your night going?” I ask, gently swatting Ivy’s fingers from my hair. She huffs out in annoyance but ultimately stops touching me.
Jumping over my statuesque form, she hops out of the booth and marches away from our table, looking for someone else to hump and empty their wallets.
Sage moves to leave, too, grabbing the edge of the table to help her slide out, but before she can get far, I shoot my hand forward, gripping her wrist to keep her from moving.
“What are you doing here?” I snap, unable to keep the anger out of my voice.
Yanking her hand out of my grip, she exits the booth. “Working,” she growls back, storming away from me and disappearing into the crowd of bodies.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Rome asks, staring at me as I stand a foot away from the table.
I don’t remember getting out of the booth, and I sure as fuck don’t remember beginning to chase after Sage.
Forcing myself back down, I ball my fists, digging my cropped nails into the flesh of my palms when I don’t see Sage anywhere in the club.
“Yo, Ash. You all right?” Rome asks, staring at me oddly over the rim of his glass.
Am I all right?
Am I all right seeing Sage parade around in barely fucking anything, knowing some asshole's hand is probably pawing somewhere he fucking shouldn’t be?
Am I all right?
I don’t fucking think so, and I don’t know why.
“Yup. Fucking dandy,” I say, shaking the table because my leg is twitching up and down.
“It’s a bit odd seeing Sage here. I wouldn’t have pegged her for a stripper, but cool,” he says, eyes surveying the club.
