Broken Compass

But it’s Molly. That woman somehow got her hands on my phone number and has been texting me every day

.

Today it’s ‘Coffee?’ and lots of coffee-chugging emojis.

Woman doesn’t take a hint. She seems like fun, I’ll give her that, though her insistence has a slight stalkerish vibe to it.

Or maybe it’s losing Kash that’s made me more suspicious, turned me into a complete cynic. Maybe she just wants to be friends.

Okay, scratch that last one. Girl wants into my pants, but how many times do I have to say no before she understands the word?

I wonder how you say ‘no’ in Russian.

And back to Kash.

Dammit.

“Can’t sleep?” Sydney asks around a yawn, coming out of our room.

“Nah.”

“Nightmare?”

I shake my head no. “Just wired.”

She pads closer, her feet bare, toenails painted red. “You’re in pain. I’ll get you the painkillers.”

“I’m okay. Can’t sleep, that’s all.”

She sidles up to me, her red hair loose on her shoulders, green eyes like a cat’s, rosy lips parted. Dressed in a short, off the shoulder blouse that leaves her belly bare and a red lacy thong, she’s like all my wet dreams rolled into one.

Want hits me, nearly bowls me over. My dick hardens so fast I’m goddamn dizzy, rock-hard within seconds, trying to bore a hole through my briefs. Hissing, I reach down to adjust myself, and those green eyes drop to where my hand is.

She draws a quick breath, licks her lips, and her nipples tighten and try to poke through her blouse.

Damn if that doesn’t make my cock twitch and my balls draw in tight.

“Goddamn, girl, come here.” I grab her wrist, haul her against me until her tits press to my chest. “You’re so sexy.”

“Your bruises—”

“Fuck my bruises. You’re the best drug in the whole world.” I kiss her, put my hands over those hot curves, cup her ass and squeeze until she moans.

She’s soft and warm, and my dick jerks between us, pleasure mixing with the pain in my ribs and back.

More. I want more.

I turn her, bend her slightly over the sofa, press myself to her back. I push my hand under her blouse, cup her tit, play with her nipple, making her moan.

A shadow at the edge of my vision makes me turn my head. It’s West, watching us from the hallway, stroking himself through his underwear, his eyes heavy-lidded.

“Dammit…” he breathes. “That’s hot.”

“Get your ass over here,” I grate out. “Kiss her.”

Something is blazing inside of me, driving me, pushing me. It’s anger—at everything. Dad. Kash. The world.

He grins at me, sharp and wicked, and I see an answering spark in his blue eyes. “Yessir.”