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“Now you do. Unless you’d like me to teach you a very painful lesson about hitting on one of my men, I’d suggest you keep your eyes, hands, and opinions to yourselves.”
“Of course,” they said, and suddenly, every eye he’d garnered looked away.
Magic.
Moore chuckled nearby. “I expected a bloodbath.”
“Trying to keep the body count low, but I make no promises if they look at him again.”
“That’s my girl.”
“Benji?”
“I’ll take care of it,” he promised.
I had no doubt that if they even looked at Nate again, they’d be handed pink slips and a ticket out of the city.
I wasn’t interested in ruling solely by fear, but sometimes it came in handy.
Knowing Benji would keep the servers in check, I made my way over to the cages. Nate was slick with sweat. I’d seen him mostly naked in the shower, but the flashing lights showcased the scars on his body. He didn’t have a single tattoo, unlike Greyson, Dominic, and me.
I wanted to see all that blank skin spread out under me.
Would he let me tattoo him?
A question for another day.
“Is this a fucking joke?” I asked, crossing my arms under the cage.
“Not sure I know what you mean. Care to elaborate?”
Cheeky fucker.
“Whatever the hell this is, it’s over.”
Nate’s grin was something I expected Dominic to give. Flirty and joking and absolutely the wrong fucking move. “Sorry, I don’t give lap dances. My girlfriend wouldn’t approve.”
“Agreed. Now, get out,” I snarled.
“What’s wrong, baby? You wanted strippers, you got strippers.” When I said nothing, his eyes darkened. “What, you don’t want me flaunting the goods to your friends?”
No. No, I did not.
Keeping my voice level was so much harder than I expected. “Let me make this clear, Nate. If this is some sort of game where you try to make me jealous, I can assure you it’s not going to go the way you want it to. You’ve had your fun, but whatever this is, it’s over. Now.”
Whatever look I gave him must’ve been bad, because his grin dropped. “Angel?—”
“I swear to god, I am on the cusp of a murder spree, Nate. Get. The Fuck. Out.”
“Okay. Okay, I’m coming.”
Maybe it was the frustration of being left unsatisfied, or maybe it was truly just the fact that I didn’t want anyone else to see him, but the longer it took him, the more irritated I got. To his credit, it wasn’t his fault, but I hated it.
Hated that those women had looked at him.
Hated that they’d fantasized about him. That they’d probably keep fantasizing about him even though they had no right to.
Nate was mine.
