Page 100 of Her Devils

I don’t even have to think about it. I immediately nod, letting my two hot Devils drag me toward the middle of the dance floor.

It’s funny, but I find it difficult to think about them as Cove Angels. I guess it’ll be easier once I see them compete tomorrow in their brand-new blue wingsuits.

The music is some kind of hypnotic techno that catches you in its rhythm. Soon, my mind is empty of anything that isn’t moving my body in sync with the dozens of other bodies gyrating on the dance floor.

I find myself trapped between the two hottest bodies in the room as Jameson’s front is flush with my back and Channing moves in front of me so close that our chests are touching.

They smell so good, and I abandon myself to the feeling of their hard bodies and their familiar and yet exciting touches.

“Hmm,” I murmur when Jameson’s lips start gliding down the side of my neck.

My eyes are held captive by Channing’s green gaze, and the feeling of his hard, warm chest under my palms makes me fist the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to keep my hands from wandering south.

“Feeling hot yet, baby?” He chuckles, his warm, minty breath tickling the shell of my ear.

I nod, suddenly aware of the energy that’s coursing through my body. Hot need turns to liquid fire between my thighs, and I’m grateful for the support offered by their strong bodies.

“Do you want to dance some more, or do you want to follow us to my room and see the Eiffel Tower?” Jameson asks.

I turn my head to look into his intense gray eyes. “Did you get a room with a view of the tower?”

My question is met with soft chuckles. “Not exactly,” Channing answers.

I assume that maybe they both filmed our tour earlier like Peyton and Darrius did, and they want to show it to me. Whatever, I don’t care.

Parties are cool, but right now, I want to be somewhere a little more private. We’ve been so busy with the end of nationals and planning this impromptu trip that I really miss them.

“I’m up for anything you want to show me,” I say with a flirty little giggle that causes Channing’s smile to widen.

A look is exchanged between the lifelong friends and teammates in that silent communication I have witnessed between them a few times now.

“Let’s go then.”

I let Jameson take my hand in his, and I follow him through the room, headed toward the exit.

“Where are you guys going?”

Peyton’s slurred voice reaches us as we walk past the bar, and Jameson has to let go of my hand to prevent his team captain from falling over as he attempts to climb off the high bar stool he was occupying.

“What the fuck, Peyton?” Jameson seethes, grabbing his friend to support his weight when he sways once his feet are on the ground. “I thought you were talking to Penn.”

“We did shots,” he slurs. “Then dickface left me here. Man, I really don’t like that guy.”

Channing grabs Peyton’s other side. “Yeah, me neither, buddy. I can’t believe he left you here in this state.”

Peyton doesn’t seem to realize how drunk he sounds, because he looks confused. “What state? I’m fi—fine!”

His hiccup interrupts him, and his friends look at each other again.

“Fuck, he’s wasted. Let’s take him back to his room and get him to drink a shit ton of water,” Jameson decides.

***

Jameson

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IHOPE TO GOD PENNis as wasted as Peyton right now.

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