Page 51 of The Rivals' Touch

“That’s good,” Bennett replies, oblivious to the tension in the air.

“Can I phone you back, babe? I just need to get these assholes out of my room.”

He chuckles. “Sure.”

After I end the call, I throw my phone down on the bed. “Haven’t you got girls to entertain?”

“We do,” Zayd agrees, towering over me. His hair is damp from the evening rain, and he smells of nature and the forbidden. “But I had more pressing matters to deal with.”

Jacob fingers the dog tag around my neck. “Did we say you could show your body to other men?”

“He’s my boyfriend!”

Zayd chuckles and slides Bennett’s jersey off my shoulder. His fingers linger on my skin. “No other man is to see you naked, understood? I don’t fucking care who it is.”

Jacob steps around me and grabs my hips from behind, pulling me against his hard chest.

And his crotch.

“You can’t do that! He’s my boyfriend!”

Zayd boxes me in; his heat presses against my chest. “Watch me!” Then he snatches up my phone and grabs my arm.

I’m dragged into Zayd’s bedroom, where he dumps me on the couch pushed up against the back wall. “Stay!”

My mouth falls open. “Stay?! I’m not fucking staying here. Give me my phone! I promised Bennett I would call him back!”

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, pulling it away from my teeth. “I call the shots here, sis. You’re not calling Bennett back.”

Fighting the sudden urge to punch him, I fist my hands and grit my teeth. “My father will have something to say about this!”

Zayd chuckles and walks over to one of the girls by the bed. She’s watching us curiously.

“I’ll deal with Daddy dearest when he returns.” Then his lips are on hers, and she’s burying her fingers in his dark hair.

Jacob has the other girl pushed up against the wall facing my room.

As I watch, he slides his hand inside her tiny skirt. I’m not staying for this. Who the fuck do they think they are?

I shoot up and storm out, ignoring their mocking laughter. My phone is still in Zayd’s pocket, but at least I’m not watching them fuck those girls. The moaning emanating through the walls is enough.

Here’s to another sleepless night.

* * *

The following morning, I nearly choke on my cereal when Zayd walks into the kitchen shirtless, dressed in only his tight, black boxers.

Jesus Christ, his body…

It’s impossible not to ogle him while he opens the fridge, his back to me, and roots through it. He’s ripped, with more tattoos than I can count, and the muscles in his back move enticingly as he grabs a protein shake and a pre-made sandwich.

He walks over to the counter and turns on the coffee machine. After last night’s sex marathon, he’ll need plenty of caffeine. The mere thought puts me off my cereal.

By the time it finally quieted down, it was four in the morning. I’d spent the entire night fighting the urge to cause a fucking scene so the girls would leave. Why? Because I was jealous. It’s twisted beyond belief.

I don’t understand myself anymore. Since I got here, I have lost my sanity. It’s the only reasonable explanation as to why I feel this way.

Zayd grips the counter behind him and runs a hand down his face. His dark bed hair—falling in his eyes and curling at the nape of his neck—is a tousled mess, and his taut abs and chiseled chest cause me to hunger for things not food-related. Not to mention his happy trail, leading down to that delicious bulge in his boxers.

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