Page 89 of Sadistic

But as he strips off his shirt, revealing abs you could wash clothes on, all I can think is that Doran does this better.

When the real Doran touches me, I combust.

This is just... athletic.

My phone buzzes.

I pull it out while the dancer's doing something complicated with his abs.

Doran:

Enjoying your party, little wolf?

Me:

This stripper wishes he was you.

Doran:

Stripper?

Me:

Rhiannon hired a whole troupe. One looks like you.

Doran:

Is he still breathing?

Me:

Possessive bastard.

Doran:

Your possessive bastard. Have fun, but remember who you belong to.

"Are you seriously texting during your lap dance?" Elfe shouts over the music.

I put my phone away, trying to focus on the performance.

The dancer's shirt is gone now, and my friends are losing their minds.

Charm and my mother are doing shots, Greer's recording everything on her phone, and Rhiannon's stuffing bills in various g-strings with wild abandon.

"Your turn!" She shoves a very pregnant Everly toward another dancer. "Married ladies need love too!"

The party continues, getting progressively wilder.

At some point, someone orders room service—champagne and an obscene amount of food.

The dancers eventually leave with very generous tips, and we collapse around the suite, laughing and exhausted.

"That was..." my mom starts, then hiccups. "That was amazing."

"See?" Rhiannon grins. "I told you hen parties were important."

"Bachelorette," I correct weakly.

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