Frayed (Torn #2)(48)

“Banana Splits and shits?” Emma asked for our routine. I was surprised that she remembered our nicknames for them. It was one of our practiced routines, the best one we knew.

Grinning, I nodded at her. “Banana Splits and shits, baby!”

Banana splits and shits was a combination pirouette (walking sexily around the pole as you bend at the knee), carousel (sexy shit), chair spin (where we spun around whilst sitting), bow and arrow (upside down with both hands up holding onto the pole, a foot hooked around it and the other apart pose) and lastly the banana split (where we both dislodged our legs, up high on the pole, in the air and held on for dear life).

Thank goodness we were in one piece after the song ended. “We rocked it dude! I thought I was going to die before the banana, but thank God I survived that!” I gave Emma a high-five as we stepped off of the glittered stage.

“Gosh! We should definitely do more of those when we get back. I forgot how fun that was.” When we got to the table, the only one cheering us was Lindsey. Bass looked like he could commit murder. He was red from it. “Come on, that was fun, wasn’t it?” Emma pinched his cheeks until she got a small smile from him.

As soon as she was close enough to him, he grabbed her and planted her on his lap. “I admit, you looked extremely enchanting doing it. Still, Emma, you shouldn’t have. The men kept taking videos of you two. You’re so going to pay for that. I think you’ve stolen ten years off my life.”

I was smiling madly as I looked away from the couple, then my eyes landed on Taylor dancing with a brunette woman. They were practically having sex on the dance floor, but with clothes on. His hands were all over her, cupping her everywhere. Seeing him so into another woman made me feel sick.

He had made his point earlier this afternoon and I couldn’t help feeling that this was why he didn’t even want to f*uk me; he wanted a different woman. Even if he had been purple with pain, I still didn’t think he would have wanted me now. I wasn’t sure if it was my pride, ego or sexuality that was hurt more. Maybe all three since the pain that was crushing me at the moment was so excruciating that it wouldn’t even allow me to think straight. It was a different kind of pain compared to what I had gone through with Harry. Although, pain was pain and I was truly gutted.

Lindsey pulled me aside, so I didn’t have to keep watching those two pests dance the night away. “Em and Bass are leaving to go back to the yacht. Why don’t you go, hmm? You look tired, anyway.”

She was right. Today’s events were rather too much. Watching Taylor hook up with another woman was the last thing I needed, even though he and I weren’t anything to each other. He could do as he pleased and f*uk as he pleased. I just didn’t have to watch it go down. “Yeah, that would be a wise idea.” I finally conceded to Lindsey’s suggestion.

“He’s just being retarded, Tris. He’ll come to his senses.” Lindsey tried to reassure me, but failed miserably.

“It’s no big deal. It was sex, nothing more.” I was in love with Harry. Everyone knew that. Then, why did I feel hollow saying that now?





Chapter 18


Taylor


I watched Trista and Emma get on the pole, but my eyes were stuck on the woman who drove me mad, with lust and affection. My hardened cock lurched at the scene before me as Trista’s body easily melded with the pole, making love to it. I was sure the entire club was enthralled at the beautiful display of womanly art. A quick glance at Bass confirmed my suspicions that he was having the same feelings as mine. It was a sight to see, yes, but I did not appreciate the male audience roving their eyes over her body. The show was sexy and it made me want to think about the ways I wanted to take her tonight. Pole dancing, it seemed, was a touch away from pornography. No matter what the entire population said, it was—without a doubt—sexual, sensual and a blatant, taunting display of sex. A man was bound to think of tits and pussies as they rubbed their bodies against that cold steely pole.

Trista was doing a fine job at it, it; I had to hand it to her. Even though she and I weren’t talking much tonight, she truly had captured my thoughts and wayward imagination. She was a contradiction of feistiness, beauty, and confidence with a touch of vulnerability; a woman who wore her masks well. That tortured soul inside was held at bay when people were around, but when left alone, her demons hounded her.

At times I wondered if Harry cheated on her. I remembered eavesdropping at their conversation, hearing the vile accusations she had thrown at him. This led me to that very conclusion. There was no other reason I could come up with except that. What else could there be?

As she stood to follow Bass and Emma out of the club, my guts were telling me to run after her, I stayed put and tried to enjoy Libby’s company, though. She was more my type. Like my ex, Megan, she was brunette, tall, composed and beautiful. Tonight, however, I found any woman’s presence lacking. Well, apart from one that is.

The one who was too outspoken for my taste. The one who messed with my head in whichever way she could. The very woman who liked to push my buttons until I was seething with white-hot anger and rage. An anger that was matched with a simmering fire, making my cock hard with only a glance. Not to mention the fact that she was hopelessly and passionately in love with that bastard named Harry. All of that combined to make her the woman I should stay away from.

I was brought out of my frustrating thoughts of the hellcat when I felt Libby’s hand stroke my upper thigh, slightly brushing my cock while she was at it. “Do you want to drink some more or do you want to head out? We can do it however and do whatever you like,” Libby purred seductively in my ear.