Page 20 of Chasing Storm

Elijah raises his hands. “I didn’t say she’s staying. I’m saying she might want to because, like I said earlier, you’re a dumb fuck.”

Gripping the handle, I fling the door open hard enough it hits the wall. Without another word, I head to our bedroom.

Tea is reading in the chair by the window. Her pink painted toenails wiggle on the table as she turns a page, completely ignoring me. While I remove items from the dresser and put them in the suitcase, I keep giving her sideway glances, but she doesn’t show any acknowledgement of me. It pisses me off. I hate the silent treatment, especially from her.

“We’re leaving tomorrow.” Nothing. No words or reaction. “Tea!”

Still nothing. I stomp over to her, snatch the book from her hand, and repeat, “We’re leaving.” She faces the window, gazing out at the darkness.

“Talk to me, Tea!”

Her head turns in slow motion, glaring at me. “Fuck. You.”

I toss her book on the table and heave her up by her arms. “It would be my pleasure.”

She’s gritting her teeth, eyes narrowed on me, and argues, “Yours only.”

In an instant, I remove my grip, and a grin tugs at the corners of her mouth.

Her eyebrows rise as she says, “Oh, did I say that out loud?”

I punch the air and respond, “Fine! I’m sorry.”

Teagan folds her arms in front, pushing up those breasts I love to bury my face in. “For what?”

Fuck! She’s not giving in easily.

My jaw clenches and my nostrils flare when I say, “For accusing you of flirting.”

“Oh, is that what you were accusing me of?”

I point my finger at her. “Don’t play games, Tea. I said I’m sorry.”

She steps into my space, cups my balls, and counters, “That’s not an apology. It’s a sad excuse for someone who isn’t getting his way.” Her hand tightens enough to stop me from moving. “FlingingI’m sorry, won’t get you anywhere. You owe me a huge apology and groveling.”

She squeezes my nuts hard. I squeak, and she lets go. Fucking squeak! This woman has me by the balls, literally and figuratively. I reposition my dick and run a hand down my face.

Grovel? I don’t grovel. She submits to me, not the other way around. I glare at her from my periphery. She’s smiling with her arms still crossed. My firefly. From her actions over the last hour, I don’t see her relenting soon.

How does one grovel?

My arms fly out from my sides as I ask, “What do you want from me, Tea?”

“Groveling.”

I punch the air again while saying, “I don’t grovel.”

She pushes me back and shouts, “Then you better fucking learn. What you accused me of and the way you commanded me afterwards, calls for a lot of begging for forgiveness.” Her anger heats the room as she steps into me. With every word, she pokes at my chest. “I. Deserve. Every. Plea.”

God, this woman is killing me. I don’t want her mad. I want her love. But I also don’t want to beg. That’s not me. My face pinches into a plea. She shakes her head and laughs.

“Tea—”

“Do you love me, Joey?”

“You know I do.”

“Do you realize you can be a possessive jealous asshole and you accused me of wanting Elijah?” My eyes divert hers for a second before I look back and give her a nod. “Then plead for my forgiveness.”

---