Page 20 of Blaze & Ajax

“Something’s happened,” he said, jutting his chin at me.

No shit, Sherlock, I thought, keeping it to myself. “Nothing’s happened,” I said out loud.

He walked over to me as I removed my jacket and scarf to hang up, crowding my damn space. The bastard always knew what would get me to comply because I was weak.

Cueball stood so close that I could smell the coconut on his skin. It was such a sweet and simple smell for a hard and complicated person.

I tried to shove my way past him, but he stood his ground. “You need to talk.”

I huffed. “I don’t need shit.”

“You’ve been crying, and you never cry. Sit down on the couch and talk.”

“No, and I’m not fucking crying!”

“Sit!”

Cueball never raised his voice, so I jumped, making my heart beat too fast.

I huffed again and sat with folded arms like some damn petulant child. If I hadn’t been such a pussy, I’d tell him to fuck off.

Who was I kidding? I’d always been responsive to strong men.

He headed to the kitchen, rummaged around in the refrigerator, and came back with a can of beer. He handed it to me while he drank a glass of water.

I opened the tab and chugged back half of it, belching the bitter hops. I set the can on the old table, leaned forward, and ran my hands through my hair.

“Something’s going on with me. Ever since Ajax and I kissed…”

“You like him?”

I scoffed. “No, but… I’m fucked up, okay? The last thing I want to do is go into all the details, but years ago, there was someone in my life who, I believed, gave me back my power. I was his… sub. He controlled me through sex, and I fed off it. Looking back… I felt betrayed by his abandonment, realizing he never really cared. It had only been about the sex. Whatever. He doesn’t matter. But…”

“How old were you? You’re only twenty-four, and I’ve known you for years, so you must’ve been pretty young.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, I said it doesn’t matter.”

I squirmed on the couch, unable to hide my discomfort, and drank back the rest of my beer.

“How. Old. Were. You?” Cueball’s voice was calm but stern, always pulling the damn truth out of me.

“Sixteen, okay?! Fuck!”

I grabbed my can, stood, tossed it into the kitchen garbage, and grabbed another beer.

“How old was he?”

I sighed. “Fifty-one.”

“You’re right,” he said.

“About?”

I opened the can and took another sip of beer.

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