Page 12 of Pucking Obsessed

“Fair.” Eden strides to join me on the porch.

Shay snaps his mouth shut, affronted. “Traitor to the Circle of Twins, bro.”

Eden ignores Shay as well, focusing on me. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, I remember that I’m a hot mess, who is sitting in congealing wine with a melting chocolate in the crack of my ass.

Hell, I hope that Eden believes that it’s chocolate.

I redden. “I’m just a victim of food play gone wrong.”

Eden’s brow wrinkles. “You shouldn’t play with your food.”

Shay laughs, brightly. “You should the way that I do it.”

Eden has golden hair like Shay, but it’s slicked back from his face. This makes his cheekbones look sharper than his brother’s. His right eyebrow is pierced, making him edgier too.

Eden is dressed in a gray t-shirt and black leather trousers. His bare feet are sandy. He’s clutching a book, however, which he’s somehow managed to keep pristine.

I’m not surprised. Books are Eden’s babies.

He is more relaxed than normal. Eden needs this weekend as much as the rest of us do.

His other arm is in a sling.

I can tell that D’Angelo is right about his pain rating for Eden’s shoulder, as well as his cracked ribs, by the deliberately stoic expression that he’s wearing.

Eden never complains. But I’m getting better at reading when heshould.

“Do you need any pain meds, phoenix?” I ask.

Eden shakes his head, although his lips twitch into an almost smile on thephoenix. “I’m fine.”

“Pain scale,” D’Angelo demands.

“Three,” Eden replies. “I can handle it.”

Then he drops his book onto the side of the couch, before reaching down and helping me to my feet.

Sunlight shines on the gorgeous tattoos on Eden’s bulging arms. The ink is in stark contrast to the ice-white of his skin.

Black roses wind up both of his forearms with spiky thorns.

I was privileged for him to tell me what his tattoos mean. Eden’s ink is a way of taking back control over his life and body.Black roses symbolize that he’s endured pain but he has still bloomed.

The twins were sold by their addict biological parents, when they were kids. They both have different ways of coping with that trauma, some of it healthy and some of it not.

But together, we are all finding ways to heal from our dark pasts.

Eden efficiently wipes the smeared chocolate off the side of my hip. I lap at his fingers to clean him up.

Yummy.

Food play after all.

D’Angelo wrinkles his nose. “You had better not get that mess on my immaculate couch. Wrap my principessa in that blanket, which is hung over the back of it.”

“You don’t need to make me sound like some poor orphan,who you’ve dragged into your mansion,” I mutter.

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