Page 69 of Beautifully Wounded

I can’t help it. The need to obey him and please him is ridiculous, yet it controls me as I do as he asks, my fingertips scratching into his scalp.

“Fuuuuck, Angel. You know how to make a man hard.”

One of those embarrassing squeaks flies from me again as this time, I successfully pull my hand free, and Ringo’s chuckle fills the space of the laundry room as I shove him back.

“Stop.” I order, yet I can’t hide my smirk and his eyes, light from laughter, lock with mine.

“Darlin’, I’m a man, locked in a room with a beautiful woman who smells fucking intoxicating, makes the sexiest little whimpers, and scratched my head. I can’t control my reaction.”

He thinks I’m beautiful? That I smell… intoxicating? And he thinks my pathetic whimpers are sexy?

Oh shit. Why did he have to admit that to me?

Don’t be that girl, Abbey. Compliments don’t mean I should spread my legs. Been there, done that. Was the worst decision of my life.

“Can we go?” I ask quietly, and he turns, pulling back the curtain covering the window to peer out.

I don’t miss the way he rearranges his junk in his jeans. I guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was hard.

“Yeah, I guessenough time has passed for a quick fuck.” He turns back to me. “Are you good? Do you need to go back to the room and take a minute?”

I frown, confused by his question. “A minute?”

“You know.” He shrugs. “To scratch that itch you were feeling.”

Itch?

Oh.

OH.

“No.” I shake my head quickly, my cheeks flaming with heat once again.

The smart thing would be to try and scratch that itch, but I already kinda tried when I woke in bed earlier, and the moment I touched myself, the ache went out like a bucket of iced water was thrown on me.

Yeah, it probably had to do with the memory of Daniel creeping its way in, but still. If I need to go back to the room for anything, it’s to douse the fire, not let it build until it explodes.

Offering me his hand, Ringo helps me down from the washer, and I realise as we rejoin the others, that he was messing my hair up before to make it look like we… well, you know.

We’re met with some hoots and hollers, and everyone seems to forget about it within minutes of us sitting back down with the group.

Ringo hands me his phone, opening the app and quietly tells me the info for Tahli’s and Lexi’s usernames, and the moment I set up my profile and create a new message to my little sister, she responds.

Tearsfill my eyes, my smile wide, and I duck my head, hoping no one sees it, but a moment later, Ringo’s large hand takes mine, urging me up off the seat next to him and onto his lap.

“Just relax, Angel.” He rasps quietly, and he positions me to rest against him, my ear pressed to his chest where the loud thrum of his heart somehow soothes me.

I curl into him, focusing on my phone as I chat in text to Tahli, finally feeling some peace that she’s okay.

We spend a couple of hours in the sun, the men and women in fits of laughter as some of the men do what they call, Rona Olympics, which consists of doing stupid stuff, either blindfolded, or with their arms tied behind their backs, or after downing six shots of whiskey and then seeing who can run the longest without throwing up.

That was when I excused myself, because,ew.

Tahli had gone offline about thirty minutes before that anyway, and the hot sun was making me tired, so when I excused myself to go back to Ringo’s room, he followed.

We both laid on the bed, the ceiling fan on full blast as we tried to cool off.

Not for the first time, Ringo insisted I take the hoodie off, but I just shook my head and focused on his phone to chat in the Koala-roo app with Lexi this time.

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