Page 153 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part One

“Storm, I know things are new between us, and I have no right to expect you to be open with me?—”

“You have every fucking right, Shae,” I grind out. My abdominal muscles activate when I crunch my body up to sit straight. Facing her, I place my hand behind her neck, bringing her face close to mine.

“I know you’re mine. But do you know I’m yours? You own me, Shae Olivya Rivers.”

She shakes her head and slides her eyes closed.

“Storm,” she starts, but when she shifts on the sofa, her knee accidentally bumps the pizza box, which causes both of our half-full Coke cans to spill all over the glass.

“Oh, shit! I’m sorry!” She jumps up, and I do the same, swiping my phone off the table and tossing it on the couch cushion.

“I-I’ll clean it,” she stutters, righting the overturned Coke cans and pizza box.

“It’s okay, Shae,” I say, already backing into the kitchen. “I’ll grab some paper towels.”

The “okay” she whispers is faint. Confused.

In the kitchen, I open a new roll of Bounty and toss the plastic wrapper in the trash. Grabbing a small disposable shopping bag, I make my way back into the living room….

…only to stop short when I catch sight of a tight-lipped Shae standing in the middle of the living room with my phone in one trembling hand.

“Shae?” I ask, immediately concerned. “What’s going on, baby?”

She chuckles, and it’s a deep,you-got-me-fucked-upsound.

“Why don’t you tell me?” Her voice is strong, but there’s an edge to it.

I exhale into a groan. “Shae, I’ve had a long day, and all I want is to hold you and go to sleep with your taste on my tongue. Can we do that, baby?”

She sucks her teeth and walks closer to me.

“Boy,please.” She shoves my phone into my chest.

I look down, pressing the side button to light up the screen. Everything becomes clear now—the message on the screen is damning as fuck.

Guess I just miss how things used to be. Don’t worry, I won’t say anything to her.

Fuck.Fuck.

“Shae!” I shout, resisting the urge to slam the cell into a million pieces. Anger and frustration—at Bambi, at my-fucking-self—have me instantly wanting to destroy shit.

I’m about to boil over, and there’s no safe place for me to set my rage.

I turn almost in a full circle to try to find Shae, and when a softthudcomes from the direction of my bedroom, I nearly sprint there.

“What the fuck are you doing, Shae?” She shoves one leg into her soft sweatpants as if they’ve offended her, and she jumps to get the fabric over her ample ass.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Storm? I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

I snap. That’s the only way to describe it. Because one moment I’m standing in the doorway to my room, the next I have her back pulled to my chest and I’m almost literally pinning her to my body to prevent her from leaving.

Let her go, Storm. If she wants to leave, let her go.

My higher self knows what to do, but my heart? My soul?

“Stop running. Let’s talk.” I damn near faceplant into the curls at the base of her neck in an attempt to calm my racing heart.

Everything starts to spin, and the damn messages on my phone are the reason why.

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