Page 6 of Ruthless Desires: Vol. Two
He shrugs, not answering, but his smirk widens.
“Oliver!”
“You’ll see,” he says in a singsong voice.
Once he finishes with my makeup, he moves onto his. I watch as he applies it confidently, adding a little red eyeliner underneath his lower lash line. When he finishes, he puts everything away and helps me off the counter. His hands linger on my waist.
“Princess?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad we have you.”
I smile, kissing him. “I’m really glad I have you, too.”
Chapter two
Elliot
We did this to her.
I’ve been trying to keep that thought at bay. But seeing Wren in the kitchen like that?Fuck.
She was gripping the edge of the sink so hard her arms were shaking. She wasn’t breathing either, like she was so deep in a flashback she actually thought she was underwater.
This is exactly what I was afraid of.
It doesn’t matter, though. Wren is one of us now. And even if we could break things off, I wouldn’t want to. We belong together.
I just wish we’d been more careful.
Trust is such a hard thing to earn and such an easy thing to break. It’s even harder to build it back, I’d say. We didn’t intentionally betray Wren, but we promised we’d keep her safe, and then we failed.
And now? Now we have to prove to her that we’ll never let something like that happen again. I think the worst thing is that the only way to do that is with time.
As I watch her and Oliver head upstairs, I wonder if it would be a bad idea to suggest that Wren start going to therapy. I know a psychologist who could help her—he’s helped me, Rhett, and Oliver a lot over the years. The problem is how Wren will take it. Some people view needing therapy as a sign that they’re broken. Unfixable. That’s the last thing I want Wren to feel.
“You look like you have a lot on your mind.” Rhett perches on the arm of the love seat, towering over me. “Talk.”
“We need to help her.” Rubbing my face, I work through the different ways we could bring it up to her. Or maybe she’s already thought of it? Or maybe I should mind my own business and let her handle it the way she wants to.
With a hum of agreement, Rhett slides onto the cushion. It’s a tight fit, so our bodies are pressed up against each other. Normally, it’s something Rhett would avoid, but it doesn’t seem to be bugging him.
“Relax,” he murmurs, tilting my chin up with two fingers so I have to look into his eyes. The smell of cedar and sage acts as a soothing balm to my stress. “You’ve been tense all week.”
“I’m worried. About Wren. And Ol. Fuck, I’m worried about all three of you.”
He sighs, a knowing smile flitting across his features. “Get on the floor. Face away from me and sit in between my legs.”
I don’t question him. At this point, I’m too tired to think an independent thought. As I move to the floor, he adjusts himself so his legs are spread.
“Deep breaths,” he says. As I lean against the love seat, his hands find my shoulders, massaging lightly.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I’ll do it every night if I have to. Now relax.”
I try. After a couple deep breaths, some of the tension leaves my body, and Rhett starts massaging deeper into my muscles. I groan, and my eyes slide shut.
