Page 153 of Anger

She comes and I keep my stare glued to her face enjoying how her eyes clench shut before she becomes boneless beneath me. It makes me come just watching her.

Sweat drips down both our bodies as we pull apart.

She stares up at me as I attempt to figure out what to do about our mess.

“Just like that? You just jump away when you’re done?”

Side-eyeing her, I smirk. “Were you hoping to cuddle?”

She snorts. “No.”

I look around more and don’t want to just tuck myself in with her come on my dick.

As if intuiting my struggle, Blue says, “There’s a small drawer on the other side of the stage. You can find wipes and paper towels in there to clean up.”

Refusing to think why a drawer would be necessary in the room, I find it then pull out enough wipes to clean us both.”

It doesn’t matter how we feel about each other, I’m still taking care of her.

Blue deserves that much.

Once done with myself, I pull my jeans up to tuck my dick away and walk over to Blue to clean the mess I left between her legs.

“You’re taking care of me again.”

Ignoring her, I ask, “They got a trash can in this place?”

“Another drawer, on the other side of the stage.”

I find it quickly and dispose of the wipes.

Blue starts her interrogation without bothering to get up from the stage to get dressed.

“Your right eye,” she says, her breath coming out in short huffs.

Stop crying…

Be a man…

It made Ezra fight, didn’t it?

Seriously? What is so important to her about my scars? She’s driving me crazy and not in a good way. Rage trickles down my spine.

I guess what they say is true. Twins draw in so much more money…

It’s only five damn questions, and I have at least four times that in scars. She won’t get the full story. At least not tonight. Not ever if I can just keep my hands off her for once.

Easier said than done.

I can’t look at Blue without wanting her.

I can’t find the words to explain the answer to her question. They’re stuck in my throat, and I’m choking on them. I’ve pushed those memories so damn deep that the words are lost inside that locked box I’d shoved them in. Letting them out is too painful.

“Don’t you think you should get dressed before jumping down my throat about this shit?”

Snatching my shirt from where I tossed it, I pull it over my head and stab my arms through.

“Or are you an arm-chair therapist who does her best sessions in the nude? Is that all you’re fucking good for?”

---