But rather my vagina.
Traitorous, useless thing, you are.
“That you know of,” he taunts in a low, husky whisper before placing a soft kiss on my lips and effectively silencing me. It’s short and anything but sweet. His hand flexes, and my pussy pulses in tandem. “Just don’t forget to scream my name when you’re holding that showerhead to your pussy. You can come knowing that I’ll be shouting yours, too.”
He releases me, slips a rose in my hand, and strides out of the bedroom, shooting me one last heated glance before clicking the door shut behind him.
I look down at the rose, twirling it in my hand as the world around me blurs. I’m not even capable of considering where he was hiding it this entire time. My heart is firmly lodged in my throat while I try to process his words. They’re currently wading through the animalistic arousal convoluting my body and struggling to make their way to my brain.
Was he just fucking with me? Or am I really about to tear apart my entire bathroom instead of taking a well-deserved bath? Because I did have plans with that showerhead, and Zade’s name tends to break free of my tongue when I make myself come.
I don’t want him to witness that.
I rock on my toes, deciding if I should just go kick his ass again instead.
But my bones are weary, sweat is trickling into places that only my loofah should be touching, and I’m well and truly horny now. Kicking his ass will somehow turn into him gaining entrance to mine, and I’m too tired to put myself in that situation.
Whatever. He can look just this once, but at least the dickhead can’t touch me from behind his stupid screen.
Chapter 27
The Manipulator
I
’m just drifting off into a deep sleep when I hear the creak of a door, my body jolting from the disturbance.
When I turn to look at the door, it’s firmly closed. My brow crinkles in confusion. Just when I convinced myself I was only hearing things, I see a movement out of the corner of my eye.
Sucking in a sharp breath, I turn and see Zade standing outside my balcony doors, a red cherry pulsating in the moonlight.
Wide awake, I sit up and glare. “How long have you been out there, you creep?” I snap.
Zade opens the doors the rest of the way, smoke billowing from his mouth.
“Awhile,” he answers flatly.
He flicks the butt of the cigarette out over the balcony and then reaches up and pulls his hood down from his head. The moonlight shines directly on him, making him glow beneath the soft aura.
Such a contradiction that something so dark shines so brightly beneath the light.
“Stop littering.”
“You’re much more pleasant when you don’t know I’m around,” he murmurs, his voice subdued as he walks in and closes the doors behind him.
I frown, squinting my eyes in an attempt to see his face clearer. There’s something off about him right now. He’s not his usual smirk-y hoity-toity self at the moment.
He was here just a couple of nights ago, going through more training with me. I finally got the hang of several of the moves he’s taught me.
I’m going to be a badass pretty soon.
“What’s wrong with you?” I snip, though the heat is missing. It’s almost like I’m feeling actual concern right now.
I raise a hand to my forehead and feel for any warmth. I must have a fever and be delirious from the sickness.
He steps from the shadows and comes closer. My body locks as he trudges to the bed and sits down on the edge. It’s not unusual to see his muscles straining against his clothing. I think he purposely shops for shirts and hoodies two sizes too small. But right now, his body looks rigid, and the muscles in his neck and shoulders appear bunched up.
“Just tired today,” he says quietly.
I frown harder, not liking this side of Zade. Or rather, not liking how much it bothers me seeing this side of him.
A battle renders me frozen as I try to decide what to do. Kick him out of my house, attitude be damned. Or pry into his odd behavior and show him that I just might care.
His head rolls, cracking his bones and making me cringe from the disturbingly grotesque noises.
“You uh, gotta lot of tension going on there, buddy,” I say, awkwardness dripping from the words. That makes me cringe harder.
He huffs out a laugh, but the amusement is missing.
Sighing, I relent and push the covers back. With great reluctance, I crawl towards Zade and kneel behind him. His body tenses, and I never thought I’d see Zade wary of me.
That concerns me more than anything.
“Take this off,” I demand softly, plucking at his hoodie. His head turns, presenting me with his side profile.
Very few people have attractive side profiles. That’s something that most people just don’t possess. But Zade looks beautiful, no matter what direction you look at him from.
“Why?” he asks, his tone flat.
Bristling, I open my mouth and begin to snap something at him. I’m trying to be nice, and he’s actually being difficult when this is already hard enough as it is. What’s that saying, don’t bite the hand that feeds you?
But I stop myself, the harsh words dangling from the tip of my tongue before falling to their death. This isn’t about me and how I feel, getting defensive isn’t going to solve anything. It’ll only result in making him feel worse and probably end up leaving. And oddly, that would just serve to make me feel like shit.
It shouldn’t. But it would.
“Because it would make things easier for me,” I say softly.
He opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say fell to its own death alongside my defensive words.
Relenting, he grabs his hoodie from behind his shoulders and pulls it over his head, dragging up his white t-shirt. I see a glimpse of an elaborate tattoo before his shirt falls back down.
He doesn’t say anything, just rests his elbows on his spread knees.
Balancing my butt on my heels, I blow out a breath and start kneading his shoulder muscles. It feels like pressing my knuckles into a boulder.
“Jesus,” I mutter, pressing harder. He groans deeply, his head dropping low between his shoulders as I dig at the knots polluting his muscles.
We don’t speak. Not for a little while. My hands grow tired, but I don’t complain, nor do I stop. Slowly, he relaxes beneath my touch, his muscles beginning to loosen beneath my persistent fingers.
“Tell me,” I whisper, attacking a particularly brutal knot that pulls a groan from deep in his chest.
He doesn’t respond right away, and I can feel the internal battle from outside his flesh and bones.
“I lost a young girl today,” he confesses, his voice hoarse and uneven.
I swallow, sadness spearing deep in my chest. He pauses, and I don’t speak. Letting him find the words at his own pace.
“She was very traumatized and wouldn’t stop screaming. I wasn’t in the building yet, I was still working my way in when I heard the gunshot go off.” He pauses, taking a moment to collect himself. “I heard the conversation before I killed them. She was fighting them tooth and nail. It didn’t matter how much they threatened to kill her, she fought anyways.”
His hands fist, and every muscle I worked hard to relax stiffens again as Zade fights against his own demons. I pinch my eyes shut, berating myself for what I’m about to do. But if I don’t… it would be unforgivable. I would hate myself.