Cutting him off, I wearily snark, “Yes, you had some good points to make about the day at the coffee shop—which Rath and I have heard, at length, daily—and I’m sure you delivered them to her in a calm, rational, reasonable way.” Narrowing my eyes, I add, “I saw the bruises. You ever wonder why she keeps shutting you out? Newsflash, Einstein: It’s because you’re a controlling asshole. And this is coming from me!” I say it like the whole damn world has gone crazy, and it’s possible it has. Story’s quiet snort takes me by surprise, but even though my lips twitch against my will, I don’t find it funny. This whole thing is twisted. “I mean, goddamn, Killer, maybe she just wants to be sure when she lets you in, she can still have space for herself. Do you think she feels like she has space when you’re pacing outside her fucking door every night? Shit, sometimes I want to shut the laptop on you, too.”
His eyes harden, head shaking vehemently. “She knew exactly what shutting that laptop would do.”
I throw my hands up, palms out. “I’m sorry. Are we still pretending this is about the laptop and not the fact the two of you are psychotically horny for one another?”
“What?!” Story sputters, head snapping back. “You’re delusional!”
I give her a long look. “Oh, please. This vicious cycle has been spinning since the day you stepped in here. Maybe sooner.” Like I’m speaking to a small child, I explain, “You pushing him to the brink of breaking is the biggest flirt in the Story Austin handbook. You do this shit constantly. Look at the two of you!” I gesture between them. To the tension. The sparks. The fury and the pure sex in the way they glare at each other. “You’re practically begging him to throw you up against a wall and fuck your brains out. You like it! It’s just not working this time, because you both know he can’t control himself. Not now. Not when he’s losing it this badly.”
Slowly, she shakes her head. “What are you even talking about?”
“I’m talking about the answer to all of this,” I say, thrusting a finger at Killer. “He’s been off the field for over a month. A month, Story. You know what he does when he’s pissed off and losing it like this?” I can see her working it out, outraged disbelief dawning in her features. “He either takes it to the field or he fucks it out of his system. Given he’s still benched from the gunshot wound, plus the parameters of the contract you set, he can’t do either of those things, now, can he?” Before that fuming argument in her eyes can manifest itself, I stop her. “Don’t. You’re obviously the horniest person in this house.”
“I am not!” she hotly insists, shoulders snapping back. “You’re completely out of your mind if you think I want this jerk anywhere—”
I approach her, casually shoving my hand down the front of her pants. Her words cut off with a strangled yelp, but even though she tries to lurch away, she doesn’t get far. I curl an arm around her waist and jam my hand between her legs, raising an eyebrow. “Not horny, huh? Because your pussy is drenched.” She’s close enough now that I can see the blush rising on her cheeks. Part of it might be embarrassment, and some may be indignation, but the rest is all about the way my fingers feel sliding through her folds. I let myself indulge a bit, leaning in to whisper against her ear. “Want Killer to fuck you, sweetheart?”
“N-no,” she stutters, clearly struggling to keep the resentment in her voice.
It wouldn’t be this hard to convince her if she really did. She’s stubborn, but she’s also reckless. This is why I think to ask, “Why not? You want him. I know you do.” There’s a pause as she breathes, and I use it to stroke her, spreading her wetness over her clit.
“He’d be…” Her hand curls into my shirt, voice pitched to a rough whisper. “He’ll be mean.”
Humming, I glance over my shoulder to witness the look on Killian’s face. All the tightness in his jaw has disappeared, replaced with a slack, dazed expression. God. He really is clueless. “Are you afraid he’ll be too rough?”
At her small, timid nod, Killian’s jaw clicks shut. “I’ll be rough?!” he exclaims, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Me? You’re the one who hit me! And the other night with Rath, you were—”
“Shut up,” I bark. Turning to Story, I touch her chin, forcing her gaze to mine. “What if I don’t let him? Hm?” I brush my lips over her warm cheek, asking, “What if I was here to make sure you’re safe?”