Chapter Twenty-One – Ezra #3
“Oh, no. Nope. The thought of a needle quickly poking holes through the top layer of skin gives me the heebie-jeebies, but I do like the way they look on a muscled man like yourself. The tattoos, the blue eyes, the blond hair—you’re a good-looking man, you know.”
“Am I? Please, go on.”
That gets her to laugh, and her laugh fills me with contentment. I want to hear her laugh again and again. Such an easy, light sound; it’s effortless for me to focus on it. For that matter, it’s easy for me to focus on everything that is her.
How she stands. How she looks up at me. The way her pink and blue hair frame her heart-shaped face. The almost metallic silver stare she has. And that’s not to mention the fact that I now know how soft her skin truly is.
“Tell you what,” she says with a grin, “anytime your ego needs some stroking, come to me and I’ll stroke it until it explodes.” Though she’s talking about my ego, the double entendre is crystal clear.
“Better not tell that to Royal. I’m sure he’ll take you up on that constantly.”
“He does, but I don’t mind. I like it, actually.
” She reaches up and twirls some of her hair around her finger, looking mighty cute in the process.
“I’m learning what each of you likes. I haven’t quite figured you out yet, but I think I have Royal down—and Hawthorne.
Did you know that man likes being told what to do?
For someone who’s in charge of this household, he’s a sub at heart. ”
“I want to say that’s news to me, but I may have heard some things coming from your room the other night.”
I was shocked, don’t get me wrong. With how adamant Hawthorne was in the beginning, with how serious he took it when I told him that she and Royal got down and dirty at our last kill, I would have assumed he would have the most willpower out of the three of us. Apparently I was wrong.
She shrugs and apologizes, although it’s evident she’s not really sorry at all: “Sorry. I guess that’s what happens when the walls are thin and your room is right across the hall. Next time, we can try to be quiet, but I make no promises. I like being loud, and I like ‘em loud, too.”
Maybe some of the guilt I’ve been feeling lately was also due to the fact that I laid in bed after overhearing some of those sounds and wondered what exactly was going on in that room… and wishing I was there myself. The shame and guilt stopped me from getting up and joining them.
“There’s going to be a next time?” I ask. Now that tightening isn’t just in my heart. It traveled a bit lower now. Again, talking to her really did make things clearer. I feel better than I have in so long.
“Why so curious? Planning on joining us?” She rakes her eyes up and down my figure, and you’d have to be blind to not see the desire in their depths. “Is that something you’d be into?”
“Would you believe me if I said no?”
“I don’t think you’d be asking if the answer was a no.” Blunt, straight to the point, calling me out on my crap. Just what I expect from her.
“It might surprise you, but something like that is new to me. What if I… don’t know what to do?” She might not really be beating around the bush, but I certainly am. I can’t outright say that I like her, that I want her, that I want to lose myself in her every which way.
Abby smirks. “Trust me, when you’re in the thick of it, everyone knows what to do. Sharing is caring, after all.” Spoken so straightforwardly, considering we’re talking about sharing her.
Speaking of liking things, I can’t help but think she likes it, too. Being shared. I don’t think something like that would be for everybody, just as I don’t think sharing one girl would be for everyone.
“And if you’re serious about joining us sometime, then don’t you worry your pretty little head.
I can walk you through it. Now, I should leave before we say anything else.
If we keep going with this, I might just start stroking that ego of yours here and now—and I don’t know if you’re ready for that. ”
She takes a step back from me, putting a good foot and a half between us.
“When you are, though, you know where I live.” She smirks harder before she saunters to the door, though she stops when she reaches it and tosses a glance back at me.
“I’m right across the hall. Right there.
” She points over her shoulder. “Just twenty seconds away. Right. Over. There.”
With that, she leaves me to my own devices. The only problem is I don’t want to be left alone. I want her to come back. I want to keep talking to her. I want to touch more than her cheek. God, I want to touch everything.
I stare at the open door, at where she was seconds ago, willing her to come back. It’s probably too fast, especially with how this talk began, but at the same time, I’ve been fighting it for so long. Too long.
A minute passes, or maybe the seconds only feel like minutes because of the conflict in me. As crystal clear as things are, going after her would surely only lead to one thing.
But I want it. I want her.
Shit. What am I supposed to do?