Chapter 26
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Red
Blue wears the moment like a challenge. Pink color highlights her cheeks. Her posture's relaxed, and there's a dangerous composure to her. It's the kind that comes only after surrender, when the body settles, and the eyes stay wild.
"You need to eat," I say, popping off the couch and moving toward the kitchen. Motion and tasks help. If I stop or look at her too long, I'll start rewriting the last ten minutes in my head.
I grab a bottle of water out of the fridge and twist the cap off harder than necessary, gazing over at Blue.
I crossed another line.
My eyes drag across Blue's naked body, draped across my sofa. The taste of her pussy's still fresh on my tongue but my mouth waters for more. I expect guilt to pop up, but to my surprise, my cock stays hard, and my mind drifts into a familiar fantasy, where she wears the white lingerie she made.
She turns her head, meets my eyes, and asks, "Is the steak still warm?"
I put my hand over the foil, and warmth floods my palm. "Yeah. It's perfect," I answer, then carry the plate back into the living room, assessing her further.
She's so calm right now.
She got what she wanted.
She wanted me in her ass.
Jesus Christ.
I set the plate down on the coffee table, careful not to let my fingers brush hers. "Time to eat, Bluebird."
Her mouth doesn't quite smile. One corner lifts first, slow and deliberate, while the rest of her face stays composed. Her smile lingers just long enough to make it clear. She knows exactly what she's doing, and she's enjoying it. "Yes, Doctor."
My jaw locks. I pick up the water and hold it out to her, ordering, "Drink first."
She takes it, deliberately letting her fingers skim my wrist. A jolt of fresh tingles prick my skin all the way up my arm. She tilts the bottle back, swallows, and her stare never leaves mine.
This isn't aftercare.
This is provocation disguised as compliance.
"Two more sips," I demand when she lowers the bottle, needing to reinforce I'm in charge.
She obeys, utilizing her obedience as her favorite weapon, bats her lashes, and taunts, "Is there anything else I can do for you?" She glances at my cock.
Heat drums through me in a sharp, relentless rhythm. I decide to sit in the armchair across from her instead of beside her, needing distance to reinforce my control over this situation. I remove the foil from her plate, then lace my fingers together to keep them still. "Eat your steak."
For a moment, there's only the soft sound of her fork against the plate, and the flicker of candlelight I should have blown out already.
I glance at the wadded ball of red lace and satin, evidence of my failed restraint.
Why don't I feel guilty?
Out of duty to my profession, I declare, "You can't do this again."
She pauses mid-bite and arches her eyebrows. "Do what?"
"You know exactly what I mean," I retort, keeping my voice level.
"Cook you dinner?" She purses her lips.
"You can't break into my home, manufacture a crisis, or use therapeutic language to justify escalation."
Her eyes brighten at the word escalation. "You taught me that word."
I exhale through my nose. "I taught you how to regulate, not how to manipulate."
She chews thoughtfully, then swallows. "I'm not dysregulated."
I stare at her.
"Look at me, Red. I'm calm as a cucumber. That was the goal, right?"
I shouldn't engage. I know that. But the part of me that's still shaking wants to argue. "The goal is safety."
"I was safe." She gestures vaguely around the room. "I'm safer now than I've been in weeks."
Her certainty slides under my skin. I keep my face neutral, but the argument I'd rehearsed too many times since meeting her loses its edge. There's a faint sense of rightness about her rationalizing us, no matter how unwelcome or undeniable. It's a piece clicking into place when it shouldn't.
I draw a slow breath through my nose, letting the moment stretch, letting her words sit.
This is a mistake.
No, it's not.
Part of me wants to let her keep talking, but every fear I have about what might happen if I do, rises.
I glance at the clock on the wall. It's later than I thought. She should be home, in her bed, resting.
My chest tightens as my mind jumps tracks. Adrian Ivanov's calculating, suspicious eyes should be enough to make me stop my improper behavior. If he knew where she was right now, I don't put it past him to actually kill me.
"Red, aren't you happy I feel safe with you?" she asks.
"You know it's not that simple," I remind her.
Her smile fades, just a fraction. "You make it more complicated than it needs to be."
"I'm not." I stand abruptly and move to the window, staring out at the city lights, needing another view than her naked self on my couch, pliant and defiant at the same time.
She slides behind me and wraps her arms around my waist. She murmurs, "Stop worrying. Love is love."
Love.
The hairs on my arms rise.
Tell her this isn't love.
I blurt out, "You're here because I failed to maintain boundaries. This has to end tonight."
"I didn't force you to break your boundary. You did it because you had to," she insists.
I deeply inhale, then exhale, trying to erase the uncontrollable desire racing through me, wanting to give in and take everything she claims she wants to give me. The words taste bitter. I admit, "No. You didn't force me."
Her phone explodes with a sudden wall of music, tearing through the room. The speaker crackles as the opening beat blares out, too loud, too sharp, vibrating against the surface it's lying on.
Every muscle in my body goes tight. I spin, ordering, too fast, "Don't answer that."
She watches me, her curiosity sparking. "You scared, Dr. Mercer?"
I nod. "Yes."
Her eyes widen, breath catching as her brows lift. For a split second, she freezes. Her mouth parts and hands still, like the moment has knocked her off-balance before she can recover.
The song blares two more times.
I cross the room in three strides and pick up the phone. Dad and Adrian's photo lights up on the screen.
My stomach drops.
I don't answer. I toss it in her oversized bag. "Eat. You need protein."
"You don't want to talk to my father?" she taunts.
"No."
"Why not?"
"You know why."
Her lips twitch. She saunters over to the couch, sits down, and daintily eats a piece of steak. She chews, tilts her head, and coos, "Mmm."
My cock throbs with fresh, hot blood.
She swallows, licks her lips, and says, "Aren't you going to eat? I made you a rib eye, too."
A knock slams against the front door.
I nearly jump out of my skin.
Blue's eyes turn to slits, with anger misfiring where curiosity used to be. "Are you expecting someone?"
Her jealousy steadies me. The turmoil inside me eases. If she's jealous, she's invested enough to care who touches my world and who doesn't. It lands with new fire in my core.
I straighten, my instincts snapping into place. I put a blanket over her. "Stay here. Don't move."
"You don't want me answering your door naked?" she smirks.
Another knock hits again, and my body reacts before my mind finishes the thought.
Adrenaline sharpens everything while sound compresses. The room narrows to the door, and the woman behind me, who shouldn't be here.
"Stay," I tell her, already moving.
Her chin lifts, eyes bright, pulse unmistakable even from across the room.
Danger lights her up.
She's too damn sexy.
I need therapy myself.
I reach the door and pause, bracing my hand on the wood. I lean in and check the peephole first, praying it's not her father.
Cloud?
My new neighbor stands in the hallway, her hair piled on top of her head, weight shifted to one hip, like she's halfway between casual and concerned.
Relief and panic collide in my chest. I close my eyes for half a second, then go near Blue, quietly ordering, "Blue, bedroom. Now."
She doesn't move.
I add in a firm mumble, "Take off your heels. Stay quiet." I spin and go to the door, looking out the peephole again.
Blue's heat hits my back. Her voice brushes my ear, soft and reckless. "You don't like being watched?"
My balls tighten. It's why I have to fight the urge to give in to her. She loves chaos disguised as play, and the more time I spend with her, the more I realize I love it, and maybe more than she does.
I slide my hand in her hair, tug her head back, and murmur against her ear as she gasps, "Bedroom. This isn't a game."
Her challenging gaze hits mine, then she presses her hand against my chest. "Okay. You win."
Relieved, I release her.
Instead of obeying, she tightens her grip around the blanket and peeks through the eyehole. She shrieks, "Cloud!"
Panic hits me. She's being too loud, but how does she know who Cloud is?
In my moment of confusion, she slides past me and whips the door open. She chirps, "Cloud!"
My pulse slams hard enough to rattle my ribs.
How does she know her name?
Cloud's face lights up instantly. "Oh my God, hi!" Her gaze drops, then sweeps back up, zeroing in on Blue wrapped in nothing but my blanket. Instead of alarm, she wiggles her eyebrows and beams. "Did I interrupt something?"
I freeze where I stand, every scenario detonating at once in my head.
Blue steps fully into the doorway, clutching the blanket at her chest like she's modest out of habit, not necessity.
Cloud laughs and lifts her hand, holding up a dead phone like proof of a crime. "I dropped my phone in the sink. Fully submerged. Gone."
"Oh no! That sucks!" Blue sympathizes.
"Yes." Cloud shakes her head. "I swear my life is a string of preventable accidents."
"Aw. I'm sorry!" Blue offers.
Cloud winces. "By any chance, do you have any rice? I heard it can get the water out of your phone?"
Blue turns toward me. "Red, do we have any?"
We.
I stare at them, tongue-tied.
Blue puts her hand on my cheek. "Babe? Do we have rice?"
I snap out of it. "Um. I think so. "
"Great. Come on in," Blue says, opening the door wider.