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I glanced at Feebee while shuffling through the drawer, wondering if she noticed the photo of Chandelle I had rehoused there.
Her downcast look told me all I needed to know. I pushed the drawer closed, penning a quick note on top of the table, before stepping out of my pants and scooching onto the bed, getting closer to her. I handed the note to her, her fingers brushing mine as she accepted the little green sheet.
I gave her time to read the message...
Your hippo is downstairs, and I know what you’re wondering. He was never hers. He was mine. A gift from my parents when I was little. But you can have him, if you promise to look after him.
I jotted another message, handing her that one, too.
I said some awful things a few nights ago. I didn’t mean them.
My anger was misplaced.
I’m sorry.
Sorry that I let my guilt manipulate me into monstrous actions when it comes to you.
I leaned in on her, this doing nothing for my persistent erection, my body shadowing hers as a single tear rolled over the roundness of her cheek and onto my finger as I lifted it away.
“Please, don’t let alcohol apologize on your behalf.”
Another note was given, this one written and rushed while I leaned over her. I added to the stereotyping of doctor’s handwriting, and her squinting eyes proved she had a hard time understanding it.
A drunken heart speaks sober words.
Her stare turned soft, her lips turning up. Mine mirrored hers. A magnetic pull brought us closer, gazes falling to each other’s lips. Our moment was interrupted by her head crashing into mine as another pain in her stomach took her hostage, bowing her forward.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She spoke with pain still heavy in her voice.
My fingers delicately brushed the red patch on her forehead, my pain sensors not even reminding me of the twin mark on my head.
“Maybe you should get my hippo.”
Another smile lifted my lips, my teeth popping through my lips, ready to nibble, bite, and brand.
I hated that I had to rush another note that wouldn’t convey the playfulness my voice would have.
You know...there are other things we could do to help with your cramps.
Given all that happened in the last twenty-four hours, I knew it was a risky suggestion. But she had a choice here. She held the power. A way to push Damiano from her mind because I wouldn’t allow another man there while I was inside her.
And, if she gave into me now, opened up her body willingly, her beautiful soul, too, after all the fucked-up shit I had done, I would never let her fucking go.
Her beautiful crystal gaze landed on me, fire and heat burning beyond the cool blue shade.
“Would it be weird if I said yes? You know, after what happened earlier.”
I shook my head, keeping my gaze sympathetic.
“It’ll be messy. I heard guys don’t like it.”
My left eyebrow practically hit my hairline, my sharp stare cutting the truth from her.
“I heard it in a movie.”
I’m not your typical movie guy, another note told her. Curved lips made a promise of desire. My teeth punctured the bottom one, eager to give me something to focus on other than my throbbing cock.
“I think it might help.” Pink nails—courtesy of Nonna yesterday, bright with layers of glitter—skated over my skin.
