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“I’m not,” he smugly sneers. “It’s what your actions heavily imply.”
“Then let them also imply that I’m fucking done talking to you.” Flashing him my middle finger is followed by making a comment to J.T. “Rein check on the flick, Riker. I think I’m gonna drown my stress in the hot tub since my stomach won’t let me drown it in beer.”
He simply nods and watches me dismiss myself from the room without giving my fiancé another glance.
Getting changed out of my uniform and into my black string bikini – with the extra cheeky bottoms – doesn’t take much time.
And neither does strutting back through the living room where the man who sweetly asked me to marry him on a Tuesday – aka “our day” – is forced to admire my ass provocatively bent over during the retrieving of my word search booklet.
His hungry grumbles are enough on their own to spark a vindictive smirk; however, I can’t resist the urge to push him more.
Wordlessly continue what feels like a never-ending power struggle in our relationship.
“Oh!” loudly precedes leaning over the edge of the couch space between them, tit purposely brushing against Wes’s arm, during the stretching motion. “There’s my pen.”
An undeniable, dark gnarl rattles the piece of furniture I’m bent over prompting Puppet Boy to whisper, “You’re evil, Shinzon.”
“Picard started it,” is sassily mumbled prior to popping completely back up, forcing my barely covered chest to bounce. “Enjoy the movie, boys.”
Unsurprisingly, I’m not even in the steamy water, positioned over the edge beside my grabbed pool towel, searching for words for a full five minutes before I’m watching J.T. make the executive decision to leave on the other side of the glass wall.
Of course he’s bailing.
Who wants to be caught in a Battle of Wolf 359 simulation?
Pretending to find something on the page masks my tracking of his cleaning actions.
His frustrated back of the neck squeezes.
His periodic pointless pacing.
It’s more than apparent that something deeper than my inability to go this weekend is bothering him, but what it is…isn’t.
And his obnoxious behavior of recreating the mob boss vibe from Shark Tale rather than just engage in an open discussion with the person he swears he wants to have a future is infuriating.
And unfair.
And the last fucking thing I need after learning that my finned best friend who listens to me bitch about him may be on a ticking clock I didn’t see coming.
I wait until Wes is finally walking in my direction before theatrically wiggling out of my string bikini bottoms. Right as he opens the door, I casually toss them to one side, yet wait until he gets closer to make a bigger production out of removing my top too.
There’s no denying the pained pursing of his lips that’s followed by him shoving his balled fists into his black pantsuit’s pockets while I dry hands on my nearby towel. “Punishing me, little prey?”
“Yes.”
His mouth moves to speak again, and I purposely readjust my figure to ensure he almost gets a glimpse at my nipples. After deep, primal groans are barely swallowed, he gruffly asks, “If I come closer to have a conversation, are you going to make it even more difficult to have?”
“Absolutely.”
Against his own volition, he smirks.
Shakes his head.
Shrugs and sighs in surrender. “Thank you for being honest.”
“I’m not sure how to be anything else.”
“I know.” At that, Wes takes a cautious step forward. “And it is one of the many, many things, I love about you, Bryn.”
