“Sylvie”.
He turned to face me again but my eyes stayed at the wall of his chest, the vision of his back burned in my brain.
“I been back not even a whole f**kin’ day, Sylvie,” he went on and my eyes cut to his face. “And we’re f**kin’ on the floor of your back room amidst a pile of f**kin’ ziti.”
“You f**king motherfucker,” I whispered.
He ignored me and asked, “You get yet that we need to talk?”
I shook my head and ignored the pit in my stomach.
“We’re not gonna talk.”
He tore a hand through his hair and bit out, “Fuck, Sylvie.”
“We are not gonna talk,” I repeated with added emphasis.
His hand swept out in an arc indicating the couch and the floor. “So, that’s not gonna happen again?”
“You’re really f**king good at giving head so, no. I won’t say that. I’ll take seconds. Even thirds.”
His brows shot up and his escalating anger slithered through the room. “You gotta be shittin’ me.”
“I’m not.” I tilted my head. “Unless it wasn’t good for you. If it wasn’t then I’ll take my attention elsewhere.”
His anger gathered, grew, built, filled the room.
We held each other’s eyes in silence.
Creed broke it by asking something that wasn’t his to have.
“Why don’t you like to be held down?”
It wasn’t his to have but still, in a way, he deserved it so I gave it to him.
“He held me down. He also tied me down. I didn’t like it.”
His hard jaw got harder and a muscle ticked there.
Then he whispered, “You didn’t like it.”
“I didn’t like anything he did to me.”
His entire face got hard and the muscle moved to leap in his cheek.
Then he remarked, “So now they’re all just cocks.”
I jerked up my chin. “Yup.”
“And you want me to be one of them.”
“Uh… Creed, hello?” I swung out an arm to indicate the room. “You already are.”
He shook his head. “No getting in there?”
I shook mine too. “Nope. Not you. Not anyone. But especially not you.”
“You won’t dig deep,” he said quietly.