I laugh, balling up the tissue and setting it by my side on the cushion. Scratching under the rim of my cast I confess, “I was horny, too. I used to climb the poles that held up the swings because it made me have an orgasm.”
Troy’s lips part. “It did?”
“I’m a Scorpio,” I shrug.
His eyes are enflamed with interest, and he’s not going to let me shrug this one off. “Hold on. Hold on. Explain this whole climbing poles thing.”
I give him a saucy smile, even though my nose is probably as red as Rudolf’s. “Well, when you climb up, you’re rubbing yourself a little on the steel, and your legs are wrapped around it. And each time you push yourself up higher, you rub a little more. The first time I did it, I didn’t know why it felt so good. So I tried it again. And again.” Leaning in a bit, my voice gets softer. “The motion of your legs moving like that makes it so that these sensations start building between your legs. It’s like something is about to happen, and soon everything tenses and you feel this throbbing that you can’t quite understand. But you never want it to stop. So you find ways to climb the pole again, like having kids dare you to get all the way to the top. I always could. But I had to stop at least once before I made it.” Sitting back I smirk, “That was my first orgasm.”
Just the memory has me hot and bothered now.
Troy is staring like he wants to be that pole. But I won’t give him that satisfaction. At least, not yet. It’s powerful to make him sit on the edge of his seat like this. But actually having sex with him would give that power over.
That’s what I’ve learned.
I get attached.
I never thought I would.
Most would say I’m an ice queen.
But it turns out, I’m a woman.
Troy unconsciously licks his lips. “You dirty little girl.”
Heat rushes to my pussy. “I just have a healthy appetite.” Lifting the pizza to my mouth, I hold his eyes and take a bite.
“Climbing poles and eating pizza. You’re not playing fair, Marion.” He comes closer, voice thick. “Let me feed you that.”
I swallow the small bite I took, blinking at him with heavy eyelids. “You want to feed me?”
He takes the slice and lifts it just shy of my lips. “Take a bite, dirty ballerina. Open your mouth and taste what I’ve got to give you.”
My heart is pounding, but not nearly as hard as the dull throb between my legs. I open up and he brushes the pointy tip just inside my teeth.
A knock at the door surprises us.
I take a quick bite, snapping it out of his hand. Troy shakes his head, “Naughty naughty,” and rises to answer it.
Jack strolls in.
Shocking both of us.
My breath catches at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous in black slacks and a blue button-up, his tie still tight around his trunk-like neck. It’s like a lumberjack got dressed up for a cocktail party.
Hot.
Troy is eyeing his friend. “You came by to check on her progress?”
A growl comes quick and fierce. “You have a problem with that?”
Troy smirks, “You want me blocking now or later?”
This has a simmering effect on Jack. Why, I don’t know. Some kind of inside-joke between them?
I’m just happy he’s here. Happy they’re both here, if I’m honest. It’s a very comforting feeling, despite my resistance to help. I’ve been strong for so long. And my friends have dwindled to zero.
Maybe I need this?
Two men looking after me?
Would that be wrong?
I hold up a triangle of veggie pesto and offer it to our handsome guest, hoping he’ll stay. Maybe for the whole night. And then some. “Pizza, Jack?”
He eyes it and walks over to accept the slice. “Thanks.” Waving it at Troy, he asks, “This your idea?”
“She needs to eat something.”
“She’s beautiful the way she is.”
The barked compliment multiplies the throbbing between my legs, all the blood rushing there in hot waves of need. There they are, Troy and Jack, standing in my living room like the best and tallest study in male beauty that this side of Atlanta has to offer, and I’m their only audience.
But then Jack admits, “I was thinking the same thing, though.”
I wake up from my fantasy and snap, “Hey! I work hard to look like this!”
“And you’re not dancing now. So why don’t you stop starving yourself and relax?”
“Jack, you’re rude. Don’t talk to me like that!”
“I’ll talk to you how I want!” He takes a bite, and mutters. “Sorry.”
“Don’t bow down so damn quick, either!”
His blue eyes sparkle as he sizes me up. But like someone shouted at him to leave, he spins around and marches out the door. “Take it from here, Troy!”
We stare after him and I jiggle my head to force the confusion out. Troy walks to the pizza box and fetches himself a fresh slice, rather than picking up the crust he tossed. Locking eyes with me, he smirks, “Hi roomie,” and takes a bite.
“Don’t look so smug.”
“Who’s smug?”
“You!”
“I’m just here to make your life better.”
“And I’m going to keep making yours worse.”
Troy chuckles, “Combative much?”
“If you both think I need help, you’re wrong!”
What are you doing, Mar?
You do need help.
And you want it!
His heavy eyebrows cock up. “Am I wrong? Because I don’t think I am.” Chewing what’s left in his mouth he holds up a finger wanting me to wait for him to say more.
“Don’t shush me, buddy. Let’s get a couple things straight. This is my house. I’m a force to be reckoned with. Despite my lame leg. Because this will heal. And while it does, I’m going to wallow as much as I want and I’m not interested in you trying to make me smile all the time or laugh or have fun. I’m going to enjoy my pain until there is no more pain. You got me? It’s called going through to get past. And I’m going to embrace it!”
Why can’t I shut up?
Why am I being such a bitch?
Habit?!
Troy is chewing slower now. He swallows and says, “You know what? I’m going to see where Jack is headed. I need a break from this.”
He walks out the door, slamming it and leaving me gaping after him.
All alone, I whisper, “I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
Chapter Nine
Troy
A couple weeks after Jack showed up without notice, I roll onto my back, groaning and groggy at who knows what time of day. First thing that pops into my aggravated brain is the ballerina.
Mar and I have maintained our maddening game of push-pull.
I blink at a note hanging on my wall left by the moody roomie who enjoys torturing me. Of course I can’t read it from here; she wrote tiny letters to force me up.
I grumble, “What is wrong with her?” throwing my feet off the bed and wondering how she snuck in without my hearing her tape that thing up.
How are you going to make that app if you sleep until noon?