Page 100 of Beautifully Shattered
“I figured if you saw them, it’d be like dangling a lollipop in front of a toddler.”
A slow smirk kicks up my lips. “Damn fucking right. But why is that a problem, Angel?”
Her gaze drops to the floor before she turns, giving me her back under the spray of water, yet she doesn’t answer me.
For fuck’s sake. She’s gonna make me demand it, isn’t she?
“Angel, turn around.”
She doesn’t.
“Turn around. Now,” I growl, and just like that, she faces me, her eyes still trained on the tiled floor between us. “Eyes up,” I snap, and they lift to show me the anger in them.
For the last five days, she’s either been completely broken and wracked with tears, angry to the point of violence where the pillow or shoe or whatever is near cops her wrath, or she’s in a quiet, numb, silence. And that’s perhaps, the most worrying of all.
The rollercoaster of her emotions is giving me whiplash, but fuck, I don’t blame her. I’m not angry at her. I just wish I knew how to help her.
My sisters have taken it upon themselves to teach Abbey how to fight and shoot a gun. I didn’t point out that she already seems to know how to handle a gun after killing the Rebel in the hospital, and then what she did to Wendy.
Instead, I remind them to go easy on her, since it’s only been a few weeks since Abbey gave birth. She has healed fast. She’s kinda had no choice, but still, I fucking worry. My concern is met with nothing but death glares, though. Especially from Abbey.
The thing is, while she’s training, she may be angry, but she’s also focused.
The quietness and silent thinking are what truly unnerves me. I can’t get a fucking read on her, and it’s driving me fucking crazy. If she were an author, I’d say she was plotting her next bestseller. But since she’s not, and now that Bobbi is buried, I have a feeling her plotting involves violence. Death. And a helluva lot of vengeance.
Not that I’m against that. I just wish she’d share what’s going on inside her head with me.
“Why is seeing your tits a fucking problem?”
My question has her eyes dropping again, and my hand shoots up into her line of sight, my fingers gesturing for her to look back up at me.
Reluctantly, she does.
“Answer me.”
“Fine,” she snaps, clearly pissed I’m forcing her submissive side out. “Since the funeral, it hasn’t felt right.”
My heart sinks, because I immediately fucking think she’s talking about us, but then I remind myself that we’re talking about her tits and my enjoyment of drinking from her.
“Angel, if you don’t enjoy it and don’t want me to dothatanymore, all you have to do is say so. It’s your body, and I won’t fucking do anything you’re not into.”
Her teeth appear briefly as she bites her lip, considering my words.
“That’s the thing…” she practically whispers, all her anger gone as she looks at me with lost eyes. “Iaminto it. Idoenjoy it, I just… my head’s just not inthatspace right now.”
“Fuck, Angel. I get that.” I reach for her, and she steps into my open arms, pressing her naked, drenched body against my clothes, the hot water instantly soaking through.
“I’m sorry. I’ve just got a lot going on in my head,” she mutters against my chest, and I press a kiss to her wet hair.
“You can talk to me, you know. About anything. I’m on your side, remember?”
She nods against me before pulling back, and my hands slide over her hot, wet skin before they fall away, and she steps back under the spray.
This time, though, she doesn’t bother covering her tits.
A small smile pulls at her lips when she notices me staring at them, and she splashes water on me with a shooing motion, giggling.
“Get out of here, you pervert.”
