Rm w/a Vu(97)

“You okay?” I ask, hesitant.

“Fine.”

Ah, a one-word answer that all women are familiar with. Something is definitely bothering him, and I’m not sure I’m ready to unearth it, so I leave it alone.

He remains silent, his hands on the wheel at ten and two—except when he has to shift. The fact that he doesn’t reach out and place a hand on my thigh is a little disheartening, but I’m not going to plead for his affection if he’s upset. I know we need to talk about this, but I don’t want to do it in the car, because if he is upset, and we do indeed fight about this, it’s probably not safe. No, I’ll wait until we’re home.

The air in the car seems thick and suffocating with our unspoken issues—even Daphne is quiet—and I silently beg for us to arrive home soon so we can begin to wade through it. I glance over at him several times, taking in the paint speckled on his face and neck, and the streaks of blue and orange in his dark hair, and notice that his eyes remain glued to the road. His hands clench the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles are white, and his breathing is deep, making his chest heave.

We arrive home, and I throw the door open. I say goodbye to Daphne, putting on a smile and telling her I was glad she could make it. We hug before she heads to her car, saying goodbye to Greyston, and then I head to the house before Greyston even shuts his car door. Once I’m in the house, I remove my shoes and head for the stairs; I need a minute to myself before I talk to Greyston, so I’ll have a shower and try to figure out how to bring it up.

I think what upsets me most is that this afternoon was supposed to be fun, and while I had a good time initially, now I’m pissed off that Greyston’s acting like a big baby. Was I just supposed to let him win? That’s not how I’m wired.

“Juliette,” Greyston says from behind me, closing and locking the door. I turn from the middle step and look down at him. He looks confused. “Where are you going?”

“To have a shower,” I reply sharply. “I’m covered in paint—it’s all in my hair, and you don’t seem too keen on talking to me right now, anyway. When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find me.” With that, I turn and head up to my room.

After undressing, I stand before the bathroom mirror in my bra and panties and inspect my soon-to-be war wounds. In total, I took seven shots today: the ones to my upper arm and ass that I received first, I got two on the back of my left thigh, two on my stomach, and one just above my left breast. The welts are dark red, and the bruises have already begun to form in the center; by morning, they should be huge and painful—but totally worth it.

Well, up until Greyston started acting like a crab.

My hair is streaked with red, yellow, and blue paint, there are splatters on my face and neck where my mask didn’t cover, and my hands are painted with a rainbow of colors from every hit and the backsplash of paintballs that hit the wall next to me.

With a sigh, I reach behind me and begin to unclasp my bra when my bathroom door opens suddenly. It startles me at first, but when my eyes lock on Greyston’s for the briefest of seconds, I don’t see anger or hurt in them; I see desire.

He’s across the room in a flash, pulling me into his arms and kissing me hard. I moan when his tongue runs along my bottom lip, and my toes curl as he lifts me until our faces are level.

I pull back slightly, and my eyes dance between his, confused. “What are you doing?”

He smirks. “Kissing you,” is his quick reply.

“But…why?”

His eyebrows pull together. “Do I need a reason?”

The minute his lips brush the bare skin of my neck, I temporarily forget about what had been upsetting me. His lips kiss, spreading warmth through my entire body. His teeth nip, and goosebumps arise. His hand moves down and grips my ass, lifting me onto the bathroom vanity, and he pushes his way between my legs, hitching them up high around his hips and making me whimper. Even though he’s still got his jeans on, I can feel his erection pressing against me, and I pull him closer by digging my heels into his ass.

His lips, teeth, and now tongue, continue to explore my neck while my mind races with how quickly his mood has shifted. I know I shouldn’t question it, but I just have to know…

“Wh—” I pant and moan, unable to form a conscious thought when his tongue licks the hollow of my throat. “What’s gotten into you?”

I can feel his lips curl up into a sly smirk against my skin. “I think a better question would be: what’s about to get into you?”

As usual, his dirty talk makes me moan and thrust my hips against him, seeking out some kind of friction to appease the pulse of arousal between my legs. It’s hard to focus as his lips resume their mission. “We…we can’t. I th-thought… Oh god, don’t stop.” Rational thought is fleeting…and then it returns again. “Wait.”