His cock stirs beneath me. I jump to my feet, burying my face in my hands. “Good gracious, Danny. Don’t. Don’t think about it—ever. Please. Let’s just both forget it.”
He leans back, hands behind his head.
“Fuck no, Sweets. That one? It’s now proudly lodged at the top of my spank bank. It’s probably going to forever be my go-to for jacking off. If it was a real picture, within a year it’d be dog-eared, stained, and frayed at the edges.”
That smile. I want to scratch it off his freaking face. Instead, I groan.
“How did you get so uptight? What happened to you?”
“Nothing. Nothing happened. Please—I told you, I won’t sleep with you; you’re disgusting. Now, let me be, Danny. Stay. Away.”
Mo’s shoulders slump and she walks away.
Seems like she’s always walking away.
And I always let her.
Because I have to—if I don’t, Dad yanks everything.
If it was only me, fine. Money doesn’t mean shit to me. I’ll make my own fucking money. But I can’t do that to Rachel. Or Mo. I can’t deprive them of something because I want to sink my dick so deep into Mo she’ll never get me out of her head. But—it’s just sex. I can fuck any girl.
Hell, haven’t I been screwing every girl who’ll spread her legs for me since Dad first forbade me to see Mo? Fuck yeah I have. Can’t have Mo? Fine, I’ll have all the other girls and make sure as shit the world knows that I do.
So what if I have a reputation? Good. So what if it pisses dear old Dad off? Even better.
So what if Mo thinks I’m disgusting? My chest hardens and rage floods through me like a tidal wave. I grab her lounge chair and throw it into the pool. The splash is less than impressive.
Fuck.
I stalk to the house. The glass doors mock me with my reflection. I’m strong, right? I’m bad ass, right?
Then why can’t I control my own destiny?
Why can’t I have what I want? Who I want? When I want?
I want Mo. And I want her now.
But I can’t have her, so I want to fucking break something. A growl rises from deep in my gut, turning into a roar. All that ferocity gathers in my fist. With one hard swing it goes through the plate glass.
Shattered glass peppers the concrete. Damn, that feels good.
Until it doesn’t.
Wetness drips onto my foot.
Blood.
Aw, fuck me.
The sting sets in, followed by a throb. Shit. That’s a lot of red. I step into the house. Bare feet on glass, not such a great thing.
In the kitchen, I grab a towel and wrap my sliced wrist. It takes only seconds for it to soak through with blood.
I pull my phone from my pocket. Damn. Why the fuck do we have to live in the middle of fucking nowhere?
I have no choice. I’ll bleed out before a fucking ambulance can get here. I dial the last person who probably wants to take my sorry ass to the hospital.
It goes to voicemail. Try again. Voicemail. She’s just not fucking answering my calls.
Forget it. I trot to the guest house. The wound throbs like a motherfucker. I hold my arm over my left pec, blood trickles from the dripping towel, down my chest, soaking into the waistband of my shorts.
I bang on the door.
Before it’s even open, she says, “I thought I asked you to leave me alone.”
“I need you.”
“Holy crap, Danny.”
She runs inside. A couple of seconds tick by and she’s back, turning me toward her car and giving me a push.
She buckles me in and hits the gas. Her eyes are on the road, both hands white knuckling the wheel. “What the hell did you do?”
“The back door looked at me wrong and I had to take it out.”
“Does it hurt?”
Stings like a bitch. “Nah, it looks worse than it is.”
“You broke the door?”
“Yeah. You know, it’s an old house, apparently built before safety glass.”
“Why would you break the glass?”
“Told you, it—”
“Seriously, Danny. Why?”
“I’m pissed. Okay? Don’t you ever get so fucking mad you want to destroy shit?”
Mo shakes her head, not the kind of head shake that says no, but the kind that says you’re a fucking idiot. Only Mo wouldn’t say fucking, she’d say freaking or silly or some other ridiculous word. Though she did just—
I shift in my seat. “Did you say hell?”
She shrugs. “Maybe.”
My wrist stings like fire, but I laugh anyway. “What do you know? I made you cuss.”
“Hell isn’t a curse word. Not really.”
I nod. “Sure, okay. Whatever you say.”
*
Mo hasn’t said three words since I called her on cursing. I’d swear she’s embarrassed. Over the word hell. Ten minutes and we’ll be home.