Her hand disappears under her dress, rubbing her pussy through the tiny white G-string. The other hand gently pinching a nipple through the silky white fabric of her dress. Mouth parted, head thrown back in ecstasy.
Swallowing hard, I openly stare.
She’s fucking beautiful.
No reticence. Just living through the beat of the song.
A tall guy I’ve met a few times before lingers at the edge of her space before walking across the ballroom.
My brow furrows.
He walks up behind Lexi, wrapping one arm across her stomach, pulling her back to his front. I can’t hear it, but I see her mouth part a little more in what looks like a moan. She leans back into him, taking his hand, pulling it down her body and replacing it with hers at her mound.
My head pounds.
She starts a soft circling motion with her hips, and I know she’s rubbing her sweet ass into his dick.
The thing about my brain is that it’s damaged. Thoughts don’t get processed the way other people’s do.
In fact, the term think doesn’t apply to me.
Stalking across the ballroom, I reach Lexi’s front. Gripping her forearm, I pull her away from the fucker. Hard.
She stumbles, but I don’t notice.
I don’t notice, because tall guy is already on his back.
My fists pound into his face continuously. Hard and fast. Face contorted in anger, my chest heaves with every heavy breath I take.
A spatter of wet warmth spurts across my face.
Blood roars through my ears. I don’t hear the screaming and shouting for me to stop.
I can smell his fear.
His arms come up. He tries in vain to block the blows. Clenching my teeth, I lift my arm over my head, then bring my elbow down on his cheekbone full-force. The feel of it shattering beneath me brings on a wave of euphoria.
His body trembles and jerks as if being electrocuted.
Strong arms come around me from behind. I vaguely hear, “Fuck, Twitch! You’re killing him! Stop!”
Struggling, I’m lifted clean off the moaning, bloody mess in the center of the ballroom floor. More clearly this time, I hear, “You got him, bro. You got him. He gets it. You’re good now. It’s time to stop.” That comes from Happy.
Panting heavily, I shrug him off me.
Turning, my eyes scan the room, coming into contact with the terrified faces of my guests.
Happy hands me something. A handkerchief.
Taking it and wiping at the blood on my cheek and forehead, I say through heavy breaths, “Get out. Party’s over.”
But no one moves.
Stilling, I watch them a moment before stepping forward and booming, “Get the fuck out of my goddamn house! Anyone still here in three fucking minutes, I’ll escort out myself. In a fucking body bag!”
They scramble, finally getting that I could actually do it, and not taking their chances in finding out.
Smart.
Stalking over to a still-dancing Lexi in the corner of the room to no beat, I grip her upper arm and all but drag her behind me. Halfway up the stairs, she stumbles and bursts into laughter, as if it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done in her life.
And it makes my blood boil.
I hate myself for craving the state of high she’s in. Like a petulant child, I’m taking out my jealousy on her. Pulling her up much too tightly, she yelps in surprise; I pull her along all too quickly. Once in my room, I open the door to the bathroom and throw her in. She stumbles and ends up on her knees on the bath mat. She giggles, and rage coils in my gut. Reaching past her to the shower, I turn the cold water on and spit, “Wash his smell off you. Now.”
Then I shut the door and pace, balling my fists tight, jaw ticking.
Once I think I’m no longer homicidal, I breathe deeply and sit on the edge of the bed, waiting for Lexi to finish her shower.
Five minutes pass. I hear her singing, so I give her some more time.
Another five minutes pass and my brow furrows. The singing has stopped.
Something pushes me to check on her, and when I open the bathroom door, my heart skips a beat.
Still in her clothes on the floor of the shower, she shivers uncontrollably.
Fuckin’ hell!
Reaching in for her, the spray hits me and it’s freezing. She just spent ten minutes in an ice bath.
Turning off the water, I yell, “The fuck is wrong with you?” As if it’s her fault and not mine for leaving a woman who has never used cocaine before to shower alone.
I’m pissed at myself. But I’ll never admit it.
Her lips are blue, her skin ashen, and her wide blue eyes watch me fearfully.
Placing a hand on my hip, I dip my head and pinch the bridge of my nose, forcing myself to calm the fuck down. Then, gently as I can, I reach out for her and say, “C’mon, baby. I gotta get you warm or you’re gonna get sick.”
That’s not a maybe. That’s a definite. But I gotta get her out and she looks scared. She’s having a blow freak-out.
She blinks a moment before reaching out a shaking hand to take mine. I pull her to stand, but she shakes so much she almost looks like she’s having a fit. Reaching for the hem of her dark dress – which is now pasted to her body – I lift it over her head and make quick work of her panties. Taking a big fluffy towel, I wrap her up and walk her out the bathroom and over to my bed.
I sit her on the edge, while I turn on the electric blanket and strip down to nothing.
I’m almost ashamed of myself for being hard, but with Lexi, I can’t help it. It just happens.
Removing the towel from her shivering body, I lie down then pull her down next to me. I wrap my arms around her. My entire body breaks out in goosebumps when her body meets mine.
Dammit. Fuck!
She’s freezing. So damn cold that the front of my body gets a pins-and-needles sensation through it. My arms tighten around her, knowing this is my fault; I accept the pain of her near-frozen body on mine. Punishment to myself, if you will. The electric blanket works quickly, and I rub her arms and back for a few minutes before her body stops shivering. Her teeth are still chattering when she asks, “Why didn’t you come for me? I was calling you.”
My chest feels like a bullet just went through it.
Feeling guilty as fuck, I respond quietly, “I didn’t hear you, baby.”
She buries her cold nose into my neck and whispers, “I called and called, but you didn’t come.”
If I had a heart, it would break.
Then I do something that even shocks me. Rubbing her back, I issue the first apology of my life. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve been watching you.”
She doesn’t respond, but her teeth chatter and she nods into my neck.
The childlike move pierces me like a knife to the side. I’m suddenly protective of Lexi.
What a load of shit.
Protective of the woman I had hurt myself.
I’m a fuckwit. Seriously.
Damaged doesn’t even begin to cover what I am. I don’t think a word has been invented for the level of fucked up I am.
The feel of Lexi’s body slumping so suddenly into mine makes me jump. Gripping her arms tightly, I search her lifeless face and shake her hard. ?
?Lexi! Fuck!”
When her eyes pop open and her eyes widen in fright, my heart begins to beat again. She asks, “What?”
I thought you were unconscious and it scared the shit out of me.
Shaking my head, I swallow hard. “Nothing, babe. Go back to sleep. I won’t wake you again. Promise.”
She buries her still-cold face into my neck and sighs.
My jaw tics.
Should’ve never brought her here.
Subconsciously, my arms tighten around her, defying my mind’s statement.
Waking in pitch black with a pounding head, a sore throat, and a boiling belly, I jump upright and bolt off of the bed towards the bathroom. Struggling with the door handle, my body begins to heave when a hand reaches past me to open the door. Once inside, I throw my shaking body over to the toilet bowl and let out the contents of my stomach.
Which is a serious shame.
I loved every morsel I ate at dinner last night.
Groaning into the acrylic toilet seat, something heavy covers my body, but I’m so hot right now, I shrug it off. A sleepy, “Keep it on, Angel,” comes from my left.
Eyes closed, I frown, “Too hot.”
A cool hand on my forehead makes me sigh happily. That is, until I hear, “Shit, Lexi. You’re burning up.”
And that’s the last thing I remember before I doze off, head firmly fixed on the toilet seat.
I know the exact moment Lexi passes out because the arms hugging the toilet bowl fall limp to the sides, her face smooshed into the toilet seat. The sweet sound of her steady breathing is the only thing that calms me at the moment.
Leaving her where she rests, I walk over to the nightstand, fetch my cell, and call Happy. At 3:57am.
He answers half asleep, “You better have a good reason, motherfucker.”
Ignoring his frustration, I quickly tell him, “I need the number for the doctor.”
Silence. Then accusingly, “What did you do?”
I bark back, “I’m gonna ignore your tone and that fuckin’ statement and ask you one more time.”
He immediately backtracks, “Don’t be like that, bro. I’m sorry, alright? What did you expect I’d think, calling me this time of night, sounding like you’re in trouble?”
I don’t blame him. Really, I don’t. I know he’s got reasons to think the worst of me. The guy’s been at the receiving end of my fists for little to no reason at all. And he’s one of my best friends.