“I am not leaving you here with—”
With the words she had already spoken, I didn’t need any more encouragement. I couldn’t take any more of Keith’s bullshit. I took three large strides forward until I was right in his face. I could feel Tria grabbing my arm, but I was beyond stopping at that point.
“Say it, motherfucker,” I threatened. “Say you are going to stay when she said go, because I will happily rip your dick off and choke you with it.”
Half a second later, Tria squirmed her way in between us and raised her arms up to press against my pectorals. The touch of skin-on-skin, the scent of her hair just under my nose, and the closeness of her body coupled with the heat of the argument just about gave me wood.
“Liam,” she said softly. “Please, Liam. Don’t.”
“If he leaves,” I replied. I didn’t look at her. I kept my eyes focused right on his. If I looked at her I might decide to let him live, and I really didn’t want to do that.
“Go, Keith,” Tria ordered. “We’re done talking anyway.”
“This isn’t over,” he said. He looked away from me and down at Tria before he backed away. He reached over to her couch and picked up a black jacket before heading toward the door. “And I’m only leaving because she asked me to, asshole. Don’t think this is over. It isn’t over.”
“I hope it isn’t,” I said, but I was only partially paying attention to him. Once he was away, my gaze had fallen to Tria’s face, and I couldn’t seem to look away. “The next time, she isn’t going to stop me.”
I watched him leave out of the corner of my eye, feeling very self-satisfied as the door slammed shut. Tria startled at the noise, and her fingers tensed against my shoulders. She was right up against me, clad in blue jeans and a thin, green tank top. Her bare forearms connected completely with the skin of my chest. I checked over my left shoulder—just to be sure he was really gone—and sighed. Before I had a chance to go into smug-mode, I glanced down at Tria as she suddenly burst into tears.
The hands that had been pressed lightly against my shoulders moved upwards until they were wrapped around my neck, and Tria’s face was tucked against my sternum as she sobbed. For a moment, I just stood there with my hands clenching and unclenching. It occurred to me that I could probably touch her now, but I didn’t know where.
Without any other ideas, I tentatively brought my hands up to rest on her hips.
Damn, that felt good.
My fingers twitched right at the place where her shirt met the top of her jeans, which was riding up slightly since her arms were up around my neck. I could feel just a little bit of skin against the tip of my left ring finger, and I knew just how easy it would be to slide my hands right up her shirt from there.
I didn’t.
Actually, I had no freaking clue what I should be doing. I was having a really difficult time not sporting a massive boner from the feeling of her body pressed against mine even though I knew how ridiculously rude that would be under the circumstances. At the same time, I just wanted her to feel better. I was a little afraid I might have added to her breakdown and didn’t know what I should do about it.
For a moment, I wondered how she would react if I just picked her up and kissed her. I knew how totally inappropriate it would have been on about four hundred different levels, but that didn’t stop my mind from playing out its little fantasy. I would bring my hand up, run it over her cheek, and stroke underneath her eye before I wrapped my fingers around the back of her neck. Then I’d lean over her, take her bottom lip and suck on it before claiming her mouth entirely.
A shudder from Tria brought me back to reality, and I tried to think of something I could say. I should probably say it’s all right or maybe tell her to stop crying or something like that. Nothing that came to mind really sounded right, so I ended up saying nothing. In a lame attempt at being some kind of comforting presence, I moved my hand to the small of her back and gently patted her a couple of times, wondering if I should say “there, there” now.
Tria suddenly gasped and unclasped her hands from around my neck. They dropped over my shoulders and back to my chest, and she stared blankly at the back of her hands for a moment. Her fingers twitched, and she looked up at me quickly before opening her mouth.
“Shit, I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” She kept repeating the phrase as she wiped moisture from my chest.
“Shut up,” I said softly. My hand moved back to her hip, but I didn’t release her. I didn’t want to. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.”
“I got you all wet.”
“I was all wet before,” I told her. “Well, sweaty anyway. I’ve been running.”
“Mascara,” she muttered as she rubbed the side of her thumb over a tiny black smudge right next to my nipple.
She took a step away from me, and my hands dropped from her sides. The loss of contact was unsettling, and as my hands left her, it kind of felt like I was being peeled away from her—just like peeling a fucking banana from its skin.
That thought made me think of my own banana, and I wondered if he might also be considered a comforting presence. Maybe tucked between her thighs for an hour or so would be beneficial to her mood.
Shit, I had to stop thinking like that.
“You gonna tell me what all that was about?” I asked her.
“No,” she replied.
A little battle broke out inside of my head. There was a part of me that said this was private and I should mind my own business, but most of me just wanted to know if I should go after that asshole and beat him down. I didn’t need much of an excuse to do so.