Page 41 of Obey
“And my first piercing.” I gesture at his dangling peen. Harry’s wasn’t pierced. I like the sparkling piercings, there’s something pretty about them, and they’re smoother, more flexible than I expected them to be.
My voice sounds weird, croaky, and my throat burns with every word.
“Neither of those were on your to-do list.” The corners of his mouth quirk.
“True.” I need to get up, but I can’t move. It’s as though my knees have welded to the floor, and I can’t feel anything below my waist.
“Let me help you.” He darts toward me from the door, arms outstretched and picks me up, placing me on the bed with such care I’d cry if I wasn’t drained of all my tears from sucking him off.
He turns to the counter, grabs a water, and cracks it open. “Drink.”
I look at the water, back at his face which wrinkles as he scrunches it up.
“I said drink, Talia.” His stern voice makes me want to tell him to stick his bottle of water where the sun don’t shine. But the scratching at the back of my throat tells me to drink the dang water.
So I do.
“Good.” He caresses my face.
I’d be lying if I said even the room temperature water didn’t feel good against my raw throat. I clear my throat a few times, but it feels like it’s not helping.
He strokes my face again. “It’ll get easier the more you do it.”
I arch a brow.
“I mean, you know, with other people.” Mr. Grumpy may be blushing, but it’s probably my oxygen deprived brain seeing things that aren’t there.
I sip at the water until my tummy sloshes. He takes what’s left of it and sets it aside.
My phone rings, breaking me out of my fierce eye-to-eye contact with the butt-nekkid man I gave a blow job to in a hotel room.
Shaking off the stupor, I dig out my phone. Harry’s name appears on the screen, and my stomach drops. I expect shame, guilt, regret, but all I feel are prickles of annoyance he’s interrupting this time with Jagger.
What does that mean?
Jagger’s staring at me expectantly. There’s something in his eyes, something dark, challenging. I’m pretty sure it’s murder, there’s murder in Jagger’s eyes. Is he challenging me not to answer? Or does he want to murder Harry?
One of those things I might be on board with.
Okay, fine. I don’t want Harry to die. But if he got some kind of sexually transmitted infection, or someone stole all his pantry goods labels, I wouldn’t be mad about it.
The call drops off, Jagger’s shoulders relax enough to be noticeable. And when it starts to ring again, there’s a muscle twitching in his face like he’s clenching his teeth. What could he possibly have against Harry?
“Hey, Harry.”
“Why didn’t you pick up?”
Ugh. Has he always been so self-important?
Jagger steps back. I assumed to go get dressed, except he’s opening my pants. The swift jerk of them as he pulls them down throws me backward onto the bed with a whoop.
“What’s wrong?” Harry doesn’t sound concerned, just mildly inconvenienced.
“Nothing, I tripped over something.” Considering my accident prone nature, it’s not out of the realm of possibility.
I’ve officially tuned out of what Harry is saying because Jagger’s stroking the outside of my thighs. His giant hands gliding across my skin send sheets of goose bumps all over mybody. When he presses my knees apart, I lean up on my elbow to be met by a devilish grin from the man between my thighs.
He wouldn’t, would he?