ALL THE RAGE (writer: T.M. Frazier)(28)

Nolan

I thought it would be funny to answer Rage’s phone. Her parents had accents I couldn’t quite place and were all too excited and oddly surprised to hear that Rage had a friend. When they asked me what we had been up to and wanted to hear all about it, I basically told them the truth. We’d just met.

Her parents had just asked me if I was enjoying my time in Paris when I turned toward the movement in the corner of my eye.

I dropped the phone.

There was Rage. Wrapped in nothing but a f*cking towel.

Water drops fell from her hair and down the slim slope of her neck. Her hair was wet like it had been the first time I saw her, except now it was down around her shoulders, so long it skimmed her trim waist. And just like the first time I saw her, she was still f*cking angry.

Instantly, my cock was hard. I shifted to adjust, but there was no hiding it under my thin shorts.

I didn’t f*cking care. There was something primal this girl awakened in me that had me wanting to pull her by her hair and drag her around.

I’d forgotten completely about the phone, about her parents, about f*cking breathing. All my thoughts were on her, the curve of her tits peaking out from the top of the towel and the blood rushing to my throbbing hard on. Even with the pissed off look on her face, I couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to get her under me. What sounds she would make when she came.

I bet I could angry f*ck that scowl right off her beautiful face.

Rage stormed up to me and leaned over. I held my breath. She paid no attention to the tent in my pants as she reached between my thigh and the couch to retrieve her phone. She paused for a second and took a breath. “Hello?” she said, bringing it up to her ear. Her voice didn’t even sound like her own. It was way too high-pitched and…friendly. “No Moe, he’s not my boyfriend. Va, no I’m still not a lesbian.” She dropped her face into her open palm and the towel slid down another inch. “He’s just a friend. No, no you can’t talk to him again.” Her eyes darted to me. “He’s really busy and we’re getting ready to…”

I held out my hand and she swatted it away. Thank goodness she was short because I reached up and snatched it from her easily. “Hi again,” I said. Rage turned purple, her lips pursed, and if I looked close enough, I swore I could see a little fire coming from her ears.

“Hi, Nolan. It’s so great to know that our girl has another American friend to talk to and help her out over there in Paris,” her mother said in some sort of accent I couldn’t place.

“Paris?” I asked. Rage’s eyes went wide. Her anger vanished in a flash.

“Please,” she mouthed, pleading with her beautiful blue-green eyes for me to go along with whatever lie she’d obviously led them to believe.

“Yeah, Paris has been a blast. It was hard for me to adjust to being here at first but your daughter has been great. In fact, she’s the one who has been helping me.”

Her parents went on and on. Babbling about dishes and soup. I never took my eyes off of Rage who looked downright petrified. She knelt down next to the couch and rested her chin on the arm rest, looking up at me like the saddest, most beautiful puppy dog I’d ever seen in my life. She barely flinched when Murray walked over the back of her calves like she wasn’t even there. Oh no. She dropped her forehead to the armrest, her hair shifted to the side where I caught a glimpse of the pink dagger tattoo on the back of her slender neck. Whatever was going on in her head. Whatever was happening inside of that brain of hers that had her looking that way needed to stop.

Right f*cking NOW.

“You know what? I’m so sorry, but the reception here is really lousy. Is it okay if we call you—” I didn’t finish the sentence, ending the call abruptly and tossing the phone to the side. I wished I could stand. “Get off the f*cking floor,” I demanded, the order tearing from my throat. It was harsher than I’d wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. I needed to get my point across.

“What?” Rage asked, blinking rapidly. She leaned back off the couch, but remained on her knees.

“Rage, if I could stand right now, I’d lift you up off the floor myself, but I can’t, so get the f*ck up.” She stood, holding the towel tightly to her chest. “Good girl. I don’t ever want to see you like that again. You don’t go to the floor like that. You don’t cower for anyone. Not your parents, not anyone, Do you hear me?” I grabbed her forearm. “I don’t know what just happened there or where that strong girl just went but you don’t drop to your knees for anyone, ever.” I paused, my eyes following the smooth, creamy skin of her leg up her thigh to where the towel only had to move maybe an inch more for me to see all of her. The thought of her on her knees for me left me with barely any control. My voice was dark, deep, and laced with all of the filthy things I wanted to do to her. “Scratch that,” I amended. “You can drop to your knees for me. I’ll be the exception to that rule.”

Rage looked at me as if she was trying to be angry but couldn’t. “You can’t talk to me like that. I don’t take orders,” she said, although she sounded more like she was trying to convince herself more than me. “That wasn’t part of this deal.”

“You know what I think? I think you do like taking orders. I think you want me to tell you what to do.” To prove my point, I moved my hand from her arm and traced the outside of her thigh. The fear her parents had caused to go off in her was fading fast. Her shoulders fell and I could feel the tension leaving her muscles.