Thoughtful (Thoughtless, #1.5)(53)

When she entered the room, I slid my eyes over to her and half smiled. Mornin’, whore. Denny know about us yet?

“Hey,” she whispered, clearly not happy with the look in my eye. Well, what the f*ck did I care if she was happy?

“Mornin’,” I answered, staring her down. Like the way I look at you now? You wanted my attention…well, now you have it.

She grabbed a mug and waited for the pot to finish brewing. Her face was speculative. Was she wondering what to say to me? She could say anything she wanted, I didn’t f*cking care. She could tell me to have a nice day, she could tell me to take a flying leap. None of it mattered, and none of it changed the fact that she was a cold-hearted bitch. I hated her so much. Only, I didn’t. I didn’t hate her at all. I didn’t even blame her. I wouldn’t want me either.

I shoved that nagging thought aside and focused on my ire. Anger made the pain go away. Anger was all I’d let myself feel.

When the coffee was done, I poured my mug, then held the pot out to her. “Would you like me to fill you?” I asked, meaning it in the crudest way possible. Maybe Denny wasn’t getting the job done. Maybe the whore needed a good f*ck this morning. I was just doing my civic duty by offering up my services. That’s all I was good for anyway, right, Kiera? I was a walking, talking vibrator. That was all I’d ever been, that was all I would ever be.

She seemed confused and uncomfortable with my question. Her eyes were almost solid green this morning. Stunning. The beauty in them only pissed me off even more. Take your incredible eyes and shove them. I don’t need them. Or you.

“Um…yes,” she said, her mug extended.

As I filled up her mug, I held in a laugh. I couldn’t believe she actually said yes to that. Guess she did want me to f*ck her. “Cream?” I asked suggestively. Want me to come in you again?

“Yes,” she whispered, swallowing like she was nervous.

No need to be nervous. We’ve done this before. I’m just your toy anyway. No need to fear a toy. I stepped over to the fridge to get the creamer for her. The creamer I only kept buying because of her. The bitch had infiltrated every aspect of my life. I really f*cking hated that.

Kiera looked like she’d rather be anywhere but near me when I returned with her creamer. I held it up. “Just let me know when you’re satisfied.”

My eyes were locked on hers while I gave my liquids to her. Want the real stuff? I’ll give you that again too. We’ll just f*ck this time. No messy emotions, no misconceptions, no misunderstandings. Just a grade-A f*ckapalooza. I have a feeling you’d be really good at that.

“Stop,” she told me, almost immediately.

Leaning in close, I whispered, “Are you sure you want me to stop? I thought you liked it.” I thought you liked me, but I was wrong…about so many things.

She swallowed again and turned away from me. Her hands were shaking as she fumbled with the sugar. I laughed, even though nothing about this was funny.

I stared at her for a while, building my reserve of anger before I brought up a topic that I didn’t want to talk about, but I needed an answer. I needed to know what to expect. I needed to know what our plan was. Or her plan, since this was her show. I was just her puppet.

“So you and Denny are…‘back on’?” I asked, clenching my stomach to get through the discomfort of speaking his name.

Kiera flushed with color. “Yes.”

I felt like she’d just punched me in the gut. I even had to stop myself from hunching over. The pain started trickling in, and I had to force myself to remember how much I hated her to make it stop. Fucking bitch. “Just like that…No questions asked?”

She looked freaked out by my question, like she thought I was suddenly going to go run to Denny and tell him everything. Sorry, but I actually care about hurting him, so I’m not going to say a word. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did though. Whore. “Are you going to tell him about…?” I made a crude f*cking gesture with my fingers. That was all it was. No point in trying to paint it in a prettier light.

“No…of course not.” She looked away from me, like I’d offended her. Was truth offensive? Yeah, I supposed sometimes it was. Returning her eyes to mine, she whispered, “Are you?”

I shrugged. I may have been drunk at the time, but I’d already answered this question, and I’d meant it. I wasn’t going to be the one to hurt Denny. That was her choice. All of this was her choice. “No, I told you I wouldn’t.” Holding tight to my anger, I lied through my teeth. “It doesn’t matter much to me anyway. I was just curious…”

“Well, no, I’m not…and thank you for not telling him…I guess.” She seemed taken aback by my answer, and my indifference. Why should I care about her, if she didn’t care about me? I was just leveling the playing field. Suddenly, her anger spiked. Her eyes narrowing, she spat out, “What happened to you the other night?”

Grinning wickedly, like I’d been up to nothing but scandalous debauchery, I grabbed my coffee and took a long draw. What happened to me is none of your business, and if I have anything to say about it, you’ll never know how stressed I was about telling you I loved you, or how hurt I was when you ripped the rug right out from under me. You’ll never know anything real about me. That’s the only way I can punish you now.