Page 85 of Other Woman Drama


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I was angry.

For the first time in two weeks, Eedie was at a sleepover at her friend’s place—not that I didn’t love having Eedie around, but Webber used her as an excuse to keep me at arm’s length, so to speak—and the house was empty.

I thought this would be my day.

I thought wrong.

I flopped onto my back with a groan as I watched Webber’s backside disappear out of the room.

It didn’t appear to be on fire, but he was acting like it.

I was frustrated.

Both sexually and mentally.

Webber wouldn’t touch me.

Not because he didn’t want to, or I didn’t want him to, but because he was treating me reverently. Like I was some spun glass gift that would break if he handled me too roughly.

Maybe, instead of spending the last two weeks recovering at his place, I should’ve spent it recovering at Aella’s.

At least if I’d done that, I would’ve had my sister seeing me battered and bruised and not Webber.

He couldn’t use the “you’re healing” and “you’re still really roughed up” as an excuse not to touch me in a sexual way.

There was plenty of touching—I’d cuddled the big, sexy beast of a man every night for two weeks—but nothing inappropriate.

Webber’s deep voice sounded from the living room, and I had to squeeze my legs together to keep the ache at bay.

Sadly, the pressure only made it worse, and I started to get angry.

A second man’s voice sounded, and I had to count to ten as I forced myself to sit up, then slide off Webber’s massive bed.

My feet hit the ground, and I looked down at what I was wearing.

For the last two weeks, I’d survived on Webber’s t-shirts and sweats.

I wore my own underwear, but that was the only thing I’d worn of mine in what felt like forever.

Hell, I was even wearing his deodorant.

That would change tomorrow.

I would be going back to work, because the first step in proving that I was healthy enough for him to move beyond the platonic touching stage was to show him I was getting better.

Even if the thought of leaving Webber’s house sent me into a full-blown panic.

Moran was still out there.

And though I knew that Webber had given my dad enough warning to stay the hell away from me, I knew that he wouldn’t be gone forever.

He’d lick his wounds, regroup, then show back up.

Not that I was too scared of my dad.

He was a scary man at times, but I’d had years of training to deal with people like him.

People like Cadence Moran, too.