And it's a good thing. I don't want her to hurt herself. But those men coming close to her, touching her, makes me tighten my fist.
The phone buzzes again. I turn, heart slamming against my ribs. This time, it's Blue's private account.
I quickly open the notification. A new story loads.
She's no longer in the club. The light's dimmer now, and a warm lamp glows, with a soft couch in the background.
It takes me a moment, then I realize it's Cloud's apartment. A round of unease and excitement rushes through me.
I can go see her.
No. I can't.
Blue sits cross-legged on the floor, her leather skirt bunched so high her pussy's barely covered. Cloud kneels in front of her, knees brushing Blue's. Their hands are linked, fingers laced. Cloud's thumb strokes the inside of Blue's wrist in slow circles. Blue's head tilts, lips parted, eyes half-lidded. The ten-second clip ends with Cloud leaning closer, her forehead almost touching Blue's, and both of them smiling like they share a secret.
Rage fills me. My pulse beats so hard between my ears, I can barely see straight.
Another photo drops. They're in the same position, but now Cloud's hand rests on Blue's bare thigh, caressing a scab.
She hurt herself again?
My insides tremble harder.
Blue's fingers curl around Cloud's wrist, and then she brings them to her lips and lightly licks the side of her thumb.
"So you do want to play?" Cloud asks in a breathy voice.
Jesus Christ.
I swallow hard, slink down into the armchair, and hate myself for wanting to see more but also wanting them to stop. Heat floods my groin, and my cock thickens against the seam of my slacks, pulsing. I shift, trying to ease the pressure, but the friction only sharpens it.
Another notification pops up with a photo. Cloud's palm rests flat on Blue's bare thigh, her fingertips grazing the edge of a pink, raised, still-shiny-at-the-center scab.
I can barely process it before a new video appears. Blue's hand stays tight on Cloud's wrist. Her tongue flicks out, slow and deliberate, licking the pad of Cloud's thumb from base to tip.
My breath stalls in my throat. The erection surges harder, straining, and heat pools low and heavy while something colder twists behind my sternum. My free hand curls into a fist on my knee, my nails biting into the palm until the sting registers.
Those men in the club earlier with their hands on her waist, fingers brushing her neck, their mouth too close to hers already carved grooves in my gut. Now, Cloud's fingers linger on the exact spot where Blue's skin still bears the evidence of her own destruction, the place I used to kiss when she let me close enough to see the damage. And her tongue that used to be on me is on Cloud.
I zoom in on the scab. The edges look raw, like she pressed too hard tonight. My chest tightens, ribs squeezing until the next inhale scrapes. She hurt herself again. Alone. Or maybe not alone. Maybe Cloud was there. Maybe Cloud talked her down, or her thumb on Blue's wrist was the steady thing she reached for when the urge hit.
The thought lands like a blade between my shoulders. Yet my cock throbs in time with my heartbeat, and the images overlap. Blue's parted lips on Cloud's skin, the way her tongue moves, deliberate and teasing, the same slow drag she used along my shaft the last time she explored my body.
I press the heel of my hand against my erection through the fabric, trying to force it down, but the pressure only drags a low sound out of my throat.
I should be relieved she isn't curled in a ball somewhere bleeding out. I should shut the phone off, walk away, let her have this, whatever this is with Cloud, with the club guys, or with anyone who isn't me. Instead, my thumb hovers over the replay button. The video loops. Blue's thumb circles Cloud's wrist again. That shared smile flashes once more.
My fist tightens until the knuckles turn white. Those hands on her, Cloud's now and the strangers' earlier, belong to people who don't know how her breath catches when the razor first bites. They don't know the exact pressure it takes to pull her back from the edge without making it worse.
They don't know her the way I do.
Still, my body betrays me, my cock aching, hips shifting restlessly against the leather as the images burn behind my eyes. Excitement coils tight in my gut, warring with the cold knot of rage that makes my vision narrow. I want to storm to the floor below mine, kick Cloud's door in, and pull Blue against me, reminding her exactly whose hands she's supposed to arch into. I want to erase every touch that isn't mine.
My pulse hammers in my ears, loud enough to drown out the city noise outside. Mikhail's threats ring loud in my ears, but they aren't strong enough. I leap off the chair, rush out my door, take the stairs to the floor below mine, and burst through Cloud's front door.
The door bangs open against the stopper, wood shuddering in the frame. I step inside without waiting for permission, breath ragged from the stairs and the fury and the unrelenting ache between my legs that hasn't let up since the first private story loaded.
Cloud stands closest, halfway between the couch and the entry, purple dress creased, pink hair falling into her eyes. She freezes for half a second, then squares her shoulders. "Hey, Dr. Mercer?—"
