Stalked By A Serial Killer

Chapter Forty-Seven: Mad At The Wrong Person For All The Right Reasons

Chapter Forty-Seven: "Mad At The Wrong Person For All The Right Reasons."

I WATCH Tyler storm down the stairs, a pained and extremely angry look on his face. However, I begin struggling to hold in my laughter. For the wrong reasons.

See, I'd usually be panicked about Ty being mad, but it's not so much his face that has me laughing my butt off.

It's what he's wearing.

His birthday suit.

"Well, that's my queue to leave!" Bryce exclaims, kissing Megan's cheek before running down to the first level.

"I'm going to kill you, Eldridge!"

"Not if you want to run out in California naked, baby!" Bryce shouts back, and I very faintly hear our front door close.

At this point, Tyler is fuming so bad, I don't think he even notices that he's scratching his balls with absolutely no clothing on with not just his girlfriend in the room.

Megan honestly doesn't seem surprised.

A little bit of me is jealous that he's butt naked with more than one girl in the room without a care in the world, but another bit says that Megan has seen it before and that she has her own dick to snag.

Long story short, we've all been skinny dipping together.

Luckily for me and my mood, Megan is avoiding looking at Tyler and his distraught form. If she wasn't, and was looking at him, even if it was his face, I'm not going to lie; the hot pancake batter in my hand would be flown across the room at her.

I don't even notice a presence beside me until I feel my hand being removed from the spatula.

It's Megan.

"Let me take it from here." She says softly. "Why don't you take your man to the drug store and get him something to help with the pain. He looks like he took a punch to the groin from a kangaroo."

I nod, my mind elsewhere and a little jealous, but I brush the thought off anyway and walk to Tyler. I grab his hands that are scratching at his boys madly; I'm worried he'll scratch the skin off to the bone. It already looks like it's starting to get raw.

That's when he comes back to Earth. Once he sees that he's in the living room and that Megan is only a few feet away, he immediately clasps his hands over his front end.

I roll my eyes, dropping his hand and grab his waist. "Come on, let's go get you some clean underwear and something to help the pain." 

His eyes catch mine, and he nods, still unresponsive verbally. He let's me drag him upstairs, and once we're in our room, I quickly close and lock the door. Still holding onto Tyler so he doesn't attack his junk again, I pull him to his dresser, grabbing him a pair of boxers that I know are definitely itch powder-free.

I close the drawer, tugging him along as he groans and whimpers with the desired need to release the bees. Other than that, we're silent as we sit at the edge of the bed and I dress him, forcing him to hold his hands from the sensation to itch. Needless to say, it's failing. He's fighting me.

"Stop!" I growl, slapping his hand away.

"Jo. Don't do this to me, please."

"Don't 'Jo' me. It's for your own good. . . Tyler, stop!"

"Let me do it!" He snaps.

"No!" I hiss.

"It's–"

"I know. And it will only get worse if you keep scratching."

He growls; his body tensing, trying to hold himself back.