He cradled and soothed her—more like a big brother than a lover—as she dealt with the ghost of her aunt. He knew how to turn it on her.He could be...cruel when necessary, not afraid to bruise her. It would be a fitting quid pro quo that he felt welling up in his guts. The words rose through his stomach and were bursting through his throat. He could taste the revenge, bitter and vile. At the last moment he clamped him mouth shut.“You’re right, Roxie,” he said as he cast his eyes down on the floor.. "Make it up to me." What the fuck does that mean??" Make it up to me. Make me forgive you."Charlie sat still on his couch, butt naked and holding his phone in one hand and a marker in the other. He felt an overwhelming urge to make Sam feel better, and finally chose to write, "Sorry, Sam," along his cock, with a cute little sad face following it. He sent a picture, and waited.Five minutes. Ten minutes. Seventeen minutes passed before Sam curtly replied, "Not enough." His shoulders sank. He drew. More

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