AN: Do y'all like the new cover? I LOVE it. It sends the message clearly that this book is HOT!! 😈🔥 Which is probably why we've gotten like 3k reads in under 3 weeks.
JettaFrame made it, so I'm dedicating this chapter to her.
We've been keeping a strong 1% males soooo,

MR. M'S POV:

Communication.

One word. Thirteen letters. Several definitions.

It's also a common scapegoat when couples part ways.

"Communication issues, that's what it came down to in the end."

"We were never any good at communicating with one another."

"He/She just stopped communicating with me."

My marriage ended because neither of us knew how to communicate properly. That's not to say we stopped speaking, oh no, we had plenty of conversations-that later became nothing but nonsensical screaming.

Living day by day was fine as long as certain topics were​ avoided. But then the elephant in the room turned into dark hole that sucked the life out of us. Just being in the same room became too much. Sleeping in the same bed had the opposite effect, instead of relaxing we spent hours pretending to sleep. Our minds were so full of words, accusations, pains, and overall grief that sleep was nearly impossible. We became magnets that instantly repelled, but the vows we made pushed us back together again. It was an endless cycle.

Not bringing it up in order to avoid an argument corroded our bond. 

Our love turned into intense loathing. There comes a time when after so much pain, the body shuts down our nerve endings and we become numb. The opposite to love isn't hate. Hate requires passion, feeling. The numb crept up and took hold before I knew it.

The poison we needed to expel stayed inside of us and attacked our hearts. Sure, the words would've hurt coming out but keeping it all in is what ruined us. Turned us. Turned me.

Well no. I'll backtrack.

Even if we got it all out, there's still the problem of our broken communication. Getting the words out there is step one but then there's listening to each other, and that never would've happened between us.

Listening.

That's the key word missing from every communication excuse people use. For communication to be successful you need to get the right things out, but you also need to absorb whatever comes back at you. It'll hurt sometimes but at least no one can claim that you didn't listen to what they had to say.

Phoebe has no problems with expelling her rage, but in return she doesn't listen closely enough. I don't blame her for that, shes young.

She picked up on my anger well enough but not my jealousy or hurt. I picked up on her insecurities but I didn't think throughout our battle to give her reassurances.

Then again, words just can't cover everything.

My experience has taught me to listen to what's being said but to also watch the actions behind them. 

Actions.

That's another word that communication and listening lack to convey. They both mean nothing if there's no action in response. Even the smallest movements broadcast that you listened and the action of them communicate understanding.

I feel like a damned talk show host.

I haven't seen Phoebe all week after our argument and that's made me angry.

It's something I can't hide. I think the emotion rolls off of my skin and creates a barrier between myself and the general populace.  Everyone in this building has been on their toes like I'm a volcano about to go off or like I'm some dangerous serpent. On the other hand, everyone has been very efficient in getting their work done and the chatter has died down.
They don't speak too loud for me to hear anymore.

It may be because no one has ever been around me when I'm angry. Lucky them, well, until now.

My responses are shorter and I can't keep my irritations to incompetence to myself. To give them space I retreat to my office. I have no idea why though because my brain chooses those moments to rehash over current events and I can never just calm down.

All in all, our argument could've gone better but I'm not going to over analyze. It's in the past. Now, I can over analyze the present and how right now I haven't heard from Phoebe all week.

She assumes that I'm just going to get back with my ex wife so maybe she just assumed that we're no longer together. Although, it doesn't feel over for me.

'Nothing about this was supposed to be complicated.' I complain to myself. 'We were on the same page, when the hell did the lines start blurring? What type of man does she see me as now? Why can't she just talk to me? What should I do to fix us?' 

Funny, I'd have thought that seeing her standing in front of my desk would've calmed me down some. Especially after not speaking to each other for so long, but now more than ever everything is dulled by rage. She doesn't seem bothered by my distance and that is me further.

Maybe I should close the distance to rattle her nonchalance.

Words were said and now I have her against my locked door. It's obvious that she came here on a peace mission but that's not what I'm after.

I want her beautiful war.

Peace equates to submission in order for calm excursions, I can't have that. I want everything to be out in the open between us. We are too important to let this bump in the road slowly evolve into a mountain.

I've missed her.

Phoebe stares into my eyes and I feel mine mirroring hers. Our lust can easily overrule our logic here. We are not in a good place and sex will do nothing to diminish the words previously exchanged.
But that doesn't stop my need to feel more of her.

It also doesn't stop me from placing my lips on hers. Softly, to test the waters.

'Just a taste...' I promise myself. Talking can be misinterpreted so the body finds a way to speak without involving vocal cords.

She fights to keep her lips sealed but a nip on her bottom lip has Phoebe opening her mouth to me, if only to use her teeth in retaliation. One of her hands trails up my chest while the other grips the back of my neck.

I may have her against the door but the energy of her kiss is by no means docile. Some may think she let me corner her, hell she might have.

'This woman is by no means shy about letting her passions known.' I amuse while her chest rubs against mine. 

I feel her nibble on my bottom lip and my crotch gets tighter in response.

'No, Phoebe is most definitely not like-' And just like that I'm transported back into the present.

The one where my honor and intentions are questioned. The one where she is her own judge and jury. The one where her sentencing is obvious through her eyes, and I'm the guilty party. 

I push away from my temptress, relaxed muscles tense up again from our distance.

We need to talk. Sex will do nothing but make her angrier at me.
Phoebe can't think of herself as my easy fix and I can't have her thinking that I'd abandon her at the drop of a hat for another.

She doesn't know that the bond with Nash is broken beyond repair. But she also shouldn't have assumed that I'd leave her in the dust. Phoebe isn't alone in this, she never was. I have feelings too and her disregard of them hurts.

Whatever happens next boils down to effective communication.

AN: Phew! I've rewritten Mr. M's previous chapter (30. Peaceful Slumber) because I just didn't feel like it fit what he is in my head. This chapter is short but damn I feel like it was worth the wait. maybe?