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stephenjaymorrisblog · 1 year

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Complaining About My Grievances

Stephen Jay Morris

April 28, 2023

Is living in a Christian Capitalist Republic a try-athletic competition? Money does grow on trees. How high can you jump? You must fight to get what you need and want! If you’re a white woman, you must give birth to white boys for the master race. We need more white babies! So, ladies, Get busy! You white guys, if you’re poor, it’s your own fault! If you’re middle class, you’ve got to work harder to earn more money! If you’re a WASP billionaire, it’s because you adopted the Protestant work ethic and were anointed by God! If you should fail, it’s all your doing! Only the strong survive! The WASP ruling class needs a race of Aryan supermen to protect their empire.

Guess what: Everything you just read is a suck ass lie!

However, this is the rhetoric of not only paleo-conservatives, but of Christo-fascism, as well.

This type of conservatism is not to be confused with the classic conservatism created by Edmund Burke, an 18th Century philosopher. Nope! He would be appalled by what has become of his philosophy. American conservatism now is to protect the WASP ruling class and hypnotize the masses with Evangelical, fundamental delusion. This type of Christianity is not even mainstream Protestantism, which stimulates the question, “Will mainstream denominations ever unite and denounce Christian Nationalism?” Don’t bet on it.

Do not fall prey to Conservatives’ gas lighting. It’s not your fault if you are struggling with money. The whole capitalist system is a pyramid scheme combined with sub-genres like Ponzi schemes and money laundering. Don’t believe the lie that communists want a welfare state so the government can enslave you. The higher hierarchy of communists are rich elites? That’s not even true in China. Red China is now a capitalist state monopoly.

Instead of calling people Marxists, why not read his material? Karl Marx didn’t advocate for a welfare state, or for Transgender people to corrupt poor white children’s minds by reading fairy tales to them. You can read every word in “Das Kapital” and not find any of that. He was a philosopher, like Edmund Burke or, even, Adam Smith.

The capitalist state and I do not mix. I could never capture a career in anything because of my dyslexia and other medical problems. I was ambitious as a youth. I got a job at 13 and continued doing other things to advance myself. However, my learning disabilities stopped me from advancing in life. I do have artistic abilities, but in the USA, hardly anybody appreciates art. Conservatism has poisoned American culture. Art, intellectualism, history, and alternative philosophies are the enemies. While the rich wallow in hedonism and the hoarding of wealth, the rest of us are praying to Jesus while we yearn to have fun but can’t afford it.

There is the religious dictate to be humble and naïve. Be polite to our superiors. “Yes, sir! Yes ma’am!” Where does it get you? Nowhere! The rich can be dishonest, weak, and prissy all they want. They have class privilege, but all you’ve got is White privilege. And all that White privilege gets you are low paying jobs and the avoidance of police brutality. Class privilege triumphs White privilege.

Here I am in my senior years. I can’t afford to go to a baseball game or a basketball game. I can barely afford to buy groceries, get needed car repairs, or fix our plumbing problems. I am a senior citizen, not a Viking warrior! I can hardly do my landscaping anymore. My wife and I lost money on a house in Oregon. Now, we are almost penniless. Did we make bad decisions, or were we exploited? Is it my fault that I got cancer and suffered a heart attack? I guess it is.

And you wonder why there are so many homeless people on the streets. I guess we poor are just lazy! Right! Not that the wealthy aren’t lazy with their butlers and maids. They deserve that because they are fucking rich! What if some conservative were to cut off your left arm because they didn’t like your tattoo? You’d cry like a baby. Then they’d say, “Don’t be a victim!” Would it be moral to shoot them because they made you cry? Listen to their rhetoric! They are the biggest victims of us all! Six million Jews perished in World War II. Millions of people died from Covid. Are they not victims? How about the millions of innocent people who died because God flooded the Earth? I guess they are in heaven now, right? I am a victim, and I am not ashamed of it. I made a vow a few years ago, and it is this: I am not blaming myself anymore!!! If you’re almost penniless, it’s not your fault.

If the Left united, we could win!

#stephenjaymorris #poets on tumblr #american politics #anarchism #baby boomers #anarchopunk #anarchocommunism #anarcho socialism #anarcho punk #anarchoqueer #anarchocapitalism #anarchofeminism #anarcho nihilism #antifascist

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freddyrweddy · 2 years

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(Billionaire Burke)

#SoundCloud #music #Billionaire Burke #soundcloud

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mostlysignssomeportents · 2 years

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Uline's billions fund voter suppression

Every billionaire is a policy failure, but every billionaire is also a factory for producing policy failures at scale. The political power conferred by massive wealth accumulation makes a sham of democracy, because “one person, one vote” is easily swamped by “one dollar, one vote.”

That’s why we need to abolish all billionaires, even the “good” ones who promise to support charities or causes we support. But today, I want to focus on some extremely bad billionaires, Dick and Liz Uihlein, owners of the packing-supply monopoly Uline.

The Uihleins are a multi-generational far-right clan of wealthy conspiracy peddlers. The family money starts with the founding of the Schlitz Brewery (and you thought Coors was the only fascist beer!).

The Schlitz fortune let Edgar J. Uihlein pour money into Charles Lindbergh’s America First movement, an antisemitic, pro-Nazi isolationist group that was part of a wider anti-Jewish movement that Lindbergh helped found, whose projects included translated and disseminating an English translation of The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, a hoax document purporting to reveal a conspiracy of Jewish bankers to take over the world.

Edgar Uihlein Jr — father of Dick — was a major funder of the John Birch Society, another conspiratorial far-right authoritarian group, who campaigned against secret communists, water fluoridation and civil rights. Edgar lavished funding on pro-segregationists.

The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Today on Propublica, Justin Elliott, Megan O’Matz and Doris Burke document the vast and shadowy support that Dick and Liz Uihlein provide to far-right causes, using the windfall profits from Uline, whose sales have ballooned along with the rise of ecommerce:

https://www.propublica.org/article/uline-uihlein-election-denial

Back in 2002, Uline was pulling in $18m/year. By 2018, it was $712m. The pandemic goosed Uline’s sales still further. The Uihleins did their best to prolong the pandemic, putting money into local school-board races to oust trustees who advocated for covid safety measures:

https://urbanmilwaukee.com/2021/10/27/uilhlein-bankrolls-mequon-thiensville-recall/

They also campaigned against workplace shutdowns, and turned their own facilities into super-spreader sites where employees sickened at shockingly high rates:

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2021/feb/28/uline-dick-liz-uihlein-workers-covid-safety

That’s just a small corner of the Uihleins’ contributions to culture war bullshit in public schools. They’re also big donors to the American Principles Project and its anti “transgender ideology” attack ads, which also target abortion and “critical race theory.”

https://www.exposedbycmd.org/2022/07/19/uline-chairman-funnels-2-5-million-to-anti-abortion-pacs/

There’s no anti-abortion candidate too extreme for the Uihlines. They spent $50m to support Darren Bailey’s bid for the governorship of Illinois. Bailey says that the Holocaust “doesn’t even compare” to abortion” (and Bailey also condemns “perversion in our schools” in the form of curriculum that acknowledges the existence of queer people).

Dick and Liz named their foundation after Dick’s father. The Ed Uihlein Family Foundation sends tens of millions to the architects of anti-democractic, anti-majoritarian, pro-voter-suppression organizations, including the Federalst Society, the Conservative Partnership Institute and the Foundation for Government Accountability:

https://www.thedailybeast.com/new-filings-reveal-another-billionaire-dick-uihlein-behind-the-big-lie

The Uihleins play an inside/outside game, funding “think tanks” and other outside/astroturf groups, and also backing election campaigns directly. They’re the GOP’s largest federal donors. They’ve backed campaigns Jim Marchant, who is running for Nevada Secretary of State on a Big Lie platform that denies the 2020 election. They’re also backing the PA gubernatorial bid of Doug Mastriano, the Jan 6 insurrection participant who is associated with notorious antisemites:

https://whyy.org/articles/pa-2022-governor-elections-mastriano-jewish-democrats-press-conference/

The Uihleins epitomize the idea that rich people are born to be in charge of the rest of us, and that their wealth entitles — and even obliges — them to organize the lives of the people around them. They are workplpace tyrants, micromanaging bullies who force their employees to take down their kids’ drawings and ban women from wearing pants (they also ban corduroy!).

Employees who arrive for work one minute late are considered “tardy.” An employee may not display more than four personal items, and no item may be larger than 5x7 inches. “Liz would walk up and down the aisles, and if your desk looked off, you’d be written up.”

https://www.documentcloud.org/documents/23179330-uline-cubicle-dos-and-donts

The company hosts mandatory “lunch and learn” sessions for employees where they are required to endure speeches from Wisconsin governor Scott Walker and other far-right figures (the Uihleins once hired a Donald Trump impersonator as the warm-up act for one of these sessions).

The Uihleins are ideologues, but it’s a mistake to view their authoritarianism, antisemitism, racism, and homophobia as the main force of their ideology. First and foremost is their belief that they deserve to be rich, and that the rich should be in charge of everyone else.

That commitment to the one dollar, one vote system is the motivating factor behind everything else. The Uihleins fund voter suppression, sure, but that’s to weaken the power of the ballot box, which might otherwise check the power of oligarchs.

Oligarchs like the Uihleins say they believe the government is incapable of doing good, but it’s more true to say that they are committed to ensuring that the government can’t do good. They don’t want a small state — they want a captive one, one that will do their bidding.

In 2017, Donald Trump achieved the only significant policy victory of his presidency: a $2.3 trillion tax giveaway to the ultra-rich. Trump may have been in charge of the Executive Branch, but he lacked the executive function to get anything done. His plutocratic class solidarity overcame his poor impulse control for this issue alone.

The actual tax bill was an incredible mess. Lawmakers literally scribbled illegible hand-written amendments all over the 479-page bill, carving out tax breaks that sent millions to individual donors.

https://www.usatoday.com/story/news/2017/12/02/handwriting-wall-and-page-senate-passes-tax-bill/915957001/

Two of the biggest beneficiaries of this corrupt bonanza were Dick and Liz Uihlein. Their pet senator, Ron Johnson, threatened to tank the entire tax bill unless he was given a clause that created deductions for “pass-through” entities. Johnson claimed this would “simplify and rationalize the tax code” for a wide range of businesses, but that was a lie.

In truth, only a very small number of businesses benefited from this, and right at the top of the beneficiaries were the Uihlnes, who donated $20m to Johnson’s campaign and got $215m back in the first year. Overall, they stand to make $500m from Johnson’s amendment:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/11/the-canada-variant/#shitty-man-of-history-theory

The rich are a factory for producing policy failures, and the Uihlines operate one of the most efficient policy-failure factories in the world. Yes, they support causes that threaten to exterminate Black people, Jews and queers. Yes, they want to force women and children to give birth.

But most of all, they want to rule. They want to tell us all what we can wear and to dictate the maximum size of the keepsakes we post around our desks. They want to force us to attend their “learning sessions” and to watch their Trump impersonators and clownish politicians.

They derive this authority from being born rich, and from growing still richer. Having won the lucky orifice lottery and then leveraged the advantages of being born on third base, they get to impose their will on millions of others. They believe that some were born to rule, and the rest of us were born to be ruled over.

This is the core of the monopolist’s project — to deprive you of choices, so that you are cornered into doing the monopolist’s bidding. Not only do the Uihlines want to take away your vote, they also want to force you to fund it, by monopolizing the packing materials business, so that every time you ship a box, you support your own disenfranchisement.

https://marker.medium.com/we-should-not-endure-a-king-dfef34628153

[Image ID: A paper shredder that is shredding a document labelled 'official ballot'; the box is emblazoned with the Uline logo, as well as a VOTE HERE instruction and an 'I Voted' disc.]

#pluralistic

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seabreeze2022 · 1 year

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2023 Bahama Cruise, Part 21, April. 24. Cat Island Road trip.

Above on the left is the abandoned church built by Father Jerome, in 1944. It was mostly paid for by the Franciscans of Western Australia. Saint Francis of Assisi Catholic Church. Named after the patron saint of nature and animals on an island named “Cat Island”, go figure. Unfortunately we could not go in to see it. Look up the out of print book about his life, “The Hermit of Cat Island”.

This is a basic drawing by Father Jerome, of what he intended the church to look like.

The day starts with George picking up Nancy and I in his dinghy at 0800 on Sunday. After he drops us off at the beach we walk 30 minutes to Gilberts Grocery Store. We had arranged on Saturday that we could rent a car this morning. No cars today they say. Well maybe a car, they say. Ok you can rent that car, it is not clean.

Sure no problem. The car rental is $80 with $8 VAT tax. They copy down Drivers License. Give us the key. No questions about insurance, who the driver is. No mention of dents and damage. Those are a given!

We swing by the beach while George and Lisa anchor their dinghy and join us. With no agenda we head south.

Passing through Old Bight, we see a produce stand beside the road. Mary came out of her house and sold us tomatoes. Eight tomatoes cost $3.

Above photos are taken from the internet of the St. Frances of Assisi church. Father Jerome was ahead of his time and made the Jesus statue dark like the locals, instead of Lilly white like most did in his day.

Next stop was Hawks Nest Marina at the most southern and western part of the island. When the sport fishing boats return and clean their catch. Schools of Bull sharks go crazy. We only saw 3 Bull sharks waiting for dinner. To get to the marina you have to cross the runway. Thought of Rev. Burke Rolle who was hit by a plane doing that in Staniel Cay.

The quick drop off so near shore is the reason the fish and fishermen are at Hawks Nest Marina.

An ex-pats house name at Hawks Nest, which also the name of our sailboat.

We walked the north shore and the south shore of the area around Hawks Nest. While walking through the cemetery at Port Howe, the goats came walking by. Naturally Nancy had to go see them.

This is our visit to the Deveaux Plantations Great house, in Port Howe. A gentleman came over from next door to talk with us. His name is Prince Hunter. The slaves commonly took the names of their owners. Just up the eastern shore of Cat Island. Is the old 400 acre Joseph Hunter “Golden Grove” plantation.

This plantation made the news when there was an uprising of the slaves in 1840. Like most plantations of the day. Once slavery was abolished, the plantations fell apart. The rich white land owner left. The slaves were still on the land. Over the years and generations of squatting, the descendants of the slaves now consider it their land. Prince was no exception, when I heard his last name I said, “ Oh your are from the “Golden Grove” plantation. He said, “Yes that is my peoples land”.

Prince took us in to the back room of the cook house and showed us the scratches on the wall of ships. Very faint but they are there.

It was getting close to lunch time, so we back tracked to “da Pink Chicken”. Dean an American ex-pat and his wife Patti, who is a local run the place. They have a house on Duck Key in the Florida Keys. This is the place that movie stars, and Billionaires go to blend in. You never know who you are rubbing elbows with at the bar. Dean works a grueling 12 hours a week. Actually he tends bar and drinks 12 hours a week and his wife Patti slaves over the hot kitchen stove cooking fantastic meals. Conch are delivered fresh when needed. See the truck load above. They are then hung over the sea wall in nets. Fresh Wahoo and Cracked Conch were our request.

With full bellies we drove to the “Healing Hole” salt pond. Taking an overgrown dirt road a mile, we got to the end and found another car load of people partaking. Swimming in the “Healing Hole” is like swimming in the Red Sea. You float very high in the super saline water. Nancy was the only one brave enough in our group to try it. She had problems turning over on to her stomach.

We took a long and torturous road back to civilization. Along the way we did see someone doing “Slash and Burn Farming”. This is very common on the island. Besides burning the land they cut off all the trees 5-6 ft. tall. Then the peas can climb the trees trunks and get sun.

I needed to return the car the next morning, but the gas station was out of fuel. The rental agency told me drive down to Old Bight and fill the tank. It is about 4 miles south. So I got to talk to Albert at the gas station, laundry mat .

So ends the road trip on Monday morning. Rake and scrape next!

Sea Breeze, New Bight, Cat Island, Bahamas.

#seabreeze2022 #seabreeze2023

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joyffree · 2 years

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ebouks · 2 years

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Billion Dollar Love

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djskewbeezy · 3 years

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[Video] @BillionaireBurke - Need More

[Video] @BillionaireBurke – Need More

Billionaire Burke is back!! The long-awaited return of this soon to be infamous Harlem native has finally arrived. Now we see why the short hiatus; he was busy behind the scenes preparing. Billionaire Burke’s new single ‘Need More’ complete with visuals will NOT disappoint. Produced by @ohthatskooldre and visuals being directed by Akin Films NYC. Billionaire Burke is back doing what he does…

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emperor-palpaminty · 3 years

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Killing Time

Because nothing can kill a relationship like lies.

A modern AU where crosshair is a hitman and you're his loyal girlfriend who happens to be in the bodyguard business, but neither one of you know the other's careers

Warnings: swearing, mentions of death, making oit and allusions to smut, also this is in no way accurate to real life and it's just dramatic, please don't hurt me lol

children you have full permission to run away and not come here, in fact please run away

Very few things phased you. The only things that brought you to your precipice of agitation was burning pasta, your phone charger not working, and showing up to your shift only to realize someone had been killing all your clients.

Who said keeping people alive was easy? No one, that was who, and if anyone said it they were wrong or had no experience working with others whatsoever. Making sure others lived to see their next day was deadly business, for the people that were trying to live, at least.

“Charles!” You barked, feet hitting the floor of the bull pen. “What the hell happened?” You slammed your files on your desk, face warm, head just about collapsing with pressure. Your fingers pressed to your temples, hoping that they would grip it, hold it together. “Burke was alive when I left last night.”

“Doesn't matter now." Your coworker dropped his sandwich onto his desk. "Burke is fucking dead now. As dead as a doorknob." He swallowed his bite. "Luckily, you weren't on shift when it happened, so you aren't gonna catch any fire for it."

"Shit, Charles, a man is dead." You collapsed in your chair, a gentle "oomph" escaping your mouth. Your lips pressed together in agitation and you moaned to yourself. "This is the third one in two months. Sure, I'll get a couple cold bodies, but-"

"But this is a lot." Charles sunk into his own chair, grabbing for his sandwich again.

You stared at him, disbelief coating your gaze. "One is a lot, Charles," You snarled, grabbing at the folder on your desk. "Any leads?"

"Oh, yeah. But they're all at Burke's mansion." Charles tossed the crust of his lunch into the trash can. "I can drive ya."

"No, I'll take my car," You grumbled. You swiped the keys from your desk and stood, stalking back towards the elevator, anger eating away at you.

If one more of your clients- YOUR own clients- got killed, you would have to start pulling full shifts again.

___

Your shoes, practical, did little more than tap against the marble floor as you ducked under the Police tape. You skimmed the scene, frowning, eyes gracing past a particularly nasty chunk of gore on the wall. "Shot from above," You mumbled, glancing at the shattered window.

The mansion was huge. You'd been coming here for nearly a year now to keep an eye on Burke, and it still shocked you when you saw the absolute volume of the home. How much house would one man need, exactly?

In your years as a bodyguard you'd watched out for a lot of people- spoiled celebrities, prideful and arrogant politicians, and a particularly interesting Chef who had an unusual desire to cook everything with some kind of caffeine in it. That was probably your favorite client.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice broke the mumble in the next room, probably of detectives or cops sweeping the house for evidence. "You shouldn't-"

"I was Burke's bodyguard." You tugged your badge out or your pocket, allowing the interrupting police officer to take it and examine it. “You can verify with my assistant, Charles. Make sure you tell him he’s my assistant and not the other way around, though, he can be a dick.”

The cop hesitated, then gave a slight nod. “Well, we’re still cleaning up the scene.” His hands offered your badge back, and you slid it into your back pocket, satisfaction deflating. “You can come by later after it’s clean. Ballistics is running comparisons right now.” He paused and glanced at the shattered window. “Looks like the shot came from the garage. It’s the only side with no motion sensors or alarms.” The cop’s brows raised in interest. “Know why?”

“No.” You said, calmly, turning towards the front door. “I assume I can go there?” You heard no objection as you stepped outside, tugging your sunglasses back on over your eyes. The sun was unforgiving and you gave an involuntary hiss as the bright rays hit your eyes just right to temporarily give your vision black spots. You blinked strongly and hurried towards the garage.

In truth, Burke had alarms everywhere except the garage because he had so many people and cars coming and going. For any new technology the billionaire was releasing, the man had drugs and other forms of entertainment coming in and out, and it was all stuff that would probably bring him down. That nondisclosure form was still somewhere in the house in some obscure filing cabinet and you really, really, really didn’t feel like having a lawsuit lurking over your shoulders. Life was too good- well, everything outside of people you were being paid to keep alive was good.

Death really killed the whole “survival” business.

You clamored your way to the roof of the garage, noting the ladder was the same one that the gardener used around the several acres Burke owned. The police had to have put it here- the gardener only came in the mornings.

So who the hell climbed up here without a ladder? Most people didn’t want to put in the effort to scale this freehand or wedge between the wall of the garage and the fence to shimmy up. That someone had to be either very determined to kill Burke, for personal motive or financial motive.

You brushed off you pants and glanced around, looking down at the surface of the roof. Nothing- not even a bullet casing- had been left behind. You frowned and raked a hand through your hair, skimming your scalp as you examined the roof, walking to the edge closest to the window.

You stared in, at the shattered glass, pondering. Burke was heading to bed when he'd been shot, you assumed, so the assassian would have had to know his routine. Your mind ran through possibilities again, but you could come up with none that were motivated personally enough or fit enough to climb without much assistance. You trailed along the surface, frowning, unable to find anything, but paused at a smudge of black paint, small, on the corner of the roof.

____

You turned your car down the street, exhaling softly as you pulled into your driveway.

99. That was what the marks said. Very subtle, meant nothing, unless it was a birth year or graduating class. The cops had come back, irritated, snapped a couple of pictures, and told you off about your wild theories of a fiscally motivated assassian. Apparently, you watched too many scret agent movies, or something like that.

You opened the door of the car and climbed out, frustration making you slam it shut. You inhaled the scent of the yard- clean, fresh cut, and perhaps it could help soothe your anger before you went inside.

After fumbling on your Keychain, you unlocked the door and hurried in, locking it behind you. "Cross?"

A savory aroma wafted from the kitchen, and your mouth watered. Your toes found their way out of your shoes and you hurried to the kitchen, pausing briefly at the doorway.

Cross's lanky figure was leaning over the skillet, stirring something, pale hands moving in expertise across the stove top. "Darling, you're late." He drawled.

You sighed, fully entering the kitchen. "Yeah. Sorry." You leaned up and wrapped your arms around his waist, face pressing against his back. You sighed. The day felt a little less bad now- filled with him. "Work kept me."

"How was work?"

You grunted. "A killer. An absolute killer." The irony was not lost on you, but it was lost to your boyfriend. He thought you were an editor for some book publishing company, because cover was the most important thing. You were one of those people trying to stay alive, after all.

Lies hurt, but it was one of the necessary ones. A little lie.

"Yikes." His hands drew plates to himself. "Mine wasn't much better. Got a few new clients, a few new cases." He sighed. "The Baliff forgot to submit evidence."

You mumbled against his shirt. "Law school really paid off, huh?"

"I'll say." He turned around, adjusting your arms, slowly taking your chin and leaning down to peck you. You always melted at his kisses, knees weak and brain numb, and he seemed to know it every time. You hummed, running your hands up his chest, the irritation for the day pooling to your midsection as your fingers gripped his shirt, your lips pulling in on his.

Cross tugged away gently, and you whined, fingers stubbornly clasped. "Wow, really frustrated today."

"Yes," You mumbled.

His lips pressed towards one of their corners in a half smile, and he picked your head. "Go shower. Then we can eat and I'll take care of you."

You hummed, fingers reluctantly releasing him, and you hurried away to the bathroom. You paused at the dresser, rummaging through, grabbing an especially large t-shirt and hipster underwear. Comfort was more important at the moment.

You climbed into the shower, turning the water to as hot as you could and scrubbing yourself off, humming in pleasure as the day came off you and went down the drain. The floral scent of the soap remained, the purple bad working diligently to rid you of your grime and frustration. Lavender really is a natural relaxant. You sighed and leaned back briefly on the tile, feeling every muscle in you ease at the same time.

After toweling off and getting dressed, your padded to the kitchen where Cross was pouring a your favorite wine. You sighed happily, accepting the glass as he skimmed your fresh-showered body. "Thanks."

"Of course." Cross picked up his own glass, taking a sip, eyes still diligently stripping you on their own. You shivered slightly, setting down your glass and looking up at him. "Dinner's ready," He mumbled, leaning in, pressing a hand to the counter of either side of you, leaving your back to the counter. "But I would much rather start with dessert."

You drew in a breath as he pressed his lips to your neck, drawing out a sigh with his teeth. You wrapped your arms around his neck, humming in agreement, and he scooped you up. Your groaned as he drew your legs around his lips, shifting, the agitating heat pooling back between your legs. "That's a good idea." You mumbled, whimpering as he bucked his hips slightly. "I just showered, though."

"Then we can take another one," He hissed, lips covering yours. "You're so damn intoxicating."

You mumbled something against his lips, unable to get a coherent response out as he dropped you on the bed. You bounced briefly, giggling, and he yanked off his shirt and joined you, climbing over you and hovering. "Come here, sweetheart," His finger traced over your shirt between your breasts, running down to the hem. "Let's end the day on a good note."

You whimpered, neck straining as you leaned up for his kiss, and you felt Cross snarl against you, tugging your surrendered form up closer to him. Your body relaxed again, neck loosening and head back against the pillow as he tugged your own shirt up, eyes gleaming with a primal eagerness that made you swoon, ready to work out the agitation for the day you both had.

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