“No. You need to leave it for at least a day, so the rigor mortis wears off and the meat goes soft.”
She looks away. I’m sure the phrase rigor mortis made her think of dead people. Probably the ones I’ve killed.
Good.Run away and leave me alone.
Without something to do, I’m far too aware of her body, her breasts, her lips, her shy smile. She only came here to thank me. Whatever happens, I will not reveal any more of myself to this girl.
She stands and wanders closer to the water. “Did someone teach you to hunt?”
“No.”
She toes off one of her white sneakers. “You taught yourself?”
“No.”
“Then how…?”
“The men who worked for Eli’s Nonno hunted boar. Sometimes, I went with them.”
Not that they wanted me to come. I was big and young, and I was an outsider. I barely spoke Italian and what I knew I confused with English and Ukrainian. Doc told me they’d shoot me in the back of the head when I wasn’t looking, but they didn’t. They let me camp with them. As I began to bring down boar and red stag and roe deer, they stopped laughing at me. Instead, they passed me bottles of homemade grappa, the glass already blurry with greasy fingerprints.
The girl is looking at me and I sense her curiosity and longing. I might not be the only one remembering our turn in my bed. But what the fuck am I supposed to do about that? Invite her into my cabin? Give her flowers or kisses or whatever the fuck normal men do?
She shifts her weight, pushing off her other sneaker then bending to pull off her sock.
“What are you doing?”
She blinks at me. “Cooling off.”
“I told you, you’ll ruin your dress.”
She smiles sweetly and then in a long, heart-stopping moment, pulls the floaty material over her head.
She’s naked underneath, her porcelain skin shimmering in the sun. My mouth dries over. “Are you fucked in the head?”
She moves toward the water, her ass swaying in a confusing mix of the refined and the erotic. “I don’t know, maybe?”
She steps into the stream, gasping at how cold it is. I wait for her to dive, my cock hard against my leg, but she turns in a slow circle. “It’s so nice.”
I can’t talk. I can’t blink. I can’t move.
She scoops up a palmful of crystal water and splashes it across her breasts. My head squeezes like it’s in a vise. “I don’t have anything to dry you with.”
“That’s okay, I can use my dress.”
The fading sunlight dots the stream with flecks of gold. They dance around January Whitehall like they’re drawn to her. But of course, they are. Everything bright should be.
She raises her arms above her head and turns in a half-circle, humming a song that’s almost familiar. Then she lowers her arms and lifts a leg, diamond droplets clinging to her shoulders. She’s dancing for me. Dancing the way she used to dance in her ballet studio when I was pretending to be a janitor. Only now she’s not in leggings and a leotard, she’s naked in every way she can be.
She holds her hands in front of herself and then spins. Our eyes meet for just a second and I understand. She’s thanking me, letting me watch without having to touch. Without having to force things or hurt her the way I would if we fucked.
That’s another reason I didn’t take her virginity. Fear that I’d break the honey sweetness that radiates from every inch of her. But like this… with her in the water, I can’t get to her, and I don’t want to.
I sit on the stream bank and unbuckle my belt. Her ballet outfits were always tight but now I don’t have to imagine her bare tits swaying, the flashes of her pink cunt. I can see it all as she spins for me.
My cock hurts when I take it in my fist. It’s as big and ugly as I am, as marked with scars and tattoos. The girl’s breath catches in her throat as I tug, but she keeps dancing, pretending to be oblivious. We’re both pretending now. I shouldn’t be doing this, I swore I’d let her be happy with my brothers, with some other, less damaged man. But here I am, stroking off to her, letting her see exactly how I feel.
I pull myself tight and fast. I can almost taste her rose-pink nipples, almost feel her sweet breath at my throat. Her dancing slows. She runs her hands over her tits, and I make a guttural sound like a wounded dog. That’s all I am, a filthy beast panting after a beauty I could never possess.
