Instead of comfort, what she’d given me, left me feeling dirty, sick and confused. Her threat, however, paralyzed me with shame and fear. That first time was a week ago and even though I hate her, I assumed it would be a once off. I was wrong.
Tonight, when I heard the clack of her heels coming down the passage, I shut my lids tight, pretended to be asleep and hoped she wouldn’t come into my room. That didn’t happen.
Now, while I try to keep my body rigid, to act like it doesn’t affect me, nothing works.
“But first, I need to teach you how to be a man.” Her breath warm against my cheek, she pulls my dick free, slowly stroking.
I hate how it reacts, how arousal floods the length, making it hard. Shocked, I close my eyes, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.
“You’ll be my perfect little man tonight.”
Her touch scorches my skin and as her fingers grip me, her soft mouth covering the head softly sucking, I struggle to breathe, embarrassed by how my body responds, how it hankers for fulfilment. Maybe I’m too young to understand but in that moment, she straddles me and her wetness covers my heated hardness, wrong is right, need is subjugated and enticement, the destroyer of virtue.
“My perfect little man,” she groans, eyes closed, her hips a slow grind, each roll punctuated with words of affection, her voice a lover’s drone no child should hear.
Afraid to speak, I stare up at the ceiling, silent tears a river down my temples, counting the tiny glowing stars Mateo took his time to stick, mimicking the Milky way. He and Lorenzo promised it would keep the nightmares away. If only they knew that sometimes monsters don’t hide under the bed, in your closet or in the shadows, sometimes they take the form of people meant to protect, love and nurture you.
Shame burns through me, stronger than the heat pooling in my crotch. Unbidden I groan, closing my eyes but not before I see her smile as I spill into her, her nails digging into my shoulders, marking me.
“You want to talk about what’s gotten under your skin?” Lorenzo’s question yanked me out of my obscure abyss.
“What?” I grunted.
My breath was shallow, uneven, battling the tightness in my chest. The hammer of my heart was so damn loud in my ears, I feared my brother might’ve seen way too much than I willinglyshared. Anger fueled the fire in my gut for that alone, bile threatening to spill up my throat.
“Hey.” He grasped my arm in a tight hold. “It’s me,Fratello,” his stern words anchored me.
Pulling in a deep breath through flared nostrils, I apologized, my gaze not quite meeting his. “Sorry.” I tossed the burnt-out cigarette into the shadowy water, dragged a hand down my face, and drew in lungsful of air, attempting to compose myself. But it wasn’t enough to calm me, it never fucking was. Even after her torturous death, the bitch still tormented me.
“Talk to me, Remo,” his soft tone fucked with me even more.
I glanced at him, hating the vulnerability he probably sensed. “I’m fine, Renz.”
He stood there studying me, his expression fighting worry and coercion. Eventually, he sighed. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
My movements slow, I followed him, my thoughts sinking into that simple story I allowed myself to believe since that first moment.
Temptation wasn’t borne by desire, it sprouted with the ache for solace, the yearn for comfort, the longing for empathy and perhaps, the nudge of familiarity. One touch, one embrace, one caress then another, until you’re drowning in humiliation so deep, no lifeline will bring you to the surface.
fifty
. . .
Remo– 36 years old
By the time we stepped off the yacht, I was myself again, not even bothering to return Arturo’s frivolous goodbye. At the vehicles Lorenzo and I slipped into back while Dario jumped in the front passenger seat of our SUV.
“Let’s move,’ he ordered Joey, glancing behind us.
“How did it end?” I asked Lorenzo.
He looked up from his phone, shoved it into his inside jacket pocket and chewed his bottom lip, his expression thoughtful. ‘When a fucker like Arturo laughs that much, it’s because he’s already decided how the meeting would end.”
“Well, he took the deal.”
“Doesn’t stop him from going rouge.”
“I guess we wait then.” I pulled out my phone.
