21. Playing Games
Chapter twenty-one
Playing Games
Albany
I 'm cradled in Sal's strong arms, wrapped in a soft sheet, as he carries me back to my house. The sun is beginning to set, casting a warm glow over everything. I feel safe, cherished, as he effortlessly takes the stairs, his steps sure and steady.
He sets me down gently on the edge of my bathtub, the cool porcelain a contrast to my heated skin. I watch as he turns on the faucet, adjusting the temperature until it's just right. The sound of the water filling the tub is soothing, a gentle white noise that fills the room.
Sal turns to me, his eyes soft and tender. "Let's get you cleaned up, little dove," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine. He reaches for the sheet, slowly unwrapping me like a precious gift.
I stand, slightly unsteady, as he guides me into the tub. The warm water envelops me, a comforting embrace that eases the lingering tension in my muscles. I sigh, leaning back against the cool porcelain, my eyes fluttering closed.
Sal's hands are gentle as he begins to wash me, his fingers tracing delicate patterns over my skin. He takes his time, his touch reverent, as if he's worshiping every inch of me. I feel cherished, adored, as he carefully cleans every part of me.
When his fingers dip between my thighs, I gasp, my eyes flying open. He meets my gaze, his eyes filled with love and tenderness. "Shh, little dove," he soothes, his voice a gentle murmur. "I've got you."
His soapy fingers are gentle as he cleans the chocolate from my most intimate place. The sensation is overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and comfort that has me melting into his touch. He takes his time, his fingers moving in slow, delicate circles that have me writhing in the water.
"Sal," I moan, my voice a breathy whisper. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, his fingers never stopping their gentle ministrations.
"That's it, baby," he whispers against my lips. "Just feel. Let me take care of you."
His words are a balm to my soul, a tender promise that wraps around me like a warm blanket. I surrender to his touch, to the pleasure he's giving me, as he brings me to the edge of another orgasm and then gently pushes me over.
I come with a soft cry, my body trembling as waves of pleasure wash over me. Sal's arms are there, wrapping around me, holding me close as I ride out the aftershocks of my orgasm.
"I've got you, little dove," he murmurs, his voice a tender promise. "I've got you."
At this moment, I know that I'm his, completely and utterly.
If only the same were true in reverse. An image of Haze forms in my mind. Brooding, dark, surrounded by an air of tragedy that draws me in and leaves me longing to be let in.
When his gaze falls on Sal, his dark eyes gleam with possessiveness. There is no room in Haze's dead heart for me.
This is exactly why I became a cam girl. I wanted to explore my sexuality in a way that wouldn't destroy my heart. I wanted to feel without having to experience the soul-shattering grief I barely lived through when Jacob died.
Sal drops a sweet kiss on my forehead. Flicking up the handle to the drain, the water begins to lower. He offers his hand, and I take it, letting him pull me to a standing position, knowing he's going to turn on the shower to make sure I'm fully rinsed off.
I've never experienced this kind of aftercare. The tenderness that comes so inherently to Sal is the kind of touch I didn't know I was missing. Does Haze let Sal care for him like this?
I can't imagine he does. I can't imagine he would ever care for me like this. Although I am not ashamed to admit I find the idea of two men intriguing, and while I would give anything to make Sal's innermost desires come true, I won't chase a man who doesn't want me.
Hot water sluices down my head, my hair, splitting over my shoulders to run in a rivulet between my sparse breast tissue while the half that chose a posterior route slides down my back, over my ass and thighs. Sal waits beside me with a towel, content to leave me to my thoughts. Does he know they’re about the mysterious enigma that still owns his heart? I cannot fault Haze Harmon for holding on to both Sal and the past.
I've seen photographs over the years of Haze when some big Harmon Holdings acquisitions make the news. The stoic man with the dark eyes is nothing like the smiling, joking man I remember as my boyfriend's father. Swallowing hard, my stomach twists. I can't imagine surviving a loss like the one Haze suffered.
Anyone who suffers that level of devastation is irrevocably changed. I could never judge or have any sort of opinion about him, tragedy or not. The simple fact is I don't really know Haze Harmon. I didn’t as a teenager, and I certainly don’t now. A tragedy like the one Haze suffered means he is in no way, shape, or form the same person he was when I knew him.
But I know Sal needs more than what Haze gives him. He drapes a thick towel around my shoulders, the scent of lavender and vanilla billowing into the steam. His brilliant green eyes glow, only dimmed by the crinkled edges, as an equally bright smile lights up his handsome face.
"Sal," I begin, my gaze following him as he reaches behind me for another towel and squats down.
"Yeah?" he asks, his attention on his work. He pauses, his hands and the second towel still wrapped around my leg.
"I want to know if your cock tastes as good as you smell."
His lips part, his eyes widening. And then the corners of his mouth curl up in delight. Not every man likes a woman as forward or as comfortable in her sexuality as I am, and Sal's natural reaction delights me. Holding out a hand, I pull him up and wrap my arms around his neck. Standing on my tiptoes, I give him a gentle kiss. "You won't touch me again. Not until I've tasted you." I don't ask him for penetration. He's made his stance on that clear. In our own way, we're taking it slow.
I like that. As much as I like cooking dinners in my kitchen together, learning to sculpt chocolate from him in class, and the way we both seem to be healing each other's hearts. As much as I like the anticipation that begins brewing as soon as he walks back out of my door. Because I know he's going to walk back in. Sal Pagliano has poured himself, like tempered chocolate, into the empty mold of my heart.
I can wait for Sal. I can be patient. I don't know what Haze Harmon is doing, if he's unable or simply unwilling to open his heart and make the effort.
Haze Harmon's loss is my gain. Sal Pagliano will be mine, with or without Haze's consent.
After the shower, we settle into the living room and load up The Sims. We decide to create new characters. We spend the evening laughing, tossing popcorn at each other, and talking about everything and nothing. Eventually, ignoring the melancholy on Sal's face becomes too much, and I switch off the game.
"Tell me what's making you sad," I ask, scooching closer. The TV casts a soft glow over his features, highlighting the sadness in his eyes. "Talk to me, Sal," I murmur, resting my hand on his arm.
He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. "It's Haze," he says quietly. "I caught him watching one of your cam shows on his laptop."
My eyes widen in surprise, but I stay silent, letting him continue.
"I just don't understand it, Albany. If he's so opposed to the idea of us being together, why is he sneaking around and watching you like that?" Sal's brow furrows, his expression a mix of confusion and hurt. "Why won't he just talk to me about it?"
I snap my mouth shut from the shock of his revelation and squeeze his arm reassuringly. "I don't know, Sal. Haze has been through a lot, and I can only imagine how difficult it is for him to open up and be vulnerable again." I pause, choosing my words carefully. "But I also know that his actions don't reflect on you or our relationship. Whatever his reasons are, they're his own."
Sal nods slowly, his gaze fixed on his hands. "I just wish he would talk to me, you know? I want to understand, to help him, but he's shutting me out."
"Maybe he's not ready yet," I offer. "Grief and loss can be so isolating. But that doesn't mean he doesn't care about you, Sal. From what you've told me, you two have a deep connection. Don't give up on that, okay?"
He turns to me, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "How are you always so understanding?" he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
I lean into his touch, my heart swelling with affection. "I just want you to be happy, Sal. You deserve that more than anyone." Greased by truth, the sentiment slips out easily.
He pulls me into a tight hug, and I can feel the tension in his body start to melt away. "Thank you, Albany. I don't know what I'd do without you." And I believe him. He nuzzles his chin in my neck, his whiskers scratching my tender flesh as he squeezes me tighter, clutching at me as if I were a lifeline. He grasps at my neck, gripping and releasing, as if he could knead all the feelings he can't find the words for into my skin.
We sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound the soft hum of the TV in the background. I know Sal is still hurting, but I'm grateful that he felt comfortable enough to share his feelings with me. It's a testament to the trust and intimacy we've built.
I can explore Haze as a Behind the Lens customer later. Right now, I'm focused on Sal.
As I burrow into Sal's embrace, I take a deep, cleansing breath, inhaling the cocoa and spice. Somehow, Sal has become part of my landscape. This house feels more like home when Sal is here. Although I just swore to put Haze aside, I can't help wondering what life would look like with Sal's enigmatic, brooding boyfriend in the mix. What is it about Sal's relationship with me that he's struggling with? Is it simply the idea of Sal being with someone else, or is there something deeper going on? Feminine intuition tells me that what Haze is struggling with has nothing to do with me personally. I may never know the answer, but I hope that Haze can find the strength to open up and confront his demons for both his and Sal's sake.
For now, all I can do is be here for Sal, to support him in the way that Haze seems unable to.
My skin trembles. Sal rubs a hand up and down my back, tucking me into his chest. My ear ends up over his heart, and the steady thrum of his heart begins to soothe the wicked claws of fear against my confidence.
I think I'm falling in love with Sal. And I know without a doubt, if Haze Harmon has his way, our story won't be a happily ever after but rather a Bittersweet Sim-phony, an imagined life that will never come to fruition, just like the ones I create in my game.