Chapter 13 Malin
MALIN
I lie awake. Ryan is there in my peripheral vision, but I have the sheets covering my nose and continue to breathe in Gracen’s scent. My body lies pressed against Gracen’s side. I can turn my face toward him at any time. I can reach out and touch him at any time.
I don’t know why Jonathan hit something so raw inside me. It’s not like the other disciples of the temple didn’t have victims. Not all were children. Maybe that’s why Jonathan affected me more than others.
Emily was a little girl. Even to me, a child myself, she was just a little girl. There were times I’d fall asleep, hearing her screams echoing in my head.
There was one night I told Ryan about this, and he assured me she was a very troubled girl. There was a demon on her shoulder that Jonathan was working tirelessly to get rid of.
Those words now make my stomach churn. I know what that means now. I don’t understand how someone can be so cruel. How do you look at a child and think, ‘I’m going to rape her over and over again’?
I glance a little more fully at Ryan. He becomes clearer when I focus on him. As if the figment of my imagination gains substance when I acknowledge him more.
It’s strange that I don’t feel the same kind of sickness in my stomach toward Ryan that I do toward those who hurt other children. I was a child myself. I should feel just as sick about it.
“It was different between you and me,” Ryan’s voice says in my ear.
He comes closer to the bed and crouches down.
I swear, I can feel his fingers brush against my forehead.
It’s soft. Tender. Chilly. “Everything was different between you and me. It wasn’t about your sins, William.
I loved you so damn much. More than anything at all.
I’d have used my body as a shield to protect you from the bullets had I known they were coming. ”
I swallow, trying to justify the words in my head. It’s not true. He was selfish. Everything he did was selfish. It was about control.
“You don’t believe that,” he insists. “I was never selfish with you. I gave you everything you wanted.”
That’s true. When I asked for something, he made sure I had it. No matter what it was. I didn’t ask for a lot. Nor did I ask for things often.
“Tell me where you got me,” I whisper.
His answer is predictable. “You were always mine.”
“You didn’t give birth to me. Where did I come from?”
“You were created for me.”
I sigh. This is an endless cycle. I used to ask him this when I started therapy ten years ago. Then, I used to ask because I thought his answers would prove my therapist was wrong. He didn’t steal me. I wasn’t kidnapped. I was his, and his words confirmed that.
It was in that year or two when I still took his presence in my head as a comfort. He might not be here physically, but he was still with me. As he always said he’d be.
Right now, as he talks to me, even though he’s refusing to answer my questions, the déjà vu of comfort lingers between us. It makes my chest hurt. It makes my skin feel tight. I don’t like his touch anymore. Not even in death.
I know what kind of monster he is now. There’s no taking that back.
When the veil first began to be lifted from my eyes, I would yell at him. I would accuse him of all the things my therapists made me realize. Ryan had an excuse for everything. They were liars. They didn’t know what they were talking about. I knew the truth. I was there.
This was his biggest mantra when I started telling him he was a child rapist. He brainwashed me. He groomed me. He took advantage of me. Everything he did to me was inappropriate and wrong. Gross.
“You don’t really believe that, William. Do you? They weren’t there. If they were, they’d have seen how much I loved you. You know how much I loved you. You can still feel it.”
I know the moment Gracen wakes up. The peace and softness that began to settle between Ryan’s image in my head and me abruptly turns loud and angry. Sighing, I roll into Gracen to drown him out, which only pisses him off more.
“Good morning,” Gracen murmurs in his gruff, deep voice, made huskier with sleep. His fingers brush through my hair gently. “How did you sleep?”
“All right,” I answer.
I feel his dick against my thigh. I’ve touched this man everywhere. Feeling his body in a way I’ve never touched another. I like to touch him. Feel the texture of his skin. His back is soft. His upper arms are soft, though I can feel a hardness under his skin where muscle is.
His hair is both soft and coarse. Soft to the touch, but it makes his skin almost rough when I move my hands over it. I like his hair. I love to run my fingers through it. I like his thick thighs. His ass is round and firm. I love to feel the way his muscles flex under my touch.
I’m fascinated by his dick. Every time I touch him, it grows in length. Thickens. Hardens. Leaks. It twitches and jumps. His balls do too.
But I haven’t found the courage to touch his dick. Maybe in the moments when I’m tempted, I hear Ryan break through the shield of silence that’s lifted between us whenever I’m close to Gracen. The most I’m brave enough to touch his cock is with my thigh pressing more firmly against it right now.
“Good,” Gracen says. He presses a kiss to my forehead, and I smile.
It feels strange to smile. New. I don’t think I’ve smiled since before Ryan was killed. But was that smiling? Was I happy? Or was I deluded into thinking I was happy? I didn’t know any better.
I lick my lips before pressing them to Gracen’s chest. The feel of his heartbeat under my touch makes my breath get stuck in my throat.
“Gracen?” I ask, letting my fingers trail over his side, enjoying the way his muscles jump under my touch.
“Mm?”
“Can I touch you?”
“Yes.”
“I like to ask.”
“I know,” he answers. “You’re learning about consent and how important it is.”
My fingers stop as I think about this. Am I? I glance beyond Gracen to where Ryan’s image is hovering at the edge of the bed. He never asked permission. It was never my choice. Nothing was my choice.
I shiver, nodding. I think Gracen’s right.
Gently, I push Gracen backward until he rolls onto his back. I keep my face close to his skin as I lie along his side. He’s in his underwear, which is how he usually sleeps. I’m fully covered with my bedclothes.
My eyes track my fingers trailing down his stomach.
He has a soft stomach. There’s muscle, but it’s covered with a soft patch of skin that I love to touch.
I love the trail of hair. I love the pillowy feel of him and the way his muscles harden underneath.
My fingers continue to glide through his hair, enjoying it against my skin.
My gaze is beyond where my hand hovers, though. Watching his dick press against the restraint of his underwear. I can see the crown of his big mushroom top. A wet spot is forming. It jumps suddenly, and I smile, pressing my lips to his shoulder.
“Gracen?” I whisper.
His answer is low and breathy. “Mhm?”
“Can you take off your underwear?”
He nods and, with the hand I’m not lying on, he wriggles his way out of them, shoving them down over his hips and then kicking them off with his feet.
Now I have my first truly unfiltered view of him.
It’s not that we haven’t been naked together before.
We shower together sometimes. But I’ve never looked.
I wasn’t allowed to look at Ryan. Again, I think that goes back to his body image issues.
I’m allowed to look at Gracen, though. So I do.
My fingers continue to move over his stomach, but my eyes are glued to his dick.
I watch as a bead of precum grows bigger and bigger at the slit.
A slit that’s staring at me. Pointing at me.
Watching me. It grows until it’s too heavy and drops to his stomach.
I lick my lips.
“Gracen?”
“Yes?”
“Can I touch you there?” I point, maybe a little awkwardly.
“You can.”
My hand feels a little shaky as I slowly push my way toward him. My pinky touches the little bead of precum first, and I pick my hand up to press my thumb to my pinky to feel the texture.
Gently, perhaps reverently, I press my pointer to the tip of his dick. Against his slit. A flash of Ryan touching me like that blinks through my mind, and I shove it away.
That was wrong. He shouldn’t have been touching me. I didn’t like him touching me. When I told him I didn’t like it, he told me I was sinful and needed to be cleansed of those sins. There was no choice. Not on my part. I learned to get through those moments, keeping the pain silent and to myself.
This is different. I have permission. Gracen doesn’t ever touch me. He doesn’t ask. He’s waiting until I tell him I want him to. Even though I told him I wanted him to before, he decided that was for the wrong reasons.
He’s right. It was. I’m not ready for him to touch me. I’m glad he decided not to.
But I want to touch him. So I do. I press my finger more firmly to his slit and then rub the bit of juice into the soft top. My fingers explore his pronounced crown, running along the rim. When I touch his shaft, my breath catches, though I’m not sure why.
It’s different. I expected it to feel the same all the way down. My curiosity has my hand trailing over his length, feeling the skin move over the hard core, feeling veins I trace with my fingers. I grip him around, feeling how thick he is.
“Do all dicks feel this way?” I wonder.
He chuckles. “How do you mean?”
“I mean… It’s strangely soft and hard at the same time.” I give his cock a little squeeze.
“Haven’t you ever touched yourself, Malin?”
I chew the inside of my lip before shaking my head. “No,” I whisper. It’s sinful. “I… wasn’t allowed to.”
He hums. “Yes,” Gracen answers. “More or less the same. But dicks, like people, are different. Different sizes, different shapes, different colors, different lengths, and thicknesses. Some have extra skin that covers their heads, while others do not. Also, like people, they all have the same general shape, so they’re recognizable as male genitalia. But no two are exactly alike.”
“What if they’re identical twins?” I ask. “Or triplets?”
Gracen laughs quietly. “That’s not an answer I have, though I know you have sources to ask if your curiosity gets the better of you. However, reason states that if they’re identical, that means their genetics are identical. So, my hypothesis is that yes, their dicks would be identical as well.”
“I like yours. It’s…” I don’t have a description to finish that sentence. “Nice.”
I enjoy his laughter. It makes me smile. His laughter changes to a moan when I run my fisted hand along the length of his dick. More than just that reaction, his stomach muscles contract. His breath puffs out.
“Can I get you off, Gracen?”
He nods. “Yes.”
I press my face into his shoulder, eyes trained on my hand, and learn how to touch a man until he orgasms. It’s hypnotic. Far different from being forced to when your body isn’t there. His sounds are beautiful. Guttural.
Maybe more astonishing is the way my body responds to him. This, too, is far different from what I’ve experienced in the past. It happens all on its own. Which means the arousal in me is all my own, too. It’s equally mesmeric.