SALT #4
That last part wasn’t planned, for sure. Words slip again. Cringing internally, I come to the conclusion that I subconsciously want him to hate me.
That has to be it.
Eliano jerks his head up and looks at me, a flash of something close to anger cutting through his eyes.
"I’m not scared, Salt."
I blow a long stream of smoke in his direction.
"Then what’s the problem?"
He hesitates, his gaze moving over my face before he presses his lips together hard.
"Judging by how you see the mafia, you wouldn’t understand."
Oh hell no. I’m not letting him brush me off like that. I stub out the cigarette on the windowsill with a sharp motion, and puff out my lips, irritated.
"But all alphas like fighting, right? Correct me if I’m wrong. Or maybe some of you just aren’t cut out for it?"
No way in hell! Why did I do it again? Why does my tone keep turning jabby? I really have zero control over myself tonight.
I’m weirdly itchy, keyed up, buzzing under my skin. I need something, more of him, a reaction, a hit of his energy.
But Eliano doesn’t even look at me now. He keeps his eyes on the screen and straight-up ignores me.
The fucker just sits there.
Yeah. It’s working. I’m definitely making him hate me.
"Try me," I push. "Tell me why, Eliano."
He slowly raises his hand and… flips me off!
I almost laugh. This is a language I know. This I can work with.
"Oh no, you asshole!" I shoot back, half amused. "You’re gonna pay for that!" And then I jump him, the laptop sliding off his lap and hitting the floor.
But if I thought I could be quicker than an alpha, I’m in for a fail.
Lightning fast, Eliano grabs my wrist and twists his body just enough while pulling me forward, making me land on his lap.
I end up sprawled across his thighs, belly down, in a perfect position to be spanked, and dear Fate, they land!
Two—very light—claps tap my ass cheeks, clearly not meant to hurt, more like humiliate, which I low-key dig. I’ve been naughty, for sure.
And his hand stays there after! A very welcome aftereffect.
It’s also too late to fight it. The damn virile alpha body magic kicks in again at full force. Against logic, I melt on his lap like pink jelly, practically liquefied, my submissive mode switching on automatically without asking for my permission.
A strange silence settles in. Eliano’s fingers lightly squeeze the curve of my ass. Once, twice. Wow. That feels good. He should definitely keep doing that.
The pressure, the slow kneading, the sensual massage, it’s good, really good, and an unwanted moan slips out of my throat.
In one sudden, rough move, Eliano yanks my sweatpants down off my ass, and my pale mounds are suddenly right in front of his face.
Do I protest? Nope. It’s safer to say I would protest if he didn’t do it.
He gives me a few more light spanks, more like playful pats than anything else. It’s obvious pain isn’t the point here, but something else entirely.
After a moment of playful jiggling, making my ass cheeks wobble, Eliano gently spreads my buttocks and the silence stretches.
What is he doing? I can feel his breath gently brushing against my little pucker.
“I know you’re looking at this," I whisper. With my head hanging down, my voice comes out breathy.
And he replies, "I sure am. It’s sooo pretty."
Enough blood has rushed to my head in this position that there’s really no room left for any intelligent answer.
"Funny," he says, "because I want to kiss it more than your upper mouth since those can be downright venomous."
Duh, I take that as a compliment and mutter, "Go ahead…"
Oh my good Fate. A moment later I feel Eliano’s soft, warm mouth on my sensitive ring. Sweetly kissing, subtly licking. A sound somewhere between a whine and a mewl escapes my throat because it feels unreal.
For one perfect minute, I wallow in the sensation, letting out a whole serenade of obscene, lust-soaked sounds.
And then he says it.
The thing that ruins everything.
"Am I imagining it, or does it look like a different color? Darker?"
Why, Eliano! I was lost in abandon, sweetly drifting in a pink haze and you are starting a discussion about my fucking anal appearance. What the hell is wrong with you?
"What are you even talking about?" I mutter reluctantly.
"I mean, I’m no expert and I’ve never seen something like this up close before, but it looks like it’s getting kind of… deeper shade of pink? Like just before… heat?" He adds the last word with hesitation.
A wave of confusion hits me so hard my body almost jerks up, and I practically tumble off his lap onto the floor, panting.
Our eyes meet, his are a bit darkened.
"Do you have… a small mirror?" I blurt out, my voice a little strangled.
"I’ll check. Damien filled my toiletry bag, I haven’t really looked through it yet."
Eliano gets up, and he’s definitely tenting his pants, which I note with deep satisfaction. He grabs a black toiletry bag from his side of the closet and pulls out a small mirror.
I almost snatch it out of his hand and examine myself in a very undignified position, squatting on the rug, legs spread, staring at my hole.
And I swear under my breath. Damn it. Eliano is right. It’s a color I’ve never seen there before. Not that I’ve looked there often, duh!
But what am I supposed to say, that I have no idea what’s happening? It can’t be heat, that would be ridiculous. I’m a beta.
I need to downplay it quickly before it gets awkward, otherwise… what?
Better not go there.
"It’s probably an allergic reaction to the lube the doctor used on the ultrasound probe," I announce confidently as I stand up, pull my sweatpants back on, and hand him the mirror.
"It stung a bit before."
The whole time, I make sure my face looks like nothing happened. Acting chilled out, I walk over to the window again and turn my back to him.
I’m kind of pissed that he brought it up, because the fun could have gone in a much more interesting direction, but the mood is gone now.
Eliano picks up the laptop and checks it for any damage. "At least it still works. Be careful next time, or they’ll dock it from our stipend."
I shrug and snort.
A long silence falls, broken only by the sound of Eliano’s fingers tapping on the keys.
Vacantly, I stare out the window, watching a few couples heading toward the round plaza on the promenade. Are they already heading for the Last Man Standing or the grill event?
What now?
One thing’s for sure, our last conversation ended in a really shitty place, and maybe I can fix it?
Saying sorry to anyone other than Senu basically didn’t exist in my world.
But somehow… I feel this pull to apologize to him.
Eliano didn’t do anything wrong. He saved me on that damn bus.
He helped me in the medical office. And I’m not some entitled bitch who forgets favors and acts like the world owes him kindness.
I know exactly how shitty people can be, which is why I actually appreciate that Eliano treated me right.
Maybe it’s time I treat him right too? At least a little.
Clearing my throat, I start, "Sorry about the… you know, the dumb mafia comments. I genuinely want to understand why those fights get to you so much. I promise no jokes, no silly jabs. I know what it means to go through fucked-up shit. I’ve been there myself…
" I force the words out, because saying sorry really is a whole new thing to me.
After a moment of silence, I finally decide to turn toward him.
Eliano looks back, almost as if assessing whether I’m serious, seemingly the verdict coming in my favor, his brows knitting into a grim frown, as he says,
"I was forced to fight against my will from the time I was seven. I trained every single day. From the age of fifteen, I fought in cages against other fighters. It never gave me any pleasure. I’m not exactly eager to go back to what I escaped from."
For a moment, I wrestle with my emotions.
Maybe it’s a stupid reason, but it feels like wasted potential to me.
He trained for so many years only to turn his back on it completely.
He wants to be a journalist now, nothing to do with training or physical activity at all.
It sounds like such a different career path, almost the opposite. With some reluctance, I say,
"But I really don’t think you’d have any trouble there. They’re probably just regular guys with no training. No real fights. You’d wipe the floor with them in seconds, and they’d back off."
Eliano’s eyes go back to the screen.
"As I predicted, you wouldn’t understand."
I’m about to let out a snort, but then I realize how my words must have sounded to him, as if I didn’t care about his feelings, dismissing his trauma around fighting.
For some reason, my thoughts drift back into my own past.
When Senu and I were living on the streets, he forced himself to give blowjobs to clients just so we could survive. Later, when I found a job and money started coming in from somewhere else, he stopped and never went back to it.
But that time damaged him deeply and changed something inside him.
Even after he landed a steady job at a bar, he began using drugs to cope with the stressful memories. For almost two years, he struggled with addiction before going to rehab.
After that, he seemingly got back on his feet. He even dated two decent betas, but he never could hold onto them. There was always a lingering, unspoken sadness in him. A pain he carried deep.
I see a certain analogy here between Eliano’s and Senu’s situations. The trauma may run deep and manifest in different ways.
Would I ever say to Senu, "Go on, suck off those guys, it’s not a big deal, they’ll back off…"?
Fuck no, never. But I kind of said that to Eliano.
For a few minutes, I watch him as he sits there staring at the screen, his black-haired head, his muscular neck, the beautiful knots of muscle. A body trained for fighting, but… one that hates it.
Those scars on his back…