Chapter 49 #2
As I cut the call, a message pinged from Gian.
Frowning, I opened it to a side-profile photo of Ishika laughing at something her friend said.
In a white cocktail dress that kissed her thighs, her dark hair falling down her back in thick curls, she was fucking stunning.
Yet no matter how bright or wide she smiled, her light couldn’t touch the darkness I was born and raised in.
Too bad I’d dragged her into my world because I could offer her nothing besides protection.
The heaviness in my chest pressed down with an almost physical force, spreading along my spine with a merciless intensity, like a tornado rolling in and refusing to break.
Inhaling deeply, I shut my eyes, wishing for calm. Memories submerged me instead, stealing my control, weakening me and like a pathetic fuck, I gave in.
“One day I’ll make you a king, il mio bellissimo ragazzo,” My beautiful boy, she purrs. Her voice silken honey drenches my ears, coating my heated skin as her warm hand trails down my naked chest, sliding lower with each stuttered breath I let out.
Nude nails, painted the same pale pink as her lips, meant to look elegant and sophisticated, dip beneath the waistband of my shorts, easing them down.
I want to cry out, to push her away, to beg her to leave me alone but my throat seizes, my mind remembering what happened when she visited my bedroom and I turned into her body, seeking relief from the news of my father’s death.
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 willingly shared. 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.