“You’re a masterpiece.” Cole takes in the sight of me painted in his seed like a million dollar piece of art. As his eyes travel up my body to find my own, I get the feeling it’s not just the sight of his cum on me that he’s referring to.
I’ve never felt so beautiful in another man’s eyes. I’ve never felt this raw and cherished. The weight of his gaze makes me want to curl into myself and refuse the admiration I see within. But I don’t want to bethat girl anymore. I want to own who I am and project the confidence I so deeply wish I held.
Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
So I just bask in his praise, soaking up every ounce of affection.
Chapter Fourteen
Cole
As breathtaking as she is marked by my release, I can’t imagine it would be very comfortable to sleep with all that cum sticking to her smooth skin. So I walk to the kitchen to retrieve a paper towel, wet it, and return to gently clean the sticky substance from Noelle’s abdomen.
Fuck me, she’s so beautiful. And so bold. Every time she sparred with me, told me what she wanted, showed me how turned on she was, I felt the overwhelming need to sink my teeth into her and claim her as mine.
Maybe I’ll do that later.
Noelle’s eyes shine with appreciation as I clean her, they hold a softness that contradicts her fiery personality. She’s already made it pretty clear that most of the people in her life have never gone the extra mile to make her feel special. It’s sad that me cleaning my cum off her is what she might consider as going above and beyond for her.
Tossing the soiled towel into the waste basket beside her bed–which I make in one shot–I don’t bother with my boxers as I slide into bed beside her.
“I know when I came here tonight I said I would sleep on the couch, but what are the chances you’ll let me sleep beside you, tonight?”
A sleepy, sweet smile turns the corners of her mouth up as she answers, “Considering how the circumstances have changed, I think your chances are pretty good.”
I can’t help the answering smile I give her. I feel like a goofy kid flirting with a girl for the first time. I was just inside her, for fuck’s sake, but the vulnerability of this moment we’re sharing carries all the excitement and butterflies of a budding relationship.
And that’s when I know for sure that this doesn’t end tonight. I don’t care what the consequences are or how unconventional this is, I’m not letting Noelle go. I’ve found an accidental curly fry in a basket of regular fries and I’m not letting her go.
Noelle shifts to mirror my posture in bed: lying on one side, hand propped under her chin to support her head, her other hand laying flat against the mattress just an inch from mine. It’s like she’s daring me to cross that line and touch her again.
“My turn to ask a question,” she propels our game back into motion. Her expression turns serious as she asks, “If Steven wasn’t your first kill, who was?”
I wondered if she would be brave enough to ask, and a part of me wishes she hadn’t. But Noelle has bared so much of her soul to me, tonight, it’s only fair I do the same. Afterall, if what I tell her leads to a rejection, then I’ll find a way to move on. It’s almost liberating to lay all your baggage out on the table before anything even begins.
Taking the bait, I slide my hand across the bed to close the space between us, stroking my pinky along hers before covering her hand with my own. A steady reassurance, she turns her palm to mine so our fingers can interlace. It’s like she knows I need that small comfort.
I’ve made my peace with my past, but it doesn’t make it any easier to speak about. Especially because I’ve never told another soul what I’m about to tell her.
So why tell a stranger?My inner monologue questions my actions.
I think it’s because when you find someone you can trust, you feel it intrinsically. You don’t need proof, you don’t need assurances. You just know you can trust the darkest parts of yourself with them.
Instead of looking into her angelic face, I commit the shape of her painted nails to memory as I tell her my tale of woe.
My origin story.
“My mom’s sister started sexually abusing me when I was nine.” I hear the subtle halt of Noelle’s breath at my admission. Whatever horrors she was expecting to hear, I don’t think they match the truth.
“She babysat me all the time when my mom was working. I have no clue who my dad is. Neither does my mom. She raised me by herself–well, with her sister’s help, I guess.”
I’m trying so hard not to let myself wander back into those dark memories. I’m stronger than that. I can tell Noelle this without it consuming me. I know I can.
“It started with weird things a nine year old knows don’t feel right, but it was before anyone ever had the talk with me. So even though I knew it wasn’t right, I didn’t know what to do. I told my mom I didn’t like spending time with her sister, but she had to work and could barely afford rent, let alone childcare.
“As I got older, there wasn’t a need for my aunt to watch me as often. I was capable of taking care of myself. So she’d ask my mom if she could borrow me to help her with chores like mowing the lawn and stuff. Which I did. But the abuse continued. And any time I said I didn’t want to go over, my mom just thought it was because I didn’t want to do the work. Not because her sister was sexually assaulting me.”
The gentle squeeze Noelle gives my hand is for reassurance, but the raised brows and worry lines on her face are pity. That’s why I never told anyone the truth. But it’s easier to whisper my secrets into the dark rather than share them in the light.
