Tossing the notebook aside, I scoot off the edge of the bed, my bare feet landing on the thin carpet. Crouching in the crampedspace between the bed and my desk, I wedge my hand between the mattress and box spring, fingers curling around a thin metal handle. Dad won’t be home for another hour. Should be enough time.
Silver glints in the yellow lamplight as I withdraw the straight razor I stole from Richard ages ago, the demonic voice in my head hissing in excitement. Wriggling my shorts down, I rest my back against the wall, parting my legs.
Red and white tallies line my inner thighs. Some faint, some jagged, some raised and some barely visible.
My fingertip traces one as a memory overtakes me.
“God, I can’t get enough,” Remy pants against my neck as his hands wander under my shirt, palms smoothing up my heaving stomach. His most recent Win and Remy Playlist streams from the speaker on his dresser, our limbs a tangled mess. His touches get bolder every time we’re alone which unfortunately isn’t as often as either of us wants. He’s grounded again and I had to bail on him last weekend after Grant and Marcus cornered me before I could escape in my car. The bruises have finally faded enough that under the dim light, he shouldn’t notice if he takes my shirt off.
He pinches my nipple as he burns a path of open-mouthed kisses down my chest. My cock strains in my sweats, digging into him as he slides down my body—
“Where are you going?” I groan.
He chuckles, his other hand squeezing my waist. “I want more of you.”
My hooded eyes widen. He slips off the edge of the bed to his knees. Hands splayed on my thighs. I crane my neck, chest rising and falling in bursts.
“More?”
A crooked, secretive smile sits on his lips. His palms scorch a path up, fingertips curling around the waistband of my sweats, his penetrating hazel gaze holding mine hostage.
I’m hypnotized. Paralyzed.
We touch under clothes, occasionally taking shirts off. I’ve felt him. He’s felt me. But aside from hand jobs, groping and dry humping, we haven’t gone further. Or more accurately, I won’t let him.
My breath hitches.
“Wait.”
A line forms between his brows, but he obeys.
White teeth scrape over his lower lip, threads of worry tangling in his beautiful eyes.
“We’ve been together for months, Win.” he sighs, fiddling with the drawstring of my pants. Peering through his lashes, he looks so vulnerable. “You want to keep us private, and I respect that. But lately… even when we’re alone you don’t seem to want me as much as I want you.”
No, no, no.
I fly upright, grasping his face. “I do. I want you so fucking badly.”
His brows smash together. “Then why are you holding back? Am I doing something wrong? Do you not like—"
“Baby, no, you’re perfect,” I murmur, pushing an unruly curl behind his ear. “I’m just scared.”
Now he’s really confused.
I groan, throwing my head back in frustration.
“Has someone… hurt you before?”
My entire body freezes at his cautious question. How do I explain that all I’ve known outside of him is hurt? My stomach sloshes at the reel of images and sensations flitting through my mind. Punches and burns and kicks.
And lately…
Smacks on the ass hard enough to leave prints. Knees to the crotch. Painful squeezes. Taunting voices. “You sure you don’t want Jess’s pretty cunt?” and, “No, he wants a thick cock up his ass. Down his throat.” Vicious laughter. “Or maybe he wants it all. Sick little fucker, aren’t you?”
Shuddering, I shake my head.
“No, nothing like that. I’m just… nervous. It’s a big deal, you know?”
