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“I p-promise.”
I give him the answer he wants but even so, the angst on his face doesn’t go away. It leaches out when he bends down to kiss me again.
He isn’t as careful or slow as he was before. He slams his mouth over mine and I open under him. Both my lips and my legs to allow him in.
Above water, I can feel my nakedness. I can feel his nakedness too. He’s wearing black swimming trunks and I’m only in my bra and panties.
His hard wet muscles feel like a perfect combination. They shift and bunch under my roaming hands, stoking up my need for him.
We kiss and kiss until we can’t kiss anymore.
Until we need something more.
Zach makes quick work of our clothes, pulling down my bra to get to my tits and shoving my panties aside to expose my hole. I help him with his trunks and in a flash, he’s inside me. He plunges in and out as he sucks on my nipples and places sucking, noisy kisses all over my chest.
I scratch his shoulders, his back, his biceps, whatever I can get to as I rock against him, fucking him with all these emotions in my heart.
I realize what I feel for him is too intense, too passionate, too heartbreaking and sad to be called love.
Maybe it’s a tragedy.
Or maybe it’s the blues.
I’ve got the blues and that’s why I can’t stop crying.
Zach lifts his head to find my tears tracking down my cheeks and his features are pained. I cry harder when he licks them up with his tongue.
I don’t stop crying even when I hear the water splashing around us and our bodies feel buoyant. They’re bounding and bouncing more than usual, making everything doubly erotic.
And when I come, I cry then, too, pouring my sadness on Zach’s tongue and my climax on his cock.
Yeah, it’s the blues.
Because I love a guy like him.
He’s walking up to tower one.
This never happens. Never.
For the past month, I’ve always caught Zach climbing down the stairs but never climbing up.
Oh my God, this is my chance. A chance to find out what’s going on.
On second thought, it’s none of my business. He’s never revealed anything to me. I mean, if he wanted me to know he would’ve told me.
But then, on third thought, maybe it’s a sign.
Maybe what’s happening to him up there is just so horrifying that he can’t talk about it and this is my chance to find out. I bet whatever it is, his dad is definitely involved.
And if I’m right, then I’m going to fuck him up and I’m not even kidding.
He’s the reason Zach has felt so rejected all these years. He’s the reason Zach is filled with so much resentment and anger.
Mr. Prince is a bully and isn’t it my duty to stand up for Zach against him? Stand up for what’s right?
My legs start moving before I’ve even finished my thought.
I’m supposed to get to tower three and tend to guests, but Tina’s up there now and she can hold down the fort a little longer without me.
I quickly climb up the steps lest anyone pass through and ruin my plan.
The hallway with its flanked rooms looks much the same as any other tower. Although I will say that it’s awfully white. And the overhead lights? They are glaring.
It’s a harsh hallway. I instantly dislike it.
Of all the rooms, there’s the second one on the right with its door ajar, and I walk up to it.
Through the slice of an opening, I see someone.
A woman.
She’s small. Rail-thin and weak. She has a peach-colored gown on and her head’s wrapped up in a beige scarf. She’s propped up in the bed, blankets covering her lower body.
Something about her is so familiar and I don’t realize what it is until she takes a breath, smiles slightly, and then begins coughing.
It’s Mrs. Prince, Zach’s mother.
It starts with a gentle cough that becomes harsher and more violent until she has to come off her pillows and cough into a napkin.
A napkin given to her by Zach.
I almost fall into the door with shock but thankfully catch myself. Although I do push at it gently so as to widen the gap so I can see clearly.
Zach’s bending over her, his hand on her back, rubbing in circles, soothing her, and his mom’s fingers are clawed over his other wrist for support. A few seconds later, her coughing fit goes away and she lies back down.
I can hear her ragged, noisy breathing as she tries to relax.
Zach throws away the napkin in an unseen trashcan, I think, before coming back to the bed with a glass of water. His mom dutifully takes it but still, he keeps holding it. Maybe because he thinks she can’t handle it. And from the looks of it, she can’t.
