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I want this. The fire between my legs is begging to be touched, stroked until I explode. I need this.
I slide my hands down between my legs.
“Like this?”
“Yes baby, just like that.”
I begin rubbing slowly over my swollen nub. Small circles and then bigger, I move my fingers, stroking faster. And then I reach inside, pulling some of my liquid out, and drag it over my clit, intensifying the feeling.
Yes, God, yes. This is what I’ve been missing—an orgasm to pull me from my shell.
“Faster,” Enzo commands.
I do as he says. I can feel myself growing with need and tingles ripple through my body heating me and bringing me closer to the edge I seek.
I look up at Enzo with heavy eyes, I’m close, but I need his help to get me to the brink.
“Your turn,” I say.
He frowns, looking at me with disgust.
I stop. “What’s wrong?”
; “Why would I want to fuck a whore like you? You’re disgusting. You have no curves. Your skin is battered, permanently. You have no fight left. No man will ever want to touch such a revolting whore like you.”
I pant heavily. No, I’m good enough. Touch me!
“No.”
I jolt, my eyes waking from the fantasy I was playing in my head. I breathe recklessly in and out, knowing I can’t get enough oxygen to calm my body any time in this century.
I stare down at my body wide-eyed, which doesn’t help my anxiety. My hand had slipped between my legs, trying to act out the fantasy. Of all the times I’ve imagined Enzo in my head, I’ve never attempted to act it out. That’s what went wrong.
I can’t tolerate touch—not even by myself. That’s how fucked up I am. That’s what those men did to me.
I wipe my moist hand on the edge of the T-shirt I’m wearing and pull it down as I sit up, my body still spinning a million miles an hour. I need to go back inside and try to sleep. Forget this day even happened, but I’m not sure it’s possible.
A loud popping sound startles me. I curl into the farthest corner of the couch, as I hesitantly look over the edge of the railing to see what is happening below.
I don’t see anything.
“Fucking ladder,” Enzo curses.
A metal ladder thumbs against the railing again, this time staying against it.
I bite my lip, and try to remain calm as I watch Enzo climb up the ladder to the balcony. I’m not sure he knows I’m up here. So I stay silent.
But he came back. I smile.
He reaches the top, swings a leg over the top, and then jumps out of his skin when he sees me. He starts falling backward, and I reach my hand out, trying to grab him to keep him from tumbling over.
He rights himself before I reach him.
We both stare at my hand outreached to help him. I would have never offered to touch him in order to help him before. This is a step.
“Progress,” he says, smiling.
