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“Because you’re on six fucking Xanax. You’ll drown before I can even get you to the hospital.”
He shakes his head, holds up one finger. “I told you before. If the water takes me, then it’s time.”
When he threw me in the sea, I just felt numb. Numb and hurt. Now I feel what I should have felt then, a white-hot flash of anger, pushing me a few steps closer to the pool. “Do you everthinkbefore you do anything? I’m sick of rescuing you.”
“Then don’t. My father will still pay you. Maybe he’ll adopt you.” He sinks until only his eyes are above the water.
I risk one step closer, even though my stomach twists. “I wish I had asked for your side of the story today. I’ve been thinking, and I don’t—”
He turns his back on me and strikes out in that beautiful, reckless butterfly stroke that experts have spent years analyzing. The spark of anger turns into something deeper, a feeling of pure, impotent frustration at a world where things won’t go right, no matter what I do. It reminds me of the day my relatives called to tell me that they were cutting off my mother and me, and nothing I said could change their minds.
Pulling off my shirt and sweats, I step off the edge and land waist-deep in the shallow end. The scrape of my feet against the tiled bottom provides an anchor to keep me from panicking as I wade deeper. Victor hits the wall, twists under the water, and almost swims straight into my chest. He comes up, coughing, face to face with me. I can tell I’ve finally surprised him.
He inhales sharply when I grab the back of his neck, my wet skin slipping against his. “I’m done playing around with you,” I growl, gripping tighter, feeling his skin dent under my fingers. “I have you figured out. Your games aren’t going to work on me anymore”
We’re both panting, noses almost touching. His eyelids flutter under droplets of water, his pale eyes fixed on mine as he leans just a breath closer.
“Pay attention,” he whispers. His hand traces along the waist of my boxers. The coaxing pressure of his fingers on my back pulls our hips together and I realize we’re both already getting hard, so fucking desperate. “I’ll show you how to take what you want, how to own me. I’ll teach you how to hurt me.”
I open my mouth to say that’s not what I want. But then I realize it’s not true. When I hesitate, he seals my mouth with his, not gently, devouring, his tongue assaulting mine like he’s trying to climb inside of me. Before I can react, he breaks the twisted echo of a kiss and puts his wet lips against my ear. “Don’t let me up until you finish.”
Then he’s gone, water closing over his curly hair. His hands trail down my body and it makes my cock ache so deeply I want to cry. He tugs my boxers around my knees, one of his hands groping my ass, the other circling the base of my shaft. A trail of bubbles breaks the surface, then I gasp as hot suction gulps down my cock. My hands find his hair instinctively, and his grip on me tightens. He doesn’t work up to it; I’m all the way down his tight throat as he swallows hard enough to make my knees weak and jerks off the length he can’t fit in his mouth.
I’m trying to convince myself that I’m still a good person, that those seven words—I’ll teach you how to hurt me—didn’t blow open the locks inside me that no amount of sweetness and love have been able to touch. But as two of his fingers slip into my ass crack I realize that all the dreams I haven’t been able to remember this week, the ones that disappeared as soon as I opened my eyes, they were all about this.
A car honks loudly on the street outside, piercing my daze, and I realize he’s been down there a minute, maybe longer, without easing up. “Ok,” I gasp, fumbling through his hair, trying to grab his shoulders. “Come up.”
When he feels my hands, he holds me tighter and tips his head back, taking me deep, his tongue grinding along the bottom of my shaft. “God,” I groan, miserable and desperate. And yet I can't make myself stop him because as fear takes my breath away, as his body starts spasming in a fight for oxygen, pleasuresearsthrough me and I unload into the warm cavern of his mouth. The feeling of him swallowing, sucking down my cum like water in a desert, pulls my orgasm out until I feel like I’m the one drowning.
After what seems like forever, his head breaks the water. He’s wheezing as he reaches for the wall and clings to it, goosebumps standing out along his back.
“I hate you so much,” I breathe, ashamed, staring through bleary eyes at the wall of plastic-looking palms hiding us from the hotel.
“You weren’t trying hard enough,” he manages between gasps, forehead pressed against the wall.
“Excuse me?” When he glances at me, his eyes are glazed and his lips are flushed and wet. “I wasn’t trying hard enough to drown you?”
He grabs my hand and pulls it under the water, presses it to the bulge in the front of his speedo. Closing his eyes, he starts grinding against my palm with slow jerks of his hips. “Tell me I did a good job.” His voice is cracked and soft, throat wrecked.
“No.” But I don’t move my hand. I can hear soft whimpers in his throat as he thrusts. “This isn’t normal.”
“That’s the point. No one has this but us. Isn’t that why you’re here?” His head falls back, hips moving faster. “Oh God. Shit.”
I want him to finish so I can go back to bed and pretend this never happened, pretend he isn’t right about me. When he stops moving, I look up. He’s resting his head against the wall, forehead scrunched like he’s in pain. “Hey.” He doesn’t open his eyes. “Are you ok?”
“I’m sorry,” he breathes, words coming slowly. “I don’t think I can. I’m not—” He shivers. His eyes when he opens them are windows to a hurt I can’t even grasp.
I pull myself up to sit on the edge of the pool. “Come here.” The first time he tries to get out, his weak arms collapse. I help him with a hand under his armpit.
Leaving him there, I grab a pile of towels off a table and lay one out over the nearest deck chair. I put the other one around his shoulders. When he catches his breath, I pull him to his feet and guide him to the lounger, sitting next to him. “It’s ok,” I say, not even sure what I’m talking about. “Do you need some water?”
“Tell me—” He swallows painfully. “Tell me you hate me again.”
I hesitate, frowning, and he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his head. “Please.”
Closing my eyes, I search all the corners of my mind, everything he’s said and done, all the pain he’s caused, the way he’s turning me into something I don’t understand. The lounge creaks as I lean toward him until my lips almost touch his damp hair. “I do hate you. I really do. I think you’re a bad person.”
“Uh-huh?” He sounds so tired, so hopeful.
“I hate you, Victor.”
“Promise?”
“I’m never gonna stop.”
At last his stiff, exhausted body starts to relax.
