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Just like his cousin, my former fiancé.
In high school, I knew who Matthew Miller was. Everybody did. Matt was the good-looking captain of the football team. I watched him swagger the halls with most female (and some male) eyes on him as he joked and talked with his friends.
My senior year, I transferred to the private school Matt attended on an academic scholarship. I was the thirteen-year-old nerd set to graduate early, and just as I feared, the other students teased and shunned me because of my age.
That’s when Matt first noticed me. The time I’d kicked the ass of one of his friends.
Jim, or James—I’ve forgotten his name—had pinned me to a locker, demanding why some damn kid (me), who looked like she was still in middle school, was assigned to tutorhimin math.
I understood why Jim/James had gotten angry. If the dick didn’t pass his next test, there would be no more football and no scouts looking to pluck him from obscurity and pull him into the big time.
What I didn’t understand, was why he was taking it out on me? It wasn’t my fault I had a good brain. I used mine. He needed to use his.
When I told him this, he’d become so angry, his face had mottled like a rash. The next thing I knew, this two-hundred-pound boy had lifted ninety pound me and slammed me into the lockers.
I’d shaken my head to clear it of stars, then lifted my knee to connect with his junk. Given my momentum behind it, I hoped his balls would set up house in his stomach.
Moments later, the bell rang, and students filled the hallway. My fellow peers went silent as they watched me deliver a few well-aimed kicks into Jim/James’s whimpering form.
Then strong arms…Matt’sarms, wrapped around me and crushed me to his hard chest. “Take it easy, okay? He’s had enough.”
His voice is what I fell in love with first. The tone was deep and gravelly, like an early morning bike ride on a rocky road with the sky bathing the world with its pinkish blue light.
Second was his smell. Damn, that cologne was nice. It was the first expensive cologne I’d ever been close enough to notice, as my dad always bought the cheap stuff from the dollar store.
Third were his arms, holding me so tight, I could barely breathe. I liked his strength and his ability to cause me pain.
Which he never did in the bedroom, although I’d asked him to... repeatedly. Matt wasn’t an inadequate lover, per se. He brought me to orgasm most times, yet I always felt something was missing.
I tried to find “it” with the two guys after Matt.
They also failed.
One was too much for me. He suggested ropes and gags and crops and whips. Fine for those who want it, but not my style. The other guy thought a light slap on the ass was a way to turn me on.
After those two attempts, I gave up, deathly afraid I’d never find satisfaction.
But I have now. Royce is an expert on mixing a little pain with a lot of pleasure. I’d be stupid to give it up.
And if I catch feelings for the man when he told me not to, then it’s my own fault.
What I Won’t Say
Genesis
Withanothervolumeburstfrom the TV (this time a commercial for an injury lawyer) my curiosity overcomes my fatigue. I rise, flipping the covers neatly at an angle. A habit I maintained from my childhood.
After my parents and I lived in a car for a few months, I was so happy to have a bed, I vowed to always keep it neat.
I stretch, noticing I’m delightfully sore. The kind of sore that lets me know I’ve been thoroughly fucked. Royce had put it on me so hard, I swear my organs shifted.
And that’s just how I like it.
Smiling at the memories Royce gave me, I put on a sleep shirt imprinted with different colors of glass slippers. I pluck my robe off a hanger in my closet, and after tying it around my waist, I pad barefoot from my room.
The apartment is dark except for the flicker of the TV. I wonder for a moment why Seth doesn’t have the room blazing with light like he usually does when I realize the person watching TV isn’t my roommate.
Royce looks over his shoulder at my entry. “Sorry, Sin. Did I wake you?”
