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“Come, sweet boy,” she says, leaning her back against the side of the tub. Her legs fall open, making room for me. “Show me how big of a man you are.”
I’m not a man yet. I’m too small to be one. But if I don’t do as she says, she’ll do something else worse. So I go to her, the water splashing against the side of the tub, and stand between her legs. I do what I’ve been taught and grab her hair on the back of her head. I grip it extra tight, hoping it’ll hurt, but it never does. Her eyes look funny, and her mouth opens when she starts breathing harder.
I take hold of my cock, and that puke feeling comes back when I feel how hard it is. I don’t want it to get hard, but I can’t help it.
I point it at her mouth and ram my hips forward at the same time I pull her head toward me.
“Fucking take my cock, you bitch,” I say like she’s taught me. “Choke on it like the whore you are.”
Once it’s in her mouth, I grab her hair with my other hand and use both to smash her face against me. My balls touch her chin. My cock isn’t big yet like the men in the videos Aunt makes me watch, but she says I will be one day. That I’m already bigger than most boys my age. She says I’ll be so big that I’ll actually be able to choke her on it for real.
I pull her off me a little bit and push back inside. I do it hard and fast like she wants me to, and I grip her hair in my small fists, using it to fuck her mouth. She makes a noise, and I feel the vibration against my cock.
I hate this woman and what she makes me do. But what I hate most of all is that it makes my body feel so good.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HER
Ihad another dream last night. Or rather, the way my body feels pleasurably worn out indicates that I did. The muscles in my thighs are sore, I’m sure from tensing, and my core feels like it’s been through a workout.
And I have very faint and fuzzy images in my head.
Instead of the blotted-out face that I usually see when I have those types of dreams, last night, he had a face. Well, I guess not an actual face. It was a black mask with deep grooves slashed across it. I’m not at all surprised that my subconscious inserted the devil in my dream. As shameful as it is, my devil made my body feel things I didn’t think was possible. All without even touching me intimately.
When I woke this morning, covered in sticky sweat, wet between my legs, and the silk sheets kicked all the way off my bed, frustration had me slamming my fists against the mattress. Not because I had another erotic dream. I was irritated because I couldn’t remember it. The mask was the only part that stayedwith me. I grumbled like a petulant child not getting their way, slid my way off the bed, and took a scalding hot shower.
That was an hour ago.
When I walk into the sunroom where my family and I sometimes eat breakfast, I’m not surprised to see Bishop and Cassio seated at the table with Mom and Dad. They moved out and got their own places as soon as they turned eighteen, but it’s not unusual for them to come to the house for meals. Not because neither of them can’t or aren’t willing to cook, but to satisfy Mom’s need to be around her children. It was hard on Mom when they moved out, which is part of the reason why I haven’t left yet myself.
I take one of the two remaining seats, which already has a plate in front of it, along with a glass of orange juice and a coffee cup waiting to be filled.
“Morning, honey,” Mom says, smiling while she pours coffee into the cup. “Did you sleep well?”
By force of will, I manage to hold back the blush that wants to creep on my face at her question. I don’t think Mom would think too kindly if she knew just how well I slept.
“Yes, thank you.” I pour in a splash of hazelnut creamer into my cup and use the spoon to swirl it around.
“What are your plans for today?”
“I want to spend more time with Liliana and Harper. See if I can talk them into going outside today.”
“That’s a good idea. They both need a bit of sunlight and fresh air.”
I couldn’t agree more. We still haven’t managed to get Liliana to talk, but I can be as hard-headed as the next person, and I have plenty of patience. You have to have patience when you do what I do. Everyone deals with trauma in their own way. Some people move past it faster than others.
“Has there been any development on who attacked Liliana?” I ask Dad and my brothers.
“No,” Dad replies, setting his coffee cup on the table after taking a sip. “No witnesses were around, and there were no street cameras. Ryker sent her blood sample to Tanner, but there were no matches in the system. He’s still digging, but without her talking, I’m afraid we’re at a dead end.”
I nod, not letting the news deflate me.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck today,” Mom proposes.
I nibble on my toast, hoping the same thing. “Maybe.”
One way or another, I’ll get Liliana to talk. I just need a bit more time.