Page 32

32

Calista

“T hey tried me as an adult, and I was sentenced to three years in prison. The first week I was there, I was raped by three grown men.”

I swear I haven’t breathed. I’ve cried, no heaved through his story.

“It was then I learned that the only person that was ever going to take care of me, was me.”

I hate that it’s not me that’s comforting him, but instead, him holding me like I’ve just told him the most fucked up story. One that just couldn’t be real, because how could someone—anyone—not have believed him, seen the pain he was in, or even cared enough to try?!

“Three years toughened me up, then I was thrown back out into the world with thirty bucks to my name and no one to go to.”

“Where was your mom? Your brother? Fuck Eamon.” I'm a blubbering mess. It feels good to cry, even though it comes from so much pain. I've begged, pleaded with some god for the release of tears, but I wish it hadn't come because of this.

He chuckles, but I swear I just make myself smaller. We moved into the cabin halfway through his story. For someone that’s inept to relationship cues, he was capable of seeing I needed to be inside.

I felt too exposed, like someone was watching me breaking down and him showing off all his scars. Even if I know we are the only two out here for a solid mile in any direction, I just felt the trees were listening.

After he wrapped me in a blanket, he put me back in his lap, and that’s where we’ve been since.

“My mom wrote me letters but then they stopped coming after a year. When I was released at twenty, I found out that she had been diagnosed with SLE. She was sick, really sick.” He sighs, and I can feel the pain in his voice. “There are times I was my own executioner. I could have seen her, but I feared the added stress of me would make her diagnosis worse. It ended up taking her life anyway, three years after I got out. The day they buried her was the day I killed someone, and my life continued to spiral.”

“My god, Ronan… I’m so, so sorry.”

Throughout his story, it was always his mom who tried. She was the one who stayed, even when she was forced out, she fought. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like for her. “As for Eamon, I had a hard time finding him at first, but when I did, his life seemed too perfect to poison. Plus, I called him and after the first two rings, I hung up. After that, I never tried again.”

“Fucking asshole.”

He nods. “Agreed.”

“Where’s your dad?”

“Dead.” No further explanation. Good riddance.

“I hate to ask this, but… what happened to your uncle?”

That has him taking in a long, heavy breath. “Dead as well, and I wish I could say I was the one that did it.” A fresh set of tears runs from my eyes at the pain and anger in his eyes. “I have self-loathing for my silence for so long, but after telling the court what he did, and them ignoring it, I forgave myself.

“He ended up raping a neighbor's kid, and the father took a shotgun shell to his head.” I struggle to swallow. “Oh, the feeling of anger and jealousy I had for the weeks that followed.”

I lean slightly back, just enough to get my hand free from between us and wipe away my tears. However, Ronan grabs my wrist to stop me. He leans forward and kisses the corner of my eye before running his tongue along my temple.

“Not as good as your cum and drool,” he muses. “You’re beautiful when you cry.”

I know he’s lying. There is no way that my face isn’t red as fuck, and puffy like that of an inflated unopened bag of chips.

He must see the incredulous look I’m giving him, because he chuckles. “I may do a lot of bad things, but lying isn’t one of them, Cal.”

“You’ve commented before about me crying… Why?”

“Ever since nearly killing that boy, I’ve aimed to make people cry. It’s a form of art, and yes that’s fucked up, but to me it’s the same as… when you do your makeup, or hair. You don’t need to do it, but you like to. We all do it for different reasons. For me, it’s seeing someone vulnerable. Knowing I can elicit such a strong feeling makes me feel in control. Watching people cry for their lives is euphoric.” The laugh he produces is more of amusement. “Maybe I’m as twisted as my uncle…”

My heart thrusts against my chest. “You are nothing like that sick bastard.”

He nods. “I’m not. Doesn’t mean I’m free of problems.”

“We all have problems, Ronan.”

I stare at him, then look down at his hand resting on his stomach. His other is draped over the couch.

“Like you,” he whispers, causing me to glance up through my lashes at him. “Your problem is lying, baby girl.”

I’m more of a manipulator, but being a liar can also define me.

“I’ve always held my anger and resentment in my stomach, like a black hole slowly opening, ready to swallow me. Since meeting you, I’m feeling a weight on my chest I’ve not experienced.”

My eyes widen as I feel them hollow, sinking inward. “Oh…”

“I’ll only ever ask you to be honest with me. I can’t be lied to. I may demand you to beg for me, run, and all the other shit our relationship comes with, but you can defy those to get a rise out of me.” I gasp when his hand grabs my throat and pulls me close to him. “Do not lie to me. You understand?”

“Yes,” I say quickly.

“That will hurt worse than you shooting me in the head. That pain would be temporary.” The sensation of his thumb drawing along my jawline has me shivering. It comes to my lips, dragging them downward as he leans in and presses his mouth against mine.

“One day you’ll regret ever touching me,” he says before deepening our kiss, his tongue invading and flicking against mine.

He doesn’t understand how unhealthy my own obsession with him is, so it may be him that regrets allowing me to.

It’s been a week, and I haven’t regretted anything. I ended up asking my boss for some vacation and hated lying about needing a mental health break. It was difficult to concentrate. Any time I’d have to log into work, it wouldn’t be but ten minutes before I was running back to bed with my step-uncle .

Alright, that’s the last reference to that, I swear it. He is my boyfriend .

It’s the following Sunday evening, and the thought of having to go back to my normalcy doesn’t really sit high on my list of wants.

“Do you know when you go quiet…” Ronan breaks the silence we’ve been sitting in. “You hum a little?”

I look up at him then. He sits with me between his spread legs, shirtless, and taking a brush to my hair. We both just got out of the shower after he decided it was his turn to paint all over me, and things got pretty messy.

“I do not.” I’m enjoying the feeling of someone else doing my hair. It takes a lot of effort to keep it maintained, but I’ll never complain. Ronan loves it, and that makes me happy.

“You do.”

“Don’t.” I swear I’ve never heard myself hum before.

The sound of the brush dropping onto the couch has me frowning, but I don’t turn back to look at him with my scowl. He always comments on it.

“My pouty baby girl.”

“It’s like your throat does it when you exhale through your nose. Listen.”

I hold my breath, refusing to allow him to be right.

His hands move to the nape of my neck, gathering my hair in one hand. The sensation of it being twisted has me curious about what he’s doing. He doesn’t say anything—just presses a finger to the very back of my head, forcing me to look straight down.

I stop breathing, but for a completely different reason. Is he... braiding my hair?

A soft noise comes from my throat as I let out a breath.

“What’re you doing?” I try to distract him with a question.

“So cute.” He chuckles, that low one that vibrates straight down to my thighs. “But I prefer your screams and gasps.”

Then he begins to section my hair.

“There’s absolutely no way you know how to braid.” My voice is full of shock, laced with skepticism.

“Why?”

“Why the hell would you know? You said you only had a brother.”

When he tugs my head back with the grip on my hair, I gasp. He looks down, directly into my eyes. “It’s not that difficult. I literally YouTubed it, Cal.”

Heat rises to my cheeks. “W-Why would you want to learn how to do it?”

He releases the tension and uses his closed fist to push my head forward. Then, a tightness against my scalp indicates he has begun the weaving. The silence from him has that heat in my face rolling down the rest of my body.

I can feel that he is getting further down, and I lean forward, dropping my chin to my chest.

“Good girl,” he croons, and I shake ever so slightly. There is a soft tingle that those words give me but it’s the pulling of my hair that’s truly giving me chills.

The sound of my elastic hair tie snapping comes with one of his hands coming around my neck. His other hand grips onto the thick braid and tugs my head back. “It’s not perfect, but I’ll get it down. I want to hold onto it when I fuck you from behind.”

My lips part as I let out a soft whimper.

He groans and draws his hand up to grip onto my jaw. “Open.”

I open my mouth and stick my tongue out. He brings his fingers up, spreading them like I do my legs for him, and shoves the middle and index on either side of it. His grip on my hair tightens, and I moan.

“You like that, already starting to drool.” He slides his digits along my tongue, and I close my lips around them, sucking as though it’s his cock. I flick against them as he takes his thumb and caresses it across my cheek. “Such a fucking slut for me, aren’t you?”

I let out a “Mhmm” and suck harder, wishing it were his hard dick that’s currently pressing against my back.

He grins, and my stomach fills with butterflies. It’s a similar sensation I get when he lets me touch him, even in the very little ways I’m allowed. I don’t see him smile a lot unless it’s with me.

Slowly, he slides out of my mouth and commands, “On your knees.”

Shifting, I press against him, positioning myself right between his legs. His index finger lifts my chin, and I see that familiar look of possession in his soft gaze. It’s subtle, but undeniable—the dominance he once exerted out of want is now a need.

Like he needs me, I want to be needed. To feel as though he couldn’t live without me, just as I’m certain I couldn’t live without him.

“What would you like, baby girl?”

His question catches me off guard. “Hmm?”

“You give me everything I’ve needed to settle into… us. I don’t call you a good girl for no reason.” He caresses his thumb across my bottom lip as he continues to talk. “Other than the after-care stuff I’m working on, is there anything you’d like to explore? Anything I can do better at?”

My face heats, and I first shake my head. “You’re doing everything right.” His smile has butterflies dancing in my stomach and chest. “But there is something I’d like to explore.”

“And what’s that?” He leans onto his fist, which is propped up by his elbow on the couches shoulder.

I don’t need to think about it. He’s chased me through the woods and now dominates me. I thought I wanted to be tied up, but when he gives me the go-ahead to touch him, all I want is the freedom to do so.

“Would you fuck me while I was sleeping?”

The question makes his eyebrows shoot up. I don’t even give him a chance to answer, because the look he gives me has me regretting saying anything in the first place. “Never mind, I’d like—”

“I’ve already done that.”

My eyes round while my lips pull apart slowly. “You have?”

Now the expression on his face turns to worry. “Do you not remember our talk a few nights ago?”

We’ve been having a lot of conversations lately, which I’ve loved, but never did Somnophilia come up in them. At least, I don’t think so.

He must take my silence as answer enough, because he sighs. “Sorry, Cal.” I’m taken by surprise once again.

“Why are you apologizing?”

He moves his hand from my chin and grabs onto the braid he did, dragging it across my shoulder. “Remember, I asked you if I could fuck you even when you didn’t know or see it coming?”

I could slap myself, he sure did.

“If that wasn’t explicit consent to do that, that’s why I’m sorry.”

“Oh, shit. Ronan, it is. I promise.”

He tilts his head and tugs slightly on my braid. Without saying anything, I can see him going through a full spectrum of emotions. Ronan is a man that would quite literally kill someone for touching me, but would never do something without consent. Even the first time he spanked me, if I had told him no, I know he would have backed off.

“Alright,” he finally says. “I’ll keep doing it since you want that. I was careful not to wake you because I could see how tired you were. But don’t worry, I made sure you came.” As he leans in, I begin to sit up a little. My head tilting to meet him at eye level. “You make the most porn-star sounds, especially when you are in a deep sleep.”

My thighs quiver, and I begin to chew on my bottom lip.

“Do you want to stay asleep, or would you like me to wake you next time?” His finger tugs down on my oversized shirt, exposing the curve of my breast.

I whimper softly. “Both. Sometimes asleep, sometimes awake.” He looks down, likely checking out my tits but I don’t take my eyes off him. “Can I fuck you while you’re asleep?”

Who am I?!

When he tugs once more on my shirt, I lean forward slightly. His lips brush against mine, but he doesn’t apply pressure. “Whenever my dick’s hard, baby girl, you can have it.”

He pulls me closer, and as said appendage brushes against my stomach, hard as a rock, I release a breath that’s needy. The urge to raise my hand to release him and suck on his cock is so powerful, I nearly forget myself and his limits.

With his chuckle that dominates my insides, he flicks his tongue across my lips. “Yes, that means now too, my needy little slut.”