Page 58 of His Toy

“I’m worse than you know,” I said. “I’m worse. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” she said. “I know you’re not.” Her hands untucked my shirt from the slacks, and caressed my back, over the scars. The pain of years spent under his abuse, my mother under it too, until I finally tried to set things right, and failed. Heather’s fingertips steadied, feeling the history etched in my skin. “I trust you, Zaid.”

And I trusted her.

Her hands were soft, warm, purposeful. Knowing that she felt my past and still trusted me, gave me comfort. And I ached with need too. I wanted to do more with her, to show her that I cared, that I trusted her too, that I rarely let anyone this close. How could I, when I knew what the world was like? When I knew the monster that hid inside of me.

But I could forget about all of that. For a moment. I would make myself forget.

She unbuttoned my pants. My cock pressed against her. I pulled off her shirt and bra in one stroke, then cupped her breasts in my hands, licking and sucking her nipples. Her stomach felt like it was meant to be against mine, soft, compliant. I pulled her in tighter, savoring the moment, her breath on my neck, the look in her eye. Then I took off her pants and underwear, and the rest of mine.

We stood naked together for the first time. Scars covered my back, long ropes of skin blistered, keloids lightened over the years. This was the first time she was seeing me. But it was not the first time I had seen her like this.

I drank her in. She was perfection. Her hair. Her skin. Her lips.

“Are you sure about this?” I asked.

Her lips glistened with desire. “I’m sure.”

With our bodies pressed together, I eased my cock into Heather. I groaned, the pleasure overwhelming. She yielded to me, her body quaking, her whimpers like a sweet song. I wanted to feel our bodies pressed together at every surface. I wanted Heather. All of her.

Her shoulders quivered, and I kissed her, relishing in her taste. Our tongues danced in slow motion, and she surrendered with everything she had, her tongue deliberate and vibrant, yielding to mine. This woman, this beautiful fucking woman, believed in the world.

She believed in me.

Heather believed that I wasn’t the monster I was destined to become, a man who killed because it was in his blood. The bloodshed in my design would amount to nothing besides momentary satisfaction. And if I went through with it, Heather would be wrong. I would be just like him.

But I didn’t have to be.

Heather shivered against me, nearing her peak, her skin flushed like a rose, and I reached the brink too. The sensation of her climax squeezing my cock made pleasure burst through me, a feeling that was unlike any other, making me forget everything. I came inside of her, letting go of it all, except for one thought: Heather believed in me. She made me want to make a better world for her.

For us.