Page 16

Chapter sixteen

~ARES~

The city glows beneath me. Thousands of lights stretch endlessly, yet none are in focus. I couldn’t sleep.

Irene nearly passed out after I was done with her. So, I cleaned her up, loving the way my cum marked her body, and then tucked her under the covers. She was already asleep by the time I lay next to her. I couldn’t stop staring at her. I kept watching the familiar lines of her face, no longer wondering where I’ve seen her before. I’m almost convinced I made her up in a dream. Only, I know that’s not how it works. Your brain can’t make up new faces. It can only recreate ones you’ve seen. But she was right there, sleeping next to me, and that was enough.

Her lips were swollen, parted slightly, and her chest rose and fell with each soft breath. And I wanted to touch her. I wanted to hold her. I wanted to wrap her in my arms, squeeze her close, never let her go. Instead, I placed a kiss on her forehead, her nose, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, and stroked her soft hair as she slept. I allowed myself to indulge in this moment with her, allowed myself to pretend I can be a man who gets to hold someone like her and who deserves to be held back.

The cigarette starts to burn between my fingers, so I take another drag. I barely remember lighting the damn thing. I just needed something to do, something to focus on other than what I left in that bed.

I exhale sharply, tilting my head back. My muscles are tight, and my body is still wired. I did everything I could to take my time, let her set the pace, and kept my control on a fucking leash—until I couldn't. I gave her the choice to stop, and she chose me. She came to me, touched me, and let me fuck her.

No , she let me be the first man to fuck her. And I should feel satisfied. I should feel like the same fucking man I was before she knocked on my door tonight. But I don’t. Because now, nothing feels the same.

I should’ve scared her away. Should’ve fucked her like I didn't care about her experience, so she'd run in the opposite direction when she saw me again. But I couldn’t. I want to be gentle with her as much as I want to tear her apart piece by fucking piece. Because she’s not them. She’ll never be like them. Even now, she’s in my bed, sleeping peacefully, trusting me. Like I’m something I’m not.

She’s different from what I thought she’d be. She's not the little naive girl I thought I could break. She’d could have turn away from me after what she saw. But she didn’t.

I exhale, and the smoke drifts into the night, but it doesn’t clear the fog in my mind. Doesn’t make the tightness in my chest go away. I’ve been fucking around for so long, telling myself I don’t need anyone, telling myself I’m fine being the way I am. But she’s making me question everything.

I know it’s the fear of her leaving that’s consuming me. That fucking hole in my chest. Everyone I’ve ever cared about has walked out on me. Yet, she’s awoken something else in me tonight.

Hope .

She makes me want to believe that she sees more than the person everyone threw away. That she might want to stay. That thought—it’s tiny, but it’s there. A small spark in my chest.

There’s a soft sound behind me. Not loud enough to startle, but enough to drag my attention like a hook through my spine.

I turn my head, and she's there, wearing nothing but my black T-shirt. The sleeves are too long, swallowing her arms in fabric, the hem going down to her mid-thigh. The thighs she let me between just hours ago. Spread open for me and only me.

She’s barefoot, and her hair is a mess, her face still flushed with the ghost of everything we did. There are remnants of makeup smudged under her left eye. And she’s never looked so beautiful. Because I did this to her. I put her in that state, and now she’s coming back to me, wearing my clothes.

Fuck.

I feel it instantly—the tension slithering up my back. My cock twitches under the loose hang of my sweatpants, ready for another round. And then another after that until she’s a shattered mess. The hunger curls tight in my gut as I watch her step out onto the balcony. I want to carry her right back into bed and fuck her until she can’t move.

“You should be sleeping.” My voice scrapes out of me like gravel.

“So should you,” she whispers, slowly walking to the empty chair beside me. Her movements are slow and careful as she lowers herself onto the chair with a wince. I can’t help myself. I grin at the sight, knowing what she feels between those legs.

“That good, huh?”

She shoots me a look that’s half-glare, half-blush, her cheeks glowing in the moonlight, eyes gleaming when she looks away.

But as shy as she wants to play it, we both know she loved every second.

She came to me. She wanted it to happen.

I shake my head slowly, and she narrows her eyes in confusion.

“Come here.” I lift my hand and pat my thigh.

She hesitates, glancing at my lap, but rises anyway.

With a wince, she lowers herself onto me, her breath catching as she settles. A sharp reminder that I’m still with her, even when I’m not. Her body remembers. Her thighs, her breasts, her mouth—every inch of her.

Satisfaction spreads through me. It’s deep, pleased, and possessive. I wrap one arm around her waist, the other curling up to her nape, and tilt my head just enough to brush my lips against her neck.

She’s warm in my lap, tucked in like she belongs there. My shirt hangs off her like it was always meant to, and a part of me never wants to see her in anything else.

She watches me smoke, eyes bright with unspoken words. Too bright for what we just did. She’s still soft with the afterglow, floating in that post-pleasure haze—but awareness is creeping back in. She shifts slightly, looking at me like she has a question she’s afraid to ask. “Yes?” I drawl lazily, already knowing what she’s about to ask.

“Can I have some?” she asks, looking at my cigarette.

I glance down and raise a brow.

“Have you ever smoked before?”

She shakes her head, eyes dropping to the cigarette in my hand.

My lips curl into a small smile. She’s asking for me to corrupt her even further.

“A night of firsts, huh?” I murmur, more to myself than her.

Her response is a shy smile as she bites her bottom lip.

I turn the cigarette between my fingers, the cherry burning steadily in the dark, and bring it to her mouth.

“Just a tiny drag,” I say, my voice low. “Don’t inhale fully.”

She nods, her trust in me so fucking clear that I can’t stop the warmth spreading through me.

She wraps her lips around the filter—innocent and sinful all at once—and takes a small breath in. Then starts coughing hard. I can’t stop the smirk from pulling at the corner of my lips as I rub lazy circles against her bare thigh, just above where the hem of my shirt ends. It’s a reflex, the kind I don’t even think about.

“That’s enough.”

“You make it look better than it feels,” she says between coughs, a little embarrassed.

I don’t say anything; I just press the cigarette to my lips, finishing it with the last drag, the heat sitting heavy in my lungs. I flick the ash and drop the rest into the tray, the smell of smoke mixing with the salt from the ocean.

I turn to look at her, and she’s already curling into me, her legs drawn up, head resting on my chest. She fits there too well. Like this was made to happen, like this is exactly where she’s supposed to be.

I drag my palm up and down her back, absently at first, just a touch to settle her. Then I follow the curves of her spine with my hand. I feel the soft rise and fall of her breath. She’s quiet, but I can feel how her body is relaxing into me. Even after everything that happened. Even after all the shit I’ve put her through. I don’t think I’ve earned that trust. I don’t deserve it, but she gave it to me anyway. And now? Now, I’m going to protect it with everything I have.

The city hums below, quiet and distant. And I can’t stop touching her.

I don’t even realize I’m doing it anymore. My hand moves slowly along her back, tracing it like it’s a path I never want to forget.

The silence stretches, easy and comfortable. Until I break it with the question I’ve wanted to ask for a while.

“Why the youth center?”

She shifts, but not away from me. If anything, she settles deeper in. Her body molds into mine in a way that makes me feel like she’s a part of me now.

A second passes. Then another.

And finally, she speaks.

“My dad.”

I glance down, but she’s not looking at me. She’s watching the lights of the city, lost in thought.

“When I was younger, he told me a story about a boy who got lost along the way.” Her voice is gentle, but there’s a weight to it. “He said the kid bounced from foster home to foster home but never stayed long. No one wanted him. He got passed around so much that he stopped trusting anyone and started pulling away. Started doing stupid things. Dangerous things. Got wrapped up with the wrong crowd. His life turned into crime, blood, and violence. It was his way of survival.”

My heart fucking stalls. Everything in me stills.

Not just because I’ve heard this story.

Because I’ve lived it.

She continues, and I hang on to every word, the echo of them getting louder in my mind.

“And then one day, my dad saw him again. Older now. Harder and meaner. But he said he could still see the boy underneath it all. Still worth something. Still worth saving.” She takes a deep, shaky breath, as if retelling the story alone is making her emotional. “He pulled him out. Gave him a second chance. Gave him a path. And that stuck with me. I don’t know where that boy is now, but I just hope he’s okay.” Her words slice through me like a fucking razor. I know where that boy is. He’s in Florida, sitting on a balcony with a girl in his lap—a bright, brilliant, beautiful girl who just let him take her virginity and teach her how to smoke.

I look down at her, and she’s still staring off into the skyline.

She has no idea she’s talking about me. No idea that the boy her dad pulled out of the fucking darkness was the man who’s holding her right now. She’s talking about me like I’m someone she wants to save. Like I’m someone worth saving.

I’m not.

Not really.

But she thinks I am.

Her voice trembles when she continues, shattering something inside me.

“My dad still talks to him sometimes,” she adds with a small smile. “Says he checks in. That he’s so proud of him.”

I can feel her heartbeat against mine, and it’s like the ground beneath me moves. Because I remember where I’ve seen her before. The memory came rushing back as soon as she started her story.

Coach Brown. The first time he brought me to his house. I was just seventeen, lost and angry. He made me lunch while his daughter was at school and his wife was at work. We ate soup and breadsticks, and Brown told me stories about when he was younger. I could only focus on the framed picture on the wall behind him. Coach Brown and his family. All of them were laughing and full of life. So damn happy.

I remember looking at the picture of them, his whole family, so full of love, and I couldn’t stop staring at her. The little kid in the photo. She had this smile that made me wonder what it’d be like to be someone like that. To have a family who would love me the way her parents loved her. To have people who cared enough to take pictures with me, to want to make memories with me. I didn’t have anyone.

Back then, I was just a kid, thinking about things I didn’t think I’d ever get, things I didn’t think I’d ever deserve. I still don’t. But I dreamed about it. I looked at that photo and dreamed of having someone to love, someone who’d love me in return. I remember the thoughts running through my head. Why didn’t any of the moms and dads I’d ever had love me? Why did they all send me back? Why was I never worth that kind of love the girl in the picture had?

And now that girl is here—in my lap.

My chest tightens, and everything feels like it’s crashing down. I thought I’d never get a shot at something real, something worth fighting for.

But now I’m fucking knee-deep in it. Balls deep in it, to be more accurate.

“My dad didn’t just push me to become a doctor or follow a straight path,” Irene keeps going, completely oblivious to the thoughts running through my head and the pounding of my heart. “He showed me what it means to help people, to give yourself in any way you can. He taught me how important it is to be there for people when they need it, how to give without expecting anything in return. I’ve seen him sacrifice so much for people who need him, and it’s made me realize how much I have. How lucky I am, and I want to give back. So, when I came home, I knew I had to do something more. That’s why I started going to the center. These kids…they need someone to believe in them. Kids need someone who’ll show up for them, no questions asked. And the more I’m there, the more I realize this is exactly what I need to be doing, you know?” She finally looks up at me, eyes glazed with unshed tears.

It’s so fucking overwhelming, so real that it damn near brings me to my knees. I don’t say anything, I can’t find the words. All I can do is nod, feeling the lump in my throat grow tighter, threatening to choke me. It’s like I’m seeing her for the first time.

She’s never been abandoned, never been left behind, but she talks like she feels their pain—our pain. It doesn’t scare her, it doesn’t burden her. It makes her want to help.

I was wrong. I was so stupidly wrong about her. She’s not fragile and naive. She’s strong and caring. She’s incredible.

Irene turns her head back around, sniffing as she focuses on the skyline again.

“It’s not about becoming a doctor, or making money. It’s about making a difference, helping where it matters most. Maybe I can help them see that they’re worth more than they’ve been told. They deserve to be happy, to be kids, not to be burdened by things beyond their control. I wish I could say I have the answers, that I know what they need. But I don’t. All I can do is show them that someone cares, just like my dad did for me. Just like he’s done for everyone else in his life. He’s always been my role model, and I want to be like him, even if it’s in my own way. Maybe I’m not changing the world, but I’m trying to do what I can.”

Her words move me. Every single one of them. I’ve never heard anyone speak like this before. Not ever.

And it fucking kills me. If she knew I’m the boy she’s talking about, would she feel the same way?

She’s so goddamn pure, so selfless, so fucking good, it breaks something in me.

For the first time in forever, I want to let myself believe it's ok to hold on to someone. I want to wrap my arms around her and squeeze her tight. Hold her so fucking close she can’t slip through my fingers.

I don’t say anything at first. I can’t. My hand is still resting on her thigh, but now it’s gripping tighter, my fingers pressing into the skin I was worshiping a few hours ago. And suddenly, all the noise in my head, all the hunger, all the need, it all explodes, and I’m spiraling.

Coach Brown. The man who saved me. Who never gave up on me. The one who put a hockey stick in my hand and taught me how to fight for a life worth living. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father—the man I owe everything to.

And what did I do?

I just fucked his daughter.

Not sweetly. Not the way any father would want it to happen.

I took his daughter’s virginity with my hand around her throat. I came all over her stomach. I carried her into the shower because her legs wouldn’t hold her up. Watched her stumble. Watched my cum drip down her body before I washed it off.

I put marks on her breasts and thighs, and now she’s sitting in my lap, her bare pussy pressed to my sweatpants. No panties. No barrier. Just skin, warmth, and the memory of how she moaned for me.

Begged for me.

Broke for me.

I look down at her. I feel her weight on my lap, and it’s nothing compared to the weight of what I’ve just done. I’m not the kind to feel regret, not the way most people do. I don’t waste time on guilt unless I’ve been handed the complete fucking picture, but there are a few people in my life I’d never want to hurt, never want to betray. And her father is one of them.

The heaviness settles in me, heavier the more I think about it. This isn’t just crossing lines. No, I’ve burned everything I owe him to the ground.

What makes it worse? I don’t want to let her go, not now that I’ve had a taste. Not now that I’ve felt her beneath me. I want it all, every inch of her, even with the sick feeling clawing at me. Even though every part of me knows how wrong this is, I still know, deep down, I can’t stop.

That’s the worst part. There’s a twisted part of me that isn’t recoiling. And that part is making my cock twitch.

I’ve already taken a bite out of the fucking apple. And now I can’t stop myself from devouring the whole damn thing.

I should be sick with guilt. I should feel disgusted with myself.

But all I feel right now…is hard.

Fucking hard.

My cock’s thickening again, swelling under the cotton, right against where she’s pressed to me. I shift slightly, just enough to feel the drag of her slick warmth through the fabric.

I should stop this now. I should do something to atone for what I’ve already taken.

But I know I won’t. Despite it all, I still want more. I want to fuck her again and again and never let her leave me.