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“It looks painful.”
“Not at all.” Shyness didn’t kick him in his tight balls as he lifted his cock to show me. “I actually did it myself a few years ago. I lost a bet with Hell, and the loser had to get their cock pierced. That same night he lost one with Dec, and we both ended up with bars in our dicks.”
“That sounds like some kind of messed up sex party.”
“Trust me, it was nothing like that.” He drifted behind frosted glass and became distorted in my view. “When I’m done here, I’ll help you wash your stitches.”
I nodded, but he didn’t see it, his body and face still behind the frosted glass and not looking my way.
I turned back to the window, wondering why I was again looking at two people having rough sex in the backyard. I blinked, closing my eyes for a slow second. And that was enough time for Rothbart’s face to invade my mind. His mottled skin, covered in the remains of poor hygiene, and his black mustache so close to my face when spitting insults at me. I wiped the saliva away and realized it was only a bead of sweat that ran from my brow. Rothbart wasn’t here, but his tight grip on everything I knew held me back. He still impacted my present and promised a shit future.
I didn’t want that.
I wanted what was out there.
Not the sex, but everything else.
The complete trust in each other that wouldn’t stop me from letting Remi touch me where Hell touched Jolie.
My nipples hardened again and again, disgust for my own body set in.
I wanted to steal the excitement from her eyes and place it in my own soul, and I wanted to jump into the shower and tell Remi to wash away every bad memory, but I couldn’t.
My feet couldn’t move.
Rothbart’s gruff breathing filled my ears. His voice, the sound that tormented my nightmares, followed, “You disgust me. Your body and these—”
A recent memory played out before my eyes. Rothbart, in front of me, with the jagged blade that lived in his hand, digging into my flesh.
He pulled it from my flesh, and my breast cried out a red tear over the pain of a punctured muscle. My eyes struggled to stay dry, but no tears fell.
“These tits are fucking disgusting, too. Still too fucking big. Fucking mismatched. Too fucking repulsive.” The bloody blade flicked my bigger breast, and his face twisted with loathing as it bounced. “Your body makes me sick. Look at you. You’re a fucking mess. So disgusting and revolting, I can barely look at you.”
I blinked, and the tears I’d held back in that memory finally cascaded down my cheeks.
His opinions of me didn’t matter, but my own did, and he’d impacted them all in a very negative way. I couldn’t stand the sight of my own body.
I hated myself because of him, because of his words repeating in my head until I believed them.
He was the reason I didn’t want to strip in front of Remi.
It wasn’t the fear of sex. Yeah, I liked that things moved slower and that care and affection were weaved through everything we did, but I wasn’t about that.
Sex wasn’t scary to me. It had become a way for me to survive. Something that would keep me alive another day.
But the fear of someone who’d looked at me like I was everything they ever wanted and then getting a better look and realizing how awful I actually was, terrified me to no end.
But I was always defiant of Rothbart, always giving him new reasons to hate and torture me. So, I ignored the words in my head, his unusual accent that never felt authentic with its unnecessary twang hanging off every vowel. I pulled off the hoodie and let the pants fall to the floor. I pushed my underwear down with them and kicked them both away. I walked to the shower in nothing but a long tank top of Remi’s and stepped inside.
Remi moved to the side, feeling the splashes on his ankles as I stepped into the shower.
His fingers were around his cock, unable to stop moving from base to tip as his eyes slid up the length of my legs.
My crossed arms hid my chest from hungry eyes, and I could have sworn I saw his pupils dilate at that moment.
I braved a step forward, and he dropped his hand.
“I thought you’d left. I couldn’t hear you.”
