“How does a girl like you wind up with a man like Lorenzo?” I hate his question. I don’t want to talk about him or think about him. I have to work hard not to show how upset it makes me.
“I just needed something different. He distracted me, I guess.” He did. I nod my head thinking about how I went from crying all day and struggling to pack up my mother’s things, to getting drunk and doing things I never thought I would.
“So you went for the bad boy.” He says the words like he’s disgusted by them, which is fucking ironic.
“It works in the books,” I barely get the words out. It’s what I really wanted. I wanted to find love. Even if he didn’t love me back at first, I was hopeful that I’d eventually find my own happily ever after. I thought I'd found a hard man who’d melt for me in time. Instead I found an abusive fuckface. 'Cause let’s be real, that’s what life gives you when you go out looking for Mr. Wrong.
“Your turn, kitten. One question.” He leans forward in his seat like he’s ready to leave, and I hate it.
I ask the one thing that’s been on my mind for hours. One thought that sickens me. I wish he’d just hit me and make that my punishment. I’d let him beat me if it meant this would be over with.
“I’m surprised you haven’t hit me,” I say. He makes no move to answer me, and there's no change in the expression on his face. He's silent for a moment.
“I don’t want to hit you,” he finally answers. And I believe him.
“Why?” I just don’t understand. Lorenzo thrived by showing me how strong he was. He fucking loved dominating me physically. I keep expecting the dams to break and for Anthony to let loose on me. I expect to be physically punished for my infractions. I'd thought he was restraining himself before, but now that I look back on it, I don’t think he was.
“I’ll never hit you. My father used to hit my mother, and it made her do bad things. I don’t want that for you or anyone else.”
“I’m so sorry.” My heart twists with agony. That’s a horrible thing to grow up with. I can’t even imagine. My own father passed away when I was younger in a car crash. I hardly remember him. I can’t imagine growing up in a house with abuse. My eyes search his, but he gives nothing away. “Bad things?” I ask tentatively.
“She beat me instead since she couldn’t hit my father back.” My mouth falls open with a gasp as he continues. “I was young, but I remember.” His voice is flat and devoid of emotion. My heart is fucking destroyed by his words.
“I’m so sorry.” I shake my head, as though I can deny the truth.
“She’s dead now.” My throat closes and dries. His life just gets sadder and sadder. I want to scoot closer to him, but it’s obvious he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want sympathy. I don’t even think he’d accept compassion.
“Did your father...?” I don’t finish, but I don’t have to. He nods his head once with his eyes locked on mine.
“He killed her when he saw what she’s done; snapped her neck in front of me. He thought he was doing the right thing.”
My mouth hangs open in shock.
“I don’t even know if he ever hit her or if he didn’t love her. I know next to nothing about what their relationship was like, apart from what my mother told me. We never talked about it. She beat me and he killed her for it. That’s all I know.” He gives me a sad smirk. “There’s a lot of, ‘let’s not talk about it’ that happens in the familia.”
“I’m so sorry.” I repeat my words; I don’t know what else to say. I feel pathetic that I have nothing to offer him. Tears threaten to fall. I feel nothing but empathy for him and the pain he must’ve felt. Both our mothers are dead, but mine never hurt me. I never once questioned if mine loved me.
“Don’t be. My brother’s always been there. And in a lot of ways so has my father.” His hard expressions soften somewhat. “I have to go, kitten,” he says.
“No, please,” I say. The bowl falls from my lap to the ground as I crawl closer to him.
“Are you telling me no? Are you the one giving orders now?” My shoulders hunch in as I lower myself to the ground. Tears slip down my cheeks. Some for me, but most are for him. I want to hold him and soothe the broken part of him I know exists. But I also need to be touched. I can’t stay here like this.
“Please, Anthony. I want to earn your touch.” I say the words with the desperation I feel.
His eyes widen with surprise and the darkness that’s plagued him since last night seems to lift slightly.
“What are you thinking, kitten?” he asks.
“Whatever you want. I’m yours.” I’ve never said truer words.
“Lie on your back and spread your legs for me.” He gives his command and I obey. I refuse to think of this as anything but meeting my own needs. I need to feel something other than this emptiness.
“Good kitten,” he says and rises from his chair. “I’ll come back tonight once your punishment is over.”
With that, he leaves me.
Alone and pathetically bared to a man who won’t touch me, I curl up on my side and cry. I don’t know how long, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not long enough to fill the emptiness inside of me.
Catherine
It’s been over a week. He’s barely touched me or said anything to me. It’s as though my punishment still hangs over my head. All I have is this room and my laptop. My old life. I’m surprised he gave it back to me.
I feel empty though. It’s like I’ve hurt him. It’s like he doesn’t want me. I don’t understand it. He doesn’t trust me.
A few nights ago he came for me. Only one night has he touched me like he did before. He said I was being good and I deserved a reward. He laid me across his lap and instead of making my ass red with his hand, he pumped his fingers in and out of my needy pussy. He knows that I’ve been craving his touch, but I haven't begged him to fuck me yet. I just haven’t been able to get the words out.
“I want my mouth on you.” I remember him saying that as I came on his hand. I can’t deny that I wanted it, too.
He throws me on my back and I part my legs for him. His shoulders dive between my legs, but he bites my thigh. I scream out as his fingers stroke my G-spot. It feels so good. My body heats with need. I wait for his lips to touch my clit. But they don’t. He sucks my inner thigh, so tantalizingly close but not quite there, and I wish that touch was where I need it most.
I beg him, “Please, Anthony. Please!” He pulls away from me and fingers me until I cum again from the ruthless pace of his touch.
I’m breathless and limp. I lie there until my body’s no longer useless.
I press my fingers against my hot cheeks. Everywhere still feels hot, but my cheeks and chest are burning. Each time he touches me, it’s more and more intense. I’ve never been so...sated in my life. It’s more than foreplay. It’s like he’s taking me higher than I could have taken myself. And what’s better is that he wants to push me there.
It’s a game to him though. I can’t forget. It’s not like he’s doing a good deed. He wants me to break for him. He wants me to beg. And I did. The memory reheats my body. He said he wanted to put his mouth on me, and I begged him to, but he didn’t.