I’m so turned on by this chick’s forcefulness that my heart is racing . . . I’ll do whatever she wants as long as the rush doesn’t leave. I’m sitting here, naked, on my knees, my back to her, when I feel the cool metal of the belt buckle slide across my ass. From my peripheral vision, I can see her slap it lightly against her palm and my blood starts pumping even faster. How big can a guy’s dick get before it explodes? My ass muscles clench as I prepare for what I think is to come. But she isn’t going to give it to me that easily. She yanks my hair, pulling my head back. “You’ve been a naughty boy. I asked you to do something and you refused. Maybe the next time I ask you—you’ll do it.”
I have to swallow, not out of fear of course, but, fuck, this is so hot. Her hands are on my balls and she’s squeezing them. “You like it when I touch you?” she asks.
I’m practically panting and she can’t miss my nod. The leather snaps across my ass and it stings like a son of a bitch. My shoulders hunch and I lean my forehead against the couch when she kneels behind me and again grabs my balls. But this time she runs her other hand up and down my ass crack. “Let’s try this again. Do you like it when I touch you like this?”
“Yes,” I answer, my voice low and harsh.
She leans away. “You will learn to give me a complete answer, I promise you,” she hisses and again I can hear the leather slap against her palm.
But before I can feel the burn of her anger, or the pleasure of it, the sound of my sister’s horrified voice echoes in my ears. Serena screams, “What the fuck is going on? I’m calling the police. Ben, are you okay?”
I try to get to my feet, but my ankles are tied to the coffee table. “Fuck. Serena what are you doing here?”
She stands there in shock, as I twist around trying to undo myself. The chick is scurrying to get dressed. Once I’m untied, I rise to my feet and find my shorts. The chick is picking up her things scattered around the room. Serena doesn’t move, but her eyes follow mine every step of the way. Her mouth hangs wide open and the bag of groceries she’s holding is looking pretty heavy. I take the bags from her and set them on the half-round table in the entryway then I flip around. “Hey,” I say to the chick. “Wait for me outside.” At least her forcefulness is only in the bedroom because she hurries past Serena in a flash. I want to tell her to call a cab, but I don’t want to listen to Serena’s shit about my lack of manners.
I run my hands through my hair. “You should have called first.”
Serena grabs the plastic handles of the bags and walks toward me, setting them on the coffee table. Why move the bags? I’m not sure, but it got her closer to me. She looks at me with disgust on her face. “Do you even know that girl’s name?”
I shrug and nod. I shove my hands in my pockets, dropping my gaze to the woolen throw rug.
“I came over to tell you Dahlia is getting married today. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”
Everything stops . . . my breathing, my pulse, my churning mind. It takes me a few minutes to pull my heart from my throat. “What day is it?” I ask her.
“It’s Saturday, October thirty-first, Ben.”
“Fuck, she’s getting married on Halloween?” My voice falters. I drop to the sofa and cradle my head in my hands.
After a minute, I look up at my older sister.
She nods with an equal mix of sympathy and pity and I can’t stand it.
“She’s getting married on the anniversary of her parents’ death. Why would she do that?”
“She wants to make it a happy day in her life.”
I scrub my head. I tried to do that so many times for her. I shuffle to my feet and pace the room. Then I turn back to Serena. “Fuuuck!!” I yell, swiping everything off the desk.
“Ben!” my sister scolds.
And that’s all it takes. My trigger. I look at my sister and can tell my eyes go blank. “I don’t give a shit what she does anymore.”
Serena shouts at me, her face turning red, and disappointment shines from her vibrant blue eyes. “Yes, you do! Of course you do!”
With my hand in the air, I walk toward the door. “No. I. Don’t. I don’t give a shit about anyone.”
“You’re a fucking mess, Ben. Pack your shit and get out of Mom’s house. How dare you disrespect her like this.”
I spin on my heels ready to argue with her, to tell her she’s wrong. But she isn’t. I am a mess. Her eyes bore into me and I feel like I’m drowning in judgment. I can’t take another minute of it. Keeping my lips sealed, I storm up the stairs where I grab my duffle bag and pack my shit. I’m outta here. I don’t need her trying to be my mother over and over. It only reminds me that my mother is dead.
When I come down the stairs she’s tidying up the desk. She tips her glance up. “Call me when you get your shit together.”
She should try being me for one day. I grab my keys and walk out the front door without glancing back. The sun assaults me and I have to close my eyes for a minute. The glow is relentless . . . yellow and orange burn through my lids. I shade my hand over my brow and look around the house where I grew up, trying hard not to let melancholy set it. The chick is sitting on the planked steps and she glances up at me questioningly. She looks so different from the way she did inside—softer. Dawn, yeah, her name is Dawn. I turn my head and walk past her down the stairs—I don’t need to see soft. “Sorry about that. Mind if we go to your place?”