Sweet Home

He chuckled. “I’m not a sadist, so you can take that look off your pretty face. I just like to be in control… I don’t know… It’s how I am. There are some pretty shitty things in my life that I can’t have power over so I need it with the things I’m good at. I just need the assurance that I’m in charge. I’m a good QB ‘cause I like to lead, run the show. It’s the same with sex.”

It made sense; he needed control. Not in a sordid way, but as a necessity for his sanity.

“I liked how you took control. I’m so used to having to be independent and self-sufficient, always making the decisions, and I hate it. That felt… freeing to give myself over to you, to hand over the reins.”

A strange expression spread on his face, the fierceness of it knocking me back enough to lose balance. Romeo held me steady in his arms.

“You’re mine now, Mol. You know that, right? I’ve never had anyone respond to me like you do—every move, kiss, and stroke—full and complete surrender of yourself.” His fingers, still flat against my heat, picked up speed.

I sobbed out a cry and bit the nail of my thumb to hold back the screams. “Yes, I’m yours.”

Rome pulled my thumb into his hand. “You’re gonna make me crazy with that move, Mol. I’d rather put an object more satisfying there if you need somethin’ to play with.”

I expelled a small gasp. “I… I…”

“In time. Not yet,” he assured, somewhat amused.

My eyes rolled back. “Romeo… your hand…”

“Is going to satisfy you again. And I’m gonna watch you let loose. I’m gonna watch you unravel in my arms and I’m gonna love it, Mol. You get that? I’m gonna control your every desire,” he hissed through clenched teeth as his fingers plunged deeper inside me.

“Yes… Yes…”

And he did. He hit every note with perfection.

I shuddered as I let out a shrilled cry and slumped onto his chest. We lay that way for a long time and he eventually removed his hands from within me, zipped up his jeans, and pulled me to lie across his lap. I closed my eyes and dozed against his warm chest, enjoying the feel of his light caresses on my cheek, thoroughly exhausted.

I woke slowly as Romeo gently twisted me between his legs, laying my back flush against his chest. “The sun is settin’. I thought you might like to watch it go down with me.”

A surge of happiness burst from my heart. “I would like that.”

The sky was blood-red, the warmth from the sun casting a pink-hued tint and the big yellow sphere dropped down to a half circle, dimming the large creek in a smouldering golden glow.

Romeo’s breath scattered the air at my ear. “Tell me about your family, Mol.”

I flinched as the shards of panic stabbed at my chest, and I stiffened, trying to find some kind of relief. Romeo, on feeling my reaction, grasped my hand in his, folding me in his embrace. His warm, safe embrace.

“Tell me, Mol. Tell me about your family. Why are you filled with such pain?”

I took a fortifying breath and watched as the last few rebellious flares of the orange sun were dragged down to the horizon. “I don’t know where to start really.”

“The beginnin’. I want to know you, all of you, inside and out.” The reverence in his voice caused me to tremble.

“Okay.”

I shifted into a comfortable position, my head on his chest, hearing the comforting thud of his heart. “My mother died at my birth. I was her only child. She died through complications.” I squeezed my eyes shut, focusing on Rome’s hold, and opened them again to stare at the calm water of the creek, letting the still of the surface sooth me. “I’ve got her picture. I look just like her.”

“She was beautiful too, then?” he said as he kissed my exposed shoulder. I blossomed at his words and slouched farther against him.

“My father had no family except my grandma. She also lived with us. When I was six, my father died too.” I picked up a long blade of grass, running it between my fingers. “I remember it like it was yesterday. I came home from school and my grandma was upset and sat in the front room. She told me that my daddy had been taken to heaven.” I shook my head, laughing a humourless laugh. “At the time I thought I was being punished for being a bad child. It soon became clear that he hadn’t died of an illness or because God was punishing me, but that he got up as usual, saw me, his little girl, out of the door for school, got into the bath, and slit his wrists with a razorblade.”