Faithless (Mistress & Master of Restraint) (92 page)

“Devlin promised Wil that he would protect Bianca at any cost. He promised that Pierre and Jon would never touch her for any reason. I believe him, Stanton. I believe that Devlin will protect Bianca.”

“Thank you,” Stanton breathes out. “That does comfort me some. I’ll have to thank Devlin when I see him next. You go get some rest. You’ve been up for more than twenty-four hours. That’s too much.”

“What about you? Are you going to bed? I don’t know if you should be alone right now.” I pull back from our embrace and look into his chocolate brown eyes.

“I’ll be fine. I have some work to finish up for the night… and then I am meeting someone,” he reluctantly says, voice lowering so I can’t truly hear him. His deep blush says I heard him just fine.

“Who?” I gasp out in shock. Thirteen years, Stanton has been my surrogate dad, and not once has he been on a date that he didn’t pay for ahead of time- the kind of date that is a big bill in exchange for a handjob with enough barriers to keep the CDC happy.

“No,” he says, pursing his lips and shaking his head. “I’m not paying for sex, if that’s where your mind is headed,” Stanton slyly says, a masculine chuckle follows. “No sex at all- just talking with someone.”

“At least give me this, is it a boy or girl?” I practically beg.

“Neither,” he says, grinning up at me.

“Huh? Should I have asked: plant, animal, or mineral?” I snarkily say.

“Animal,” he teases me, looking happier than I’ve seen him in months.

I pummel his chest with a throw pillow. “Stanton,” I growl.

“Zane is teaching this old dog some new tricks!” he taunts me. “I’ll put you out of your misery. I’m meeting a woman… and no, I won’t give you a name, or tell you if you know her, or tell you if we’re lovers, or tell you anything.  All you’re getting is… I’m meeting a woman.”

~Chapter Eighty-Two~

“What’s up with you?” I suspiciously ask Wil, who is projecting a strange mix of glee and sorrow. His pale blue eyes are watery with tears but his mouth is twisted in a joyous smile, dimples indenting his cheeks. He’s so jittery he can’t keep still. He’s also bare-assed naked while lying on our bed. I don’t trust this side of Wil- it’s the side that haunts my life.

Wil and I aren’t together in the traditional sense. We have an unconventional relationship that I can’t explain. If Wil would ever let me in, let me help, I could see us getting married and living the life that Gretchen and Boyd are failing at.

But he won’t let me in- never lets me in. When we talk, it’s about the game,
our job, the people in our lives, and every day affairs. Never, ever do we talk about hopes and dreams, goals and aspirations, the future or the past. There are never any
I love you
s spoken.

We share a life. We share a family. We share a job. We share a home and my son. We share a bed- a bed we sleep in. I trust him in all things, except with my heart. Wil is wounded, and he wounds me more every day.

I have a promise I had to keep to a friend, a promise I made a very long time ago. A promise I keep as a way of making up for the wrong I did him. Sex gets jumbled up inside my head, and my friend made me promise not to take on any more lovers or touch his best friends. I’ve kept that promise. Wil is the only man I’ve been with since Zane’s conception.

Wil has a problem- a problem we aren’t allowed to voice. He speaks to Stanton, and then they both freeze me out. Wil was molested by his grandfather. We all know it. I know this as fact, but no other details. I don’t want the details out of perversion. I need the details to move us forward.

Wil allows this wound to ruin us. Sex is painful, even when it’s good, because when it turns bad… it’s very, very bad. Good sex gets us sex all the time, but if Wil freaks out, it changes it to bad sex. So in essence, all sex is bad. After the bad sex, he freezes me out even more. He won’t talk to me, or touch me, or sleep in our bed- the longest was six months. But what he will do afterwards is go out and find more sex, sex that doesn’t involve me, and then his guilt keeps him away. When he finally gets it right, he comes back to me.

I, who preaches respect, allow
myself to be disrespected by Wil. If I didn’t see the terror written on his face or feel the agony in the air, I wouldn’t let him touch me again. He is wounded, and he won’t let me heal him. But he is wounding me as he hurts. His pain is my pain. One of these days he will look outside of his own pain, and finally see the pain he’s caused in me- I gave up on that day happening long ago.

When Wil touches me, I flinch, never knowing where it will lead.
We can be having the most epic sex, but the entire time I fear that it will take a turn for the worse- I’ve seen it happen time and time again. So I never let go, and if you can’t let go, you’re cutting yourself off from the true experience.

I’d thought I was messed up about sex before, now I really am. I’ve never had a normal relationship with anyone- I’ve never had sex out of love or mutual attraction. It’s always been forced by the game or repayment of friendship. Even with Wil, it isn’t about connecting our bodies, minds, and spirit- it’
s a test, a test to see if Wil will freak. If he doesn’t freak, we’ll do it until he does- without fail.

If I didn’t love him more than life itself, I’d get off this agonizing roller coaster ride from Hell.

As usual, Wil doesn’t answer me about his mood. He once told me that
what are you thinking about
is a male’s Kryptonite. I’ve never said those words to him since. Not because I don’t want to. But because I know he won’t answer me, so why bother.

I know how to manage Zane because I know how to manage both Ez and Wil. Somehow my son has picked up mannerisms from his birth father and the man he calls daddy. All the mannerisms I hate. This is why you don’t have sex or create children with people that have traits you despise; it’s guaranteed they will pop up in your children- guaranteed.

“Is it okay if we meditate?” Wil quietly asks me as I slip between the sheets to lie down.

I’m very good at projecting emotions with everyone but Wil. My body freezes up and my breath seizes in my lungs. Meditate could mean just about anything,
but it usually is Tantric sex… and leaves me feeling exposed- raw. The fact that Wil is nude, with a strange aura of anticipation radiating off him in waves, signals that this will progress towards sex… sex that always leads to bad sex. Call me cautious, but I never trust this side of Wil.

“Okay,” I mutter, leaving the next move up to Wil.

The light pops off and we sit in silence for many long minutes. I school my breathing when what I want to do is pant like I just ran a marathon. It’s been four months since Wil consciously touched me. We don’t cuddle in bed, but sometimes in the middle of the night, we end up intertwined around one another and wake that way. It’s as if our bodies wait for our minds to go to sleep, and then they seek each other out for comfort and pleasure.

The longer we sit in the dark silence, the more my body enlivens. I can hear his breathing, every breath sparking along my spine. The feel of the central air’s warm heat caressing my skin makes me shiver, skin quivering in delightful anticipation. My body blooms for Wil, while my mind screams and hides out of fear.

A touch to my shoulder has me jumping several inches off the mattress. I expected laughter, but Wil sighs and says, “Shh… I’d never hurt you, Pixy. Let’s just sit together and breathe, okay?”

“Okay,” I whimper, as if I’m agreeing to an amputation.

I roll to my side and sit up. In the center of the bed, I sit cross-legged with my arms resting on my legs. I wait for Wil to join me, but instead, I feel hands lifting my tank top. I allow it, curious to what he’s up to. I don’t voice my question because he wouldn’t answer it anyway.

“I like it better when I can feel your skin against mine,” he bashfully says, fingers tugging on my shorts. I lift my hips, allowing him to undress me.

Wil sits on the bed, mirroring the position I am in. I don’t need light to know exactly what he looks like, I can just feel him. With our backs pressed tightly together, we sync our breathing, slow our heart rate, and clear our minds. His warmth seeps into my skin and infuses my heart. As always, tears prick my eyes- this is how it could be, how it should be. I love this, this feeling of connection- completion. This is the only time I know that Wil feels it, too. I can feel our connection strengthen and feel our mutual love and respect for one another… but Wil always ruins the moment with his demons.

Minutes in, I feel his heart rate and breathing accelerate. We are so in tune, that mine surge to meet his. By the time the movement starts, as it always does, I am panting in fear. Meditation and sex are always perfectly agonizing… and I’ve never had one without the other in the past ten years.

Wil’s moan vibrates from his back to mine, causing my body to clench and tighten, to bloom and moisten. A girl could get a complex from this act. Wil clears his mind of the past, using my body as an anchor, and then works himself by hand. If we were to just fool around, kiss and cuddle, he freaks the fuck out. This is the compromise we’ve found that works. I know he wants me, but the demons in his head are stronger than his love for, not me, but himself. The demons are stronger than everything.

The next series of deep moans has me moaning with him, which spurs him on. The bed shakes, my body shakes, as he fiercely strokes his length. I close my eyes even though we sit in the dark, and use a technique a friend taught me ages ago. I envision what Wil looks like aroused and eager: the bulbous head ruddy with dick-hardening blood, the slight curve of his shaft, the perfect length and width that always satisfies me. I groan deep from m
y chest, falling lax against Wil’s back. I imagine the way his hand stokes his arousal, a bead of precum glistening on his slit because I excite him.

My hand finds its way down my body and slowly caresses the wet split between my thighs. The rhythm of Wil’s hand rocks us, an erotic dance of trust. I fall into the movement, slowly panting and moaning as my fingers gently caress and pull on the ring that pierces the hood of my clit. It’s how I always masturbate, the tug and twist on my ring. I leave the exploring and touching to Wil. If I work myself by hand, I do what is guaranteed release.

I fall to the bed, Wil moving lightning fast to cover me with his body, to connect us. A heady moans spills from my lips as my back bows and my hips surge to meet his. “I love the way you feel inside of me,” unbiddenly slips past my lips as he rocks into me- the velvety slide of his cock filling me perfectly. I’d missed the way we perfectly fit together like puzzle pieces. Four months without connecting felt like an eternity.

Wil doesn’t thrust, he rock
s. We rock together, every body part aligned and absorbing the heat from the other.

Wil kisses me, and this is the only time he kisses me. It’s tender and loving, and slowly building in passion- and then the passion ignites, and it becomes a frenzy of teeth, lips, and tongue, feasting at each other’s mouths, eating our combined and mingled sounds of pleasure and frustration.

I wrap my body around his, legs around his waist, hands reaching down and cupping his ass, fingers biting into the perfect flesh. I try to press us as closely together as possible, to marry our bodies as one. I don’t ever want to let go. I want to hold on as tightly as possible for as long as possible. It could be minutes, hours, days from now, but Wil will eventually leave me again- disconnect us- disconnect from me.

This is the perfect part- the part that makes me cry for days afterwards. It’s on a level that most will never reach. I can feel Wil in me, in my mind, in my body, and in my soul.
But it’s never enough. It’s always too fleeting. 

We make love. We make love until the fear eclipses the connection, until Wil’s fear boils over us and takes us into Hell. I can feel it building towards the finale- not orgasm, never orgasm. The finale of when Wil pulls from me, the connection frightening him- pulling him back into the past.

My teeth clench on my bottom lip, stifling the cry of pain that threatens to bubble out. Wil moans loudly, a sound of agony and ecstasy. He pulls from me, still hard, having not reached his release yet. Only a handful of times in the past eleven years has Wil been able to reach completion within me.

We don’t use condoms, because I have no other lovers, and when he goes on his quest of self-punishment, if it ever gets to sex, he always protects himself and me. We’re tested for diseases because of work on a regular basis. Plus, if you want children, you can’t use protection.

I know Wil wants children of his own. No matter how much he loves Zane, I can feel the need building in him. Zane is mine, so I understand the feeling of contentment from gazing at your own child- the child you created and grew and bore.

When Wil is unable to finish in me that is when the sex usually turns bad. He will cry and run from the room, or brutalize himself, trying his hardest to climax. Mid-way, when the demons are riding him hard, he will stop. The shell of Wil that faces me scares me to my soul. Wil’s eyes are always red-rimmed and watery with tears, his face set in desolate lines, and his cock red and sometimes bloody from the force of his masturbation. It’s after that when I think that sex isn’t worth it. If he wants a child, we’ll do it the clinical way. But the only way to get past this, is through it, no matter how painful the journey. The journey isn’t as rough as it was in the beginning- that is the only hope I have- the only thing that keeps me from saying
no, never
!