Page 26 of Explosive Prejudice

“Could we at least pretend you’re about to fuck me?” he complained while climbing up on the bed and flopping down.

“Do you ever shut up?”

“No.”

A weird essence of familiarity suddenly hit me, and I tried to figure out why. Something about the annoying way he enjoyed teasing me felt familiar. It wasn’t the first time his behavior awoke this recognition. He reminded me of someone. And although the name of that person sat on the tip of my tongue, it wasn’t enough for me to make the connection with anyone I knew. Maybe I was imagining it to explain away this intense draw I had toward him.

No, knowing there was no chance I had ever met my Llorón before, I dismissed the errant thoughts away, climbed into the bed beside him, and pulled out a small container from my pocket. Before coming to this room, which was one of the private suites in the club, we made a quick stop in the Gatti salon, where I took this cream out of my bag.

“It smells like mint,” he said as I sat back on my heels, opened the lid, and put it aside.

“Because it’s made out of peppermint and aloe vera.” Shifting closer to have better access to his back, I took a moment to examine him.

Lying on his stomach, with his arms tucked under his head, he looked like a work of art, with his golden waves resting on his shoulders, tanned skin, and defined muscles. He shone so bright that he lit the dim room with his beauty. But what made him truly unique were the dark bruises decorating his smooth skin. They turned him human. Mortal. And it was fucking gorgeous. Up close, I managed to spot more bruises that almost vanished. They were foggy but were still there.

He tried to peek over his shoulder, so I pushed his head down. “Don’t move.”

“But you’re too quiet.”

“I’m trying hard not to hit you.”

He laughed, and it was so rich and full of life. “Seriously, though, what’s that shit you’re holding?”

Putting a generous amount of the cream on my fingers, I touched his back and carefully applied the ointment to his skin. At first touch, he winced, but as I massaged his skin and the lotion grew warm, he relaxed.

“It’s a pain-relieving cream I make myself. I find it very helpful.” Since his muscles were warm, I applied more pressure, ensuring his blood vessels soaked everything in.

“You made it yourself?”

“Don’t move.” I forced his head down again. “Yes, I did.”

“That’s fucking amazing. How?”

“I know how to brew simple stuff like this. Mi madre taught me.”

“Your mom—ugh.”

Worried that I used too much pressure, I stopped. “Did I hurt you?”

“Nah, it’s fine,” he hummed. “So, your mom?”

“Yeah.” Thinking about her brought a faint smile to my face. “She was into naturopathy… I grow plants, thanks to her.”

“Holy shit, you’re telling me you’re a plant daddy?”

A plant daddy?

“You’re ridiculous.”

He shifted a bit on the bed. “I think it’s hot. So, you’re close with your mom?”

“She’s dead.”

“Oh.” He paused. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be. It happened years ago,” I said, trying to make him feel better, which was completely unlike me.

“Still… the pain never really goes away, right?” As if he knew what I was about to ask him, he continued. “My mom died when I was twelve. Not a day goes by without me thinking about her.”

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