Page 44 of Explosive Prejudice

Running my fingers through Llorón’s hair and calming down my heavy breaths, my head was still miles away, trying to process what I’d just experienced. Yet, without a doubt, I was obsessed. Body and soul, I was bound to the man lying beneath me, and in no way was I getting out of it anytime soon. For the first time since I could remember, I felt calm.

I felt at home.

Llorón tightened his arms around my shoulders, and I took the opportunity to inhale his addictive coconut scent. There was something about his touch, smell, and moves that felt familiar but, at the same time, totally new. It was impossible for me to believe how because until over a month ago, this man had been a complete stranger. Now, I wasn’t sure I could let him go.

Ready to relax and enjoy the postorgasm bliss I’d hardly ever experienced, I was about to roll to my back and perhaps fall asleep with him in my arms, when out of nowhere, his hands, which had held on to me till now, moved to my chest and pushed me away.

“I need to go,” he said, and then the mattress shifted.

“Hold on.” I tried to catch his hand but fuck, I couldn’t see a thing, and before I knew it, I heard a loud thump.

“Shit,” he hissed in pain, and I assumed he’d crashed to the floor.

My first instinct was to reach for him, but then I figured helping would be easier if I could see, so I fumbled in the dark until I found the light switch and, without thinking twice, turned the light back on.

It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the sudden light before I saw him on the floor. As I figured, he’d got up in a rush and fallen like a klutz. He had his back to me, so I couldn’t see his face, even though I wished I could. After what we just did, I assumed he’d feel the same.

“Llorón.” I reached to help him, but he snapped.

“Give me my mask.” His hands were clenched into tight fists. “Give me my mask… please.” His voice wasn’t one of anger but of fear. He was panicking, and it killed me.

My jaw tensed, and I ground my teeth while watching his body tremble. “Hold on,” I said, turned around, and grabbed our masks from the bedside table. Putting my mask on first, I placed his behind him and turned around, giving him the space he clearly needed.

“You can wear it. I’m not looking.”

When I heard the choked sobs coming from him and how he tried to hush them, my heart clenched, and I felt sick. Despite giving him the nickname Llorón and telling him how hot he’d look crying, this wasn’t my intention. The only moments I wished to see tears rolling down his face and to hear his voice choking on sobs were those of pleasure.

“I can’t tie it by myself,” he sniffed between words.

“Can I turn around? I’ll help you.”

“Yes.”

The second he gave me permission, I turned to face him. He was still crouched naked on the floor, looking like a broken little bird. It wasn’t his nudity that made him look so vulnerable but the way he barely kept himself together while holding the mask to his face with shaking fingers. This horrifying image was seared into my mind, and it wasn’t until I squeezed my eyes shut that I could move again.

“Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” I asked as I bent behind him and helped him to tie the strap and secure the mask.

He shook his head.

“Then what’s wrong?” I slid my hands to his shoulders, hoping he wouldn’t push me away. A few moments ago, his skin was warm, like he had bathed in the sun for hours. Now, it was ice-cold.

“I just need to go,” he whispered, and even though he said he needed to leave, he only leaned farther into my touch, as if begging me not to leave him alone.

“Not before you tell me what’s wrong.”

“I just… I can’t.” He inhaled deeply. “I can’t.”

“You can’t what?” Softly rubbing his arms, I tried to warm him up.

“This.” His breath shivered. “You’re too kind, too gentle. I can’t.” Sniff. “I don’t deserve it.”

I’d already realized in the time we spent together that he had a problem with intimacy. He was thirsty for it, nearly begged to be loved, and, at the same time, feared it as if the tiniest amount of compassion would kill him.

“What makes you say that?”

“It isn’t supposed to feel good… but it did… and I feel guilty.”

His words destroyed my heart. I knew then and there, without a doubt, that I’d break the monster who made my Llorón feel so unworthy and ashamed that pleasure pushed him to the point of self-loathing and guilt. Not only would I break them, but I’d enjoy it, too.

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