Page 42 of Unforgivable Ties

“Your knuckles are all scuffed up now, and you have blood on your pants,” she said, pulling back and wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Her gaze was fixated on my bruised fist, where the skin on one of my knuckles had torn open.

“He learned a lesson,” I said.

Stephanie looked like she wanted to ask more, but stopped herself. Instead, she gestured to my knuckles. “Let me help.”

“Not much you can do there, Steph. Bandages will get in the way of work.”

She glared at me, but it was about as scary as a kitten hissing. When she pulled away from me, I wanted to grab her and pull her right back into my arms, but I didn’t. That warmth inside me was steadily growing, making my actions and words all the more confusing.

Stephanie pulled her first aid kit out of her purse and began sorting through its contents. She pulled out some small scissors, a roll of gauze, and a bottle of disinfectant.

“I don’t care if it gets in the way of your work,” she said, her voice stubborn but soft. “You can’t let it get infected.”

“How many supplies do you keep in there, anyways?”

“Enough to fix up idiots who start fights and get into shootouts,” she retorted, her eyes flashing with a mix of jest and concern. She took my hand gently, her touch as soothing as it was unsettling.

As she started cleaning the scrapes and cuts on my knuckles, I felt a strange sensation stir within me. It was a kind of vulnerability I wasn’t used to, an openness of not just my physical wounds but also those deep inside that I’d kept hidden from everyone, including myself. Her touch ignited a warmth that seemed to spread throughout my entire body, wrapping around the deep-set chill I’d been carrying for as long as I could remember. It was comforting yet foreign, a sensation that teetered on the edge of pleasure and pain.

The nerve-wracking part was that I think I liked it. I wanted to get closer to Stephanie, to let her soften the hard edges inside me. But the thought of getting close to someone was scary—scarier than any street brawl or late-night confrontation I’d ever had.

As I looked at her, gently touching me even though I looked and felt like a monster, I wondered how much longer I could resist.

Stephanie

It felt like my body was on fire. All I could do since that night at the lounge was think about Vincenzo. When I pulled him in for a hug, I felt just how muscular he really was and how perfectly my body fit against his.

How would he feel inside of me? God, I bet the stretch would be amazing. The very thought of it sent flushes of heat rolling through me. Oh, his hands, those large hands; I could envision them on me—tracing the contours, exploring the terrain. There was a certain rawness about him that was incredibly enticing.

I had all these lewd thoughts and hadn’t been able to get any release. I was either at school, work, or home with Vincenzo. For some reason, I was paranoid he’d hear the buzzing of my vibrator coming from my room, so I never used it when he was home. And, unfortunately for me, our schedules tended to line up often.

My panties were soaked, and it was so bad I worried the cotton wouldn’t be able to contain the slick and it would drip down my thighs. I walked through our giant apartment lobby, desperate to get inside the penthouse.

I knew Vincenzo wouldn’t be home today, and I would have ample time to give myself as many orgasms as I needed. I cursed the place for being so nice—the lobby was giant, and the walk felt eternal.

I had almost reached the elevators when I heard a familiar voice in front of me.

“Stephanie?” Preston stood in the lobby, looking confused why I was there.

Well, seeing him was an instant way to stop the sopping mess in my panties. What was a waterfall became the Sahara desert.

“Uh...yeah,” I responded awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

I dodged his question, instead choosing to echo his. “Well, what are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

Fuck. He must have moved from his other fancy ass apartment complex to this fancier ass apartment complex, all on Mommy and Daddy’s dime.

“That’s nice,” I said, adjusting my backpack strap. “Anyways, I’m just gonna go—”

“You never answered my question,” he deadpanned.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” I said nonchalantly, “But I live here with my boyfriend.”

His eyes widened before quickly being replaced by a scowl. “That thug?”

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