Page 110 of Edge of Unbroken

It’s a good thing the shower’s running, the water’s spray masking my desperate groans as I chase my orgasm. I’m close, too; I can feel it swirling in my stomach. My body is wound tight, ready for release, my eyes fixed on my hand roughly stroking my hard cock. I grip the base of my dick tightly, then drag my hand all the way up my rock-hard shaft and over the already hypersensitive tip. My hips buck with the sensation—a perfect mix of pain and pleasure.

It's my Saturday off. I get one every other weekend. It’s a day when my grandparents don’t wake me before the sun rises, when I don’t spend the morning fixing fences or corralling cattle, when I don’t crash after eating lunch. It’s not that I don’t do anything on those days. I do. It’s just on my own terms.

I didn’t wake up until almost eleven this morning, only reluctantly emerging from the exquisite dream I had of Cat and me, and our bodies melting together. God, I swear I could feel her, smell her, taste her in my dream. I was about to sink into her, our bodies so damn close, when a loud whinnying in the pasture outside my bedroom window caused me to regain consciousness. I can’t even begin to explain how disappointed I was.

I’m desperate to have Cat back in my arms, see her, be with her, my mind and body absolutely craving her presence. And, good fucking god, I’m pent up.

I was harder than rock when I woke up, my erection straining against my boxer briefs, throbbing painfully. Things didn’t calm down even after a few minutes of staring at my ceiling, the images of Cat’s perfect, soft body so damn vivid. I finally marched into the bathroom across the hall from my bedroom, where I now stand under the shower, my soapy fist pumping my cock with greedy strokes.

I let my head fall forward, resting my forehead against the cool shower tile and next to my right hand. My eyes shut with the building pleasure, my breathing labored, and I’m back in Cat’s bedroom, that guestroom at Shane’s, my own bedroom. I recall the moments I got to feel Cat, when she trusted me, gave herself to me so completely it tore my heart and soul all the way open. Fuck, she turns me on so much. Those little moans, the way she breathes my name when she comes, how she smells and tastes, how damn tight she is… It’s an all-senses-on-deck kind of experience with Cat.

I tighten my fist still, my movements shallow and quick as I crest. I hold my breath, every fiber in my body coiling, my balls aching with pressure, and finally I fall into pleasure, hot cum pulsing onto my hand and jetting onto the tiled wall in front of me. My cock throbs with my orgasm, my skin hot, feverish as I thrust into my fist six or seven times before my body eventually stills. The last of the aftershocks seizes my muscles and I release a deep groan, relaxed and sated. At least temporarily.

I’m starving when I finally make it downstairs ten minutes later. My appetite returned in full force when I started being able to move properly again. My knee’s a thousand times better—not one hundred percent, but better—and since convincing my grandfather to convert the workshop into a gym a couple of months ago, I’ve been making use of it as new equipment arrives, which admittedly is slower than I’d like it to. It’s a constant effort to convince him that he needs more barbells, more weights, more machines to provide his guests with some variety, and I’ve been reasonably successful in my endeavors. I really don’t need much to get a good workout in, but it’s nice to have the access.

I think the real reason my grandfather gave in to me is because he sees how effective physical activity has been in terms of my rehabilitation, both physical and emotional. I’ve missed working out almost as much as I miss being with Cat.

“Good morning, baby boy,” my grandmother chirps when she sees me, a huge smile on her face. She’s always so happy to see me, her reaction to my presence so unlike my mother, who looked at me like the fact that I dared to breathe ruined her day. “Or, I guess I should say good afternoon,” she says with a look at the large clock on the wall. “You slept a long time,” she notes, already in the process of making me a plate of food.

“I was exhausted,” I say, and take a glass from the cupboard to fill with water.

“I’m glad you were able to get some rest.” She hands me my plate, then places her hand on my cheek, her skin soft against mine. “Go eat,” she says gently.

The phone rings, and she answers it. “Frankie!”

I place my plate on the table and stand, looking back at my grandmother as she talks to my dad.

“This is a nice surprise. A Saturday call. Your boy is here…” She listens intently to whatever my dad is saying on the other end. She’s silent a minute or two, her face slowly darkening. “Why is she doing this?” she asks and falls silent again. By the way my grandmother’s eyes keep flitting to me, I know they’re talking about my mother. “Really? Oh no, Frankie,” she says, shaking her head.

Anxious restlessness seizes me. I abandon my breakfast and walk back into the kitchen where I hold my hand out to my grandma—a silent request to talk to my dad so I can find out what the hell is going on.

She stares at me for a few seconds, apparently calculating whether it’s safe to let me talk to my dad. “Frankie… here’s Ran.”

“Dad? What’s going on?”

“Hey Ran,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry to do this to you today, or really at all. I got a call yesterday from the D.A., Darren. He let me know that Rica’s not taking a plea deal like we had hoped. She’s going to force a trial. She’s going to make you testify about… everything.”

“Okay,” I say, defeated. I didn’t really anticipate my mother taking a plea, but I won’t lie, I had hoped that she would, that she’d find it within herself to spare me having to relive every painful memory.

“There’s more,” my dad sighs. “Rica’s attorney is going to offer evidence at the trial about the abuse Rica suffered when she was a child, and… they’re going to argue it caused her to do the same to you.”

“What?” I’m stunned. This is the first time I’ve ever heard anything about my mother’s childhood or any kind of violence she was subjected to.

“Ran… god… I let you down so badly. I knew Rica’s father was an abusive asshole to her and her brother. Her brother was four years older than her, and he got out of that house before I even met your mom. But… Ran, apparently the things Rica’s dad did to her mirror what she did to you. And bud, I know what she did to you, at least during the last year. I’ve been watching the surveillance footage and—”

Panic rises in my chest. “There’s surveillance footage?” I knew there were cameras in the house, but I always just thought they were dummy cameras meant to deter any would-be burglars. I had no idea they were actually recording. I don’t have even the slightest clue what the fuck they captured.

“There is,” he says with a heavy tone. “I have a year’s worth of footage from before Rica was arrested. The cops took a copy of everything, and I’ve been going through it, too.”

No, no, no!“Why?”

“Because I owe it to you to know what you’ve been through.”

I shake my head, my eyes shut tightly. “No, you don’t.” This can’t be happening.

“Yes, I do, Ronan,” he says in a way that lets me know not to argue with him. Every cell in my body hates the idea of there being video of the shit my mother did to me, and that my dad is watching every hit, every kick, every punch, every injury she inflicted on me. Shit, that probably also means the D.A. will want to play the footage at the trial, which meansIwill have to see it, hear it. Relive it. My heartrate spikes to an ungodly level, causing a low hum in my ears. “Rica’s attorney is going to offer Rica’s own abuse as a defense. Darren just informed me that Rica was psychologically evaluated and diagnosed with severe bipolar disorder and PTSD. He thinks it could be a powerful defense even with the damning footage.”

And there it is. “So, she might get away with hurting me all my life.” It’s not a question. It’s a foregone conclusion. I can feel my grandmother watching me carefully as I lean against the kitchen counter, feeling dizzy.

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