Page 52 of One of Them

When I rubbed against his length, the head of his cock sent a sensation rippling through me.

I thrived on the control he gave me, relishing it even more, knowing he could take over at any moment. That, too, would feel just as liberating.

When his teeth enclosed around my nipple and his hands gripped my ass, we panted together. Maybe it was the most innocent act this room had ever witnessed, but to me, this was the slowest I had ever taken things.

I didn’t know why, but when we locked eyes, daring the other to look away first, the pleasure deepened. The orgasms took control. I didn’t understand of it, but I trusted the process and let it lead me wherever we were headed.

***

The walk upstairs sounded like a nightmare. Drowsiness was setting in, and I didn’t dare ignore it. It was a rare occurrence that my body demanded rest. I couldn’t afford to ignore this request.

As much as I longed to spend more time with him, I stayed put, slipping under the sheets. Maxim followed, either out of the same consideration or simply in solidarity.

We lay peacefully across from each other, and I cursed the darkness for sheltering the beauty of his gaze from me.

As my hands reached to where his chest rose and fell with even breaths, I traced the ink.

“What split it in half?” I whispered, my fingers brushing the butterfly tattoo that remained hidden in the shadows. The skin was smooth beneath my touch, only soft hair covering the spot.

I feared I had gone too far, but Maxim erased my doubts with his honesty.

“Even if they bleed me dry and notice the darkness mixed with the blood, I will die knowing I was undoubtedly me.”

His words replayed in my head, and maybe one day, when death comes for us, I’ll remember them and laugh. But for now, they remain poetry in the back of my mind, an inspiration of sorts.

As the silence stretched on, Maxim surprised me with a question of his own.

“Why not accept the protection and tie yourself to at least one?”

There was wisdom in his words. He understood how the world worked and what it meant to be excluded. What he didn’t know was that I wasn’t afraid of standing out or being different. I’d been searching for clarity my whole life.

There were many reasons behind my decision, but I only gave him one: “I do not wish to be owned.”

“Has anyone ever tried?” His voice concealed the humor, but the magnitude of the question was clear.

I gave a soft laugh. “No one has ever dared.” I propped myself up on my forearms, towering over his head. Riding the wave of confidence, I asked, “Why? Are you considering it?”

“I know better,” he proclaimed.

His tattooed arm spread across my back, pulling me closer.

I was so caught up in the moment that I missed my chance to stop him when his fingers began tracing the bumpy skin of my back.

His movements faltered.

“Who did this shit to you?” Maxim snapped, his anger deepening with each breath. I didn’t pull away; it was too late anyway. A part of me knew it was time to share my story.

The bumps and scars that lived rent-free on my skin were fragments of who I was. A constant reminder of the cuts and stitches I put this body through.

There was no name I could give him. No one to blame or direct the hate toward.

It was… “Myself,” I admitted bluntly.

I admired him for daring to even ask, for caring enough to brace for the answer.

“You don’t get to the top by letting others carry you. I had to take matters into my own hands,” I revealed, searching the darkness for his reaction.

There was no verbal response. Perhaps his thoughts were too preoccupied.

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