Page 110 of My Lovely Tragedy
“Whatever.” And then he’s on his knees, steel rattling as he adjusts himself. My heart rate kickstarts as he starts soaping my legs, dragging the cotton over my thighs, around to the back, brushing just below the crease of my buttocks before continuing onward and down.
He holds onto me with his left hand, just behind my knee. Pressure against such sensitive skin threaten to make my legs buckle.
When he taps my ankle, I lift, then squirm as he proceeds to scrub my sole. “Ticklish?” he asks, glancing up, blinking through the spray. My eyes narrow—and for good reason because he immediately increases pressure and nearly causes me to topple over as I pull away from him.
Laughing, he moves onto my other foot. I almost refuse to give it to him, but when he hikes a brow, I become putty in his hands.
And then, Brooklyn’s hands are on my groin. My abdomen flexes as I lurch forward at the unexpected touch. He’s undeterred as his fingers graze through the thatch of hair surrounding my length.
“Darling,” I rasp as I tighten my fingers in his hair. I hadn’t even realized I had done that.
He glances up through wet, clumped lashes. “Anything,” he reminds me. My chest inflates with a breath I hold. I then dip my head, and his hands resume their exploration of the most intimate part of my physical body. Being as my beloved has already bared my core for his viewing pleasure, I suppose physical attributes pale in comparison.
But I did not anticipate how drugging his touch would be in this moment. Not quite innocent but not inherently sexual. Just an exploration of a body. Curious and intrigued.
I let him have his fill as his fingers trace individual paths along the inside of each thigh, around to my rear, delving into my crease. He hesitates at my submission, eyes flicking up. I give him a small smile and spread my legs until my feet bump against the side walls of the bathtub.
He doesn’t probe, simply continues his exploration to feel every inch of me, and my skin buzzes—alive and tingling. My heart thumps in the base of my throat, erratic and heavy with contentment.
My cock reacts to his touch, no matter how innocent. It slowly fills with blood until it is pulsing in time with my heart. It’s not until I am fully hard that Brooklyn finally grabs me, smearing soap along my length slowly, matching the reverence in which I worshiped his body.
I slip between his fingers, and the sensation forces a groan to reverberate within the confines of the shower. The water barely holds any heat, bathing our bodies in goosebumps, but I barely feel it. Not with Brooklyn’s face turned up and his hands trembling to memorize my body as I have his.
“Come here,” I rasp, then clear my throat. “Come.” I tuck my hands in his armpits to pull him up and yank him into my chest. He collapses, melting into me.
My body prickles with pins and needles, nerves exposed and left untouched. Weighed with the density of numbness spreading through my extremities. Unease slithers down my spine as my anxiety spikes, shattering the bliss of the moment.
I mouth at Brooklyn’s neck.Just a moment longer. I can hold it off.He tastes of soap and clean skin. Smells of vanilla and cinnamon.
Paradise.
“Time to get out now, love.” Brooklyn grunts his protest. “The water is cold.”
“You like it cold.”
“Yes, but you do not. And you’re shivering. Come on. Out.” I tap his rear, and the smack sounds louder due to the friction of water. He jerks up with an indignant scowl. “You should know by now that will not work with me.” I yank the curtain open, exposing his wet, naked body to the chilled air.
He shivers and steps out, holding his chains in his left hand as he reaches for a towel folded over the towel rack. He drags it roughly over his front before wrapping it around his waist. I follow suit but take a bit more time to not roughen my skin with such blatant abuse. And, of course, my observant boy notices.
“You care about some really stupid things,” he says from his spot on the toilet lid. I glance over as I brush my teeth, but I don’t answer until after spitting the remaining paste out and wiping my mouth.
“Perhaps, in your opinion. But I have always cared about my appearance, and I like to take care of my body.”An irony certainly not lost on me.
His rebuttal is immediate. “But does that shit really matter in the end?”
I glance up at the ceiling as I ponder his question. In its literal terms. “Of course not, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy its effects while we are living.”
He shrugs. “I guess I get what you mean, but I just don’t see the point in caring when life is so short.”
I take a step toward him, bandages and ointment in hand. “Life is terribly short,corvus.But it is also painfully long. It cannot hurt to care for things that otherwise would be deemed unworthy. Sometimes…” I trail off, searching for the right words. For him to somehow understand.
He holds his arms out devotedly and I nearly drop my mouth to his skin to kiss each individual wound. To worship. “Sometimes, it’s the trivial things that mean the most. A movie or song that brought you joy for no particular reason that you will forget immediately after. The moments that lead to an event that means nothing, yet those very seconds stuck with you. A pair of shoes you saw in a store front. A nondescript blanket that you liked the pattern of.
“Inconsequential things are just as vital as the important ones—because without them, it would dull the significance of all else. Aside from that, what is the point if we cannot find joy and contentment in things that hold no true value?”
It’s quiet for so long after, I am sure Brooklyn isn’t going to speak. But as soon as I have finished with his bandages, he graces me with the cadence of his voice.
“So, you’re saying it’s important to enjoy the little things because nothing matters in the end and life is meant to be enjoyed.”
