Page 5 of Bastard
He rolls his hips and embeds himself so slowly, so thoroughly inside me I feel faint. I begin to pant, the sound echoing into the sink and growing louder as I come. My body shakes with the force of it, as wave after wave of pleasure knocks me off my feet. I moan loudly, my release so intense the room spins around me. Which is why I almost miss it.
His hiss. “Trouble.”
“What did you say?”
No. I must have heard him wrong,hisnickname for me creeping in to ruin the moment.
There’s a rustling of clothes behind me. The faint sound of a zipper.
Did he even get off?
I try to turn. But he’s wound my long locks around his hand, prohibiting the slightest of movements.
“Let. Me. Go.”
Surprisingly, he listens, freeing me into a showery mess of hair, my wild tresses raining down on me to cover what would very much be—ifI could see myself in the mirror—my shocked expression.
By the time I free myself, the bathroom door is closing behind him.
What the hell?
I tug my skirt down then retrieve my heel. He’s left a present for me inside, forcing me to hop on one foot over to the whicker trash basket to dump the condom out. Sliding on my shoe, I hurry out after him.
He’s not in the hallway, though neither is anyone else. I race along the plush, green carpet following the path I’d taken what seems like hours ago. Up ahead, I can hear the New Year’s countdown beginning.
Where is he?
I sprint toward the dance floor, suddenly possessed by the idea of kissing in the new year with him.
He couldn’t have gotten that far.
I’m at the doors leading onto the dance floor at the count of ten, when I crash into someone’s chest. It’s him. My Italian one-nighter. My angry fuck. Except, he’s clutching his side, and swaying on his feet, his bottom lipbleeding.
Five seconds.
I muffle a cry.He’s shorter.In a slightly lighter color suit.
Three seconds.
I inhale deeply as if my life depends on it—not the slightest hint of cologne.
“Madonna mia.Sono stato aggredito...”
One second.
What have I done?
Bang.
1
Malawi
Six months later
Ilean against the thick trunk of a lone baobab tree in the village circle, listening to the wildlife in the savannah surrounding Nmimpi stir as the soft rays of sunlight fade into dusk. The pale skin around my ring finger is barely visible yet I can’t shake the weight left by the gold band’s absence.
I want you always by my side.
