His body tensed; his feet pressed into the floor and pushed him further back against me.
“Skye. I can't.”
“Yes, you can. It’s just me, Curtis. I know you.” His body shivered and I knew he was close. I squeezed a little harder and twisted my hand as I worked him up and down in fluid strokes. “Do you want me to stop?”
His jaw clenched against my lips. He shook his head. “Yes.”
“Say it.”
It was too late. With a drawn out growl of protest, he let himself go; his body stiffened and he pumped his release onto my hand. Short, panting breaths left through parted lips. My hand slowed, squeezing every last drop from him until he took hold of my wrist and moved my hand away. I let my hand sit palm up on the bed and waited for him. He didn’t move or speak for a long time, but his breathing had regulated and I knew he was processing. I used my clean hand to stroke his hair, letting him know I was still here.
He shifted, signalling his conscious return and I let him go. Standing up and keeping his back to me, he crouched down and reached into his bag, tossing a t-shirt to me over his shoulder.
“Clean yourself up and get changed.”
His voice was monotonous, void. He pointed to what I assumed was the bathroom and kept his back to me.
Humiliated, I scrambled off the bed and scurried into the bathroom. I took a few minutes, leaning over the sink; trying to calm my racing heart and ease the tightening in my chest that told me I’d done the wrong thing. I washed my hands and looked into the mirror. I didn’t look like I had for the last two years. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes had taken on an energy they hadn’t had since…
I’d betrayed Thomas. The guilt moved in and overtook the embarrassment.
I’d betrayed Thomas.
Two
My mind wasn’t my own. I spaced out a lot and it was something I actively tried to avoid doing. I didn’t want to hurt Skye…she was the one person I couldn’t bear the thought of any harm coming to. Being hurt at my hands? Not acceptable. She saved me; every single day she saved me, even when we were apart. Thoughts of her got me through the day, and now? She’d just risked her safety to bring me the release that would balance my sanity. She was still here and she’d seen evidence of the asshole I could become. For years, I’d searched for the Skillet. To keep her safe. To keep her to myself. But now she was here, I had absolutely no idea how to not push her away.
~Curtis~
I couldn’t see Curtis when I stepped out of the bathroom and into the bedroom in the t-shirt he’d given me, with my hair scraped back and my face free of makeup thanks to the complimentary washcloth in the en-suite.
The room was dark and quiet. Empty. I stepped further into it and tossed my dress onto the bed. Setting my hands on my hips, I took a deep, steadying breath and shook my head. What was I supposed to do now?
“Skye.”
I jumped and spun around. Curtis had his back to the wall next to the bathroom and was completely hidden; I could only make out the shape of him as he remained concealed by the shadows.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I could have hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” My voice was uneven and weak. “I was trying to help.”
I heard him exhale and a dark hand rose to grab the back of his neck.
“Sit down.”
I threw the dress off the bed and sat in its place. Curtis was calmer; he’d sent me in the bathroom to compose himself, only I had no idea who I was speaking to now. This man was too placid, too calm, and I didn’t know how to handle it.
“You won't like what I’ve got to say.”
“Try me.”
“I knew something was wrong. I knew it.” He pulled his hand through his hair and stared at the floor.
“Tell me about it.”
“Stop talking.”
I thought I heard his chest rumble, with restraint? Frustration? I didn’t know, but I kept my mouth shut.
“Skye, I’ve been looking for the truth for years. I wanted to find you and give you answers. Beth wasn’t the only one on a mission.”
He stopped talking and I just stared at the dark figure of the man I used to know, wondering why I didn’t recognise him last night. Maybe I had recognised him, but didn’t want to believe. I wouldn’t admit it then and I couldn’t admit it now, but Curtis had always had a hold on me. How could I not have realised it was his touch stealing my breath last night? It was his kiss reigniting my soul.
“I’ve been searching for the truth since you left. But it found me and I wasn’t ready for it.”
He stepped out of the shadows and I saw the pain etched on his face. He was hurting, for himself or me, I wasn’t sure, but I knew he was being punished by his own mind; his own guilt and regret.
“Your dad,” he choked and took another step forward. He dropped to his knees a few feet from me. “Your dad is married to my aunt.”
My voice was alien, unrecognised and broken when I replied, “What?”
“He’s married to my aunt Lois. She raised me after my parents died. Phil has been my adoptive father since I was five.”
My body fell limp and I slid onto the floor on my knees. When I mustered the strength, I crawled along the floor, closing the distance between us.
“You’re lying,” I hissed. “You’re lying!”
My body shook with rage and betrayal, and tears stung my eyes as they rolled down my cheeks. Why would he say such a thing?
“Skye, I’m not lying to you.”
“Yes!” I stood up, unable to look at him as the anger ripped through me. “Yes, you are!”
I paced the room. I wanted to lash out, to break something, to hurt something. To hurt him.
“How dare you?” I yelled, stepping in front of him, fighting the sympathy that tried to creep in when I saw him, on the floor, deflated. “You haven’t ruined enough?”
Curtis raised his head and I saw the tears – he was crying, but I refused to accept he was telling the truth.
“I have to go.”
I crossed the room and picked up my dress, throwing it back onto the bed. As I grabbed the bottom of the t-shirt, Curtis launched himself off the floor and forced me back to the far wall with my hands either side of my head. My throat dried and my heart leapt before it began hammering in my chest. He took another step forward, his hips pinning me back.
“Curtis.” I swallowed audibly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not lying.” The panic in his voice began to wear me down, the force of his grip filling me with a new dread. “Skye, I’m not lying. You can't leave.”
“Let me go. I have to go.”
“No!”
His aggression sent fear, and arousal, crashing into me. I couldn’t fight my body’s reaction. The ache deep and low in my stomach became more prominent than the fear as his warm breath coated my neck, bringing pebbles of sweat to the surface of my skin.
“I need you, Skye. I need you to help me figure this out.”
“By pinning me to the wall?” I asked, struggling against him, while my body pleaded with my mind to give in.
“Whatever it takes. I can't let you leave.”
His mouth crashed onto mine, and I sagged into him before I fought back. My mouth kissed his with the same fervour in which his lips devoured mine, but when he released my hands and cupped my face, I pushed at his chest. I tasted him and remembered his flavour like it was the only one I’d ever known. It made me forget who I was; his kiss took me away to a new place, like it did last night. My hands left his chest and fisted his hair, pulling him closer, and pulling hard. I pushed and pulled; I didn’t know what I wanted or what I was doing.
I hated him, but I gave myself to him as his hands began to move lower, tracing a burning trail down my waist and beneath the t-shirt. He grabbed my ass and squeezed, rocking me into the hard, rigid length packed tightly in his trousers. Heat roared through my veins and I moaned when he ground his body into mine, catching the sweet
spot that had my fingers flexing in his hair and my lips left his so I could gasp for air.
I could feel my mind slipping away as I shoved him back and he allowed me to move him, carrying us to the opposite wall. I was pinning him now and I could have stepped away, but I didn’t. I could have let go, but my hands were planted and my nails dug deep. Curtis hissed, his chest tensing. My fingers froze.
“Do it again.”
His eyes opened and I caught the raging fire in his chocolate orbs as one hand came out to shove me back. I shook my head, the anger rolling like an internal storm.
“Do it again,” he repeated, with more force.
I felt like a caged animal. The outside was calm, but inside I was a chaos; a tight mess of rage and the need to unleash it. Curtis knew. He shoved me again, keeping his back to the wall and goading the animal that lurked deep inside me. I groaned and launched myself into him. He caught me mid-air, capturing me against him with his arms wrapped around the tops of my legs. I leaned back and unleashed my attack. All thoughts of composure evaporated as my fists pounded his chest, his shoulders, his arms; I dipped my head and sunk my teeth into his neck. His body shook and his chest vibrated against me.
He growled, squeezed me tighter and his hands dug into my hips as I slid down his body and wrapped my legs around him.
“Let it go, Skye.”
He spun, slamming me into the wall, throwing his head back as I continued to feast on him. I needed an escape. I needed the truth. I needed pain. I wanted to hurt him and I wanted him to hurt me, to prove this was really happening. His hand fisted my hair and he pulled my head back, his eyes burning into mine.
“Feel better?”
“No.” I shook my head, my voice hoarse with conflict.
“How about now?”
His hand slid behind me; he pulled my underwear to the side and two fingers sunk into me.
“No.” I crashed my head back as his heat collided with mine and I tightened around him. “God, no.”
“No?” His voice held a dark humour and his fingers began to move to a slow rhythm. “Are you sure?”
“Fuck off, Curtis,” I moaned, my mouth betraying my mind.
My hips rolled into him without permission. My fingers dug deep and the heat in my stomach moved south, centring around where his fingers fucked me. His free hand moved between us and I clamped around him, holding on tight when he grabbed the neck of the t-shirt; like it was a feather, he tore, ripping it down the middle and exposing my heaving chest. He pulled the cup of my bra down and his head dived down to take my nipple in his mouth. His tongue swirled, his teeth bit down and sent a shot of pain rippling along my spine. I cried out and arched my back for more.
“And now?” he breathed, his voice rough against my heated flesh.
“I hate you.”
Still my body writhed, submitted to him and called for more.
“Good.”
He stepped away from the wall, holding me like a meaningless possession and knelt on the bed, sliding me up so my head hit the pillows, the top nudging the headboard.
Curtis sat back on his heels and tugged the duvet out from under me, discarding it on the floor. Gentle hands tore away the rest of the t-shirt and freed my other breast from the cup. I didn’t want gentle; it pissed me off that he remained passive, unaffected despite the tight bulge in his trousers that told me he was ready. I sat up, taking hold of his t-shirt and tugging. He smacked my hands away, leaving the air that surrounded me cool with the prickle of rejection.
“Are you going to fuck me?” I asked, making no further attempt to touch him.
His chest expanded as his nostrils drew a breath, and he stilled with his hands on my stomach. He said nothing, the void disinterest in his eyes cutting me to the core.
“Yes.”
As his hands lowered to the waistbands of my pants, I realised what I’d missed. I’d mistaken his gentile. He wasn’t touching me with the hands of a man in the heat of passion; he was handling me like a routine. A chore. He was going through the motions, but he took nothing for himself. And he wouldn’t. I’d seen his self-denial too many times; he thought he didn’t deserve the pleasure I gave him. He felt unworthy. I didn’t know if I felt sorry for him or hated him more because he was extinguishing the embers of the hard, rough sex I needed with him.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he snapped, his hands stopping with my underwear halfway down my legs. I tried to edge away, sensing the aggression returning to his voice and unsure of what he’d do with it. He pinned me down with his hips pressed to mine and hovered over me.
“Like what?” I swallowed and it echoed around the dark room.
“Like you pity me.” His eyes left mine as he sat back and continued his mindless act of removing my underwear. “Like a lost little boy.” He held one ankle and slipped the underwear over it, repeating the movement with the other. “I’m not lost, Skye. And I’m not gentle.”
He settled between my legs, still fully clothed, and locked my ankles at the bottom of his spine.
“So what are you?” I asked, sounding braver than I felt.
“I’m not going to tell you to choose a word,” he said, ignoring my question and unzipping his trousers. He lowered them just enough to free himself. “Because I don’t plan on stopping.”
One hand lowered to my hip and squeezed until I recoiled in shock; it slid round to my ass and he tipped my hips, fisted his cock and sunk into me in one fluid, conflicted move.
Three
She wanted an animal and I damn well made sure she got one. I knew the aggression – the fire that burned deep and would continue to smoulder until it could be released. That feeling, being in that place between the sanctuary of pleasure and the hell of guilt for believing you deserved it, was where I lived my life. But not Skye. She deserved all the pleasure in the world; moans as demanding and hungry as hers, a body so responsive, yet defiant enough to keep you searching for new ways to make her succumb; eyes that lit up like a burning autumn sunset and begged you to earn their veneration…she deserved it all; every ounce of pleasure left in the world should have been hers. I was going to make sure she got it…and I was going to make sure I was the one who gave it to her.
~Curtis~
I hurt. All over. Every muscle in my body protested as I opened my eyes, consciousness finding me in the same position I’d fallen asleep in. I had no idea what happened; Curtis fucked me with the aggression of a man possessed, and I couldn’t distinguish one orgasm from another. I couldn’t remember when it had begun and when it ended. All I remembered was losing total control of my body, giving it to Curtis and succumbing to the fate that awaited it. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t tender; it was hard and fast and rough, and I only realised my body had been pushed to its limits when he climbed off me and slipped into the bathroom. I fell asleep to the roaring sound of Curtis finding his own release, and the tight ache in my body that confused me beyond comprehension.
The sun was beginning to rise outside, over the hills of Hampshire, framed by the small window of the hotel room. It was still dark, the sky an ominous grey as the sun of a new day fought its way through the darkness. I raised one heavy arm to search for my watch, but it was gone, ripped from my wrist and thrown away during the consensual assault on my body. I didn’t have my phone. I didn’t have my bunny. I couldn’t do what I’d done every morning for the last two years and watch the sunrise whilst talking to Thomas and knowing he was watching over me. I hoped, at that moment, he wasn’t. I’d never felt so ashamed; not only for sleeping with another man, but for wanting to do it again. Through the confusion, the conflict and the uncertainty, I’d never felt so alive. So screwed up, but alive.
I managed to will my body to rise, leaned up on my forearms and gasped when I saw Curtis sitting on the chair in the corner, rolling a plastic bottle of water between his palms and watching me with an unreadable, guarded expression.
“What time is it?” I asked, kicking myself for asking such a pointles
s question when I had a hundred others swimming around my head.
“Five.”
“Did you sleep?”
Another pointless question.
He shook his head and nodded towards the bedside cabinet. “Water.”
One trembling hand reached out and clasped the bottle, the plastic crackling in my hold as the after effects still shook my nerves. I drank as much as I could.
“What happened to you?” I asked, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
Finally a question that would initiate conversation; a question that would ease the chaos in my mind. But Curtis didn’t answer; he shifted in the chair and rested one ankle on his knee.
“A lot,” he finally responded. His voice was dry, despite the empty bottle in his hands. “More than I can tell you, Skye.”
“You’ve got to tell me something.” I sat up straight and tried to get out of bed, but Curtis raised one hand to halt me. He stood, approached the bed with heavy steps and sat on the edge. “Please, tell me something.”
“I’m not lying. Your father is my uncle.”
“I don’t want to talk about that. I want to talk about you.”
“There’s nothing I can tell you.”
A thick, cold silence hung over us. I didn’t want to think of my father, but I couldn’t not. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t know how to react to the knowledge that my father, the man who had raised me until he’d had enough, had also had a hand in Curtis’ upbringing. I couldn’t begin to think about the laws we might have been broken by sleeping together. It wasn’t illegal, was it? We hadn’t broken the law, had we?
Curtis offered no further information and I knew he wouldn’t; not while he was closed off and appeared to lack all human emotion. I knew I had to break through his walls; it was the only way I would get any truth from him.
“I never blamed him,” I confessed, digging deep for the confidence to have the conversation I’d never had. Not even with Thomas. “Not once. I thought it was my mother’s fault and I’ve hated her for years. I thought he left because she was a drunk. She just switched off and I thought that’s why Dad left us. I thought he was ashamed to have us as his children.” I felt my lip trembling, but Curtis offered no warmth. He gave no comfort, although I knew he was listening. I continued, desperate for something from him. “Maybe he was, maybe Mum did push him away. Maybe it was her fault he went searching for your aunt.”
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