He took that as encouragement, the hand which had been on my ass sliding up under my own jacket to lightly caress down my spine before delving right into my pants to cup my ass again, and now we were skin to skin.
I continued to grind against him, breaking our kiss to mimic what Jason had done to me not a few days before. I licked and nipped the side of Theseus’ neck. He tasted heavily of salt. I wondered if he had been at the gym earlier that day and had yet to take a shower.
He groaned, his other hand sliding beneath my pants to cup my other ass cheek, encouraging the rocking of my hips back and forth along his clothed cock.
“Theseus, touch me,” I said, with no reply from him.
A moment later I mentally slapped myself and then pulled away from his neck. His eyes were closed, lips parted. I ran my fingertips above his brow, making him snap his eyelids back open, those gray-blue orbs dark like a fierce storm.
‘Touch me,’ I mouthed, not bothering with my own voice.
His brows scrunched for a second in confusion before I ran my hand along his arm and pulled one of his palms away from my ass and towards my center.
“Oh, baby, you’re so wet for me right now. Do you want me to put my fingers inside this sweet pussy?”
I bit my lip and then nodded.
He took his sweet ass time, running his fingers up and down the lips, teasing my clit with light touches. Just as I was about to let out a growl of frustration, he plunged a finger inside of me.
Now I wasn't completely inexperienced with men, or even a virgin for that matter. In fact, my virginity at one point meant so little to me that I honestly couldn't tell you the guy's name who took it. It was during the dark time in my life, and I had honestly just wanted to see if I could feel something.
One night when I was 14, Cal and I snuck off to a party. One of those ragers where drugs and alcohol were in easy abundance and people were openly making out and grinding on each other all over the place. I thought the guy was cute and he seemed sweet as we spent what few hours we had together laughing. When he asked me if I wanted to go up to one of the more private rooms, I was jumping to say yes.
It had been an awkward affair. I believe he was a senior in high school, but the self-proclaimed ladies' man didn't last longer than two minutes. By the end of it, I laid on those sheets, in all sorts of fluids including my own virginal blood, with the guy practically passed out next to me. Feeling like the biggest piece of used garbage there ever was.
From there, my downward spiral had only gotten worse until the government had to step in. Since then, I had had a few trysts with the guys from other high schools but nothing ever too serious.
This didn’t just feel like a tryst though, this felt special. Intimate. Raw. Hungry. Full of passion.
Emotion. It felt like a ball of emotion just building up inside of me.
No, wait, I think that was just the orgasm.
Theseus added a second finger, curling them in and touching against a spot inside me that set the inferno in my stomach exploding.
I groaned loudly as he continued to finger me, his palm rubbing perfectly against my clit.
I felt frantic as I kissed his lips, his neck, running my hands up into his hair as he built me up higher.
His free hand came up and pulled my hair, tilting my head to the side so he could mimic me by nipping right under my ear before running his tongue down to the crook of my shoulder.
“Theseus,” I moaned as I rocked back and forth against his hand.
He began to hum against my throat as he kissed and sucked. His voice made my head go all fuzzy.
“Cum for me, Atalanta,” He demanded, curling his fingers, rubbing them right against that sweet spot.
It was like my body had no choice but to heed to his to his demands. I came crashing over that crest. Everything in me tightened up as my orgasm flashed hot.
“Yeah, baby, that’s it,” he whispered.
I ground against his hand desperately, riding out my orgasm till I collapsed on top of him, breathing hard. I felt him moving around and heard the sound of a click, his fingers slipping out of me, his hand coming to my ass.
“I want to taste you,” Theseus growled.
The next thing I know I’m tumbling over the armrest onto my back in the passenger seat. Theseus loomed over me, lust still burning in his eyes. A shiver of pleasure ran up my sides which morphed into a shiver of horror as he began to fumble with my pants.
I panicked. "Theseus, don’t!”
But it was too late, and it wasn’t like he could hear me anyway. He pulled my pants down around my knees, revealing the iridescent scar tissue that littered my thighs.
He halted with a gasp, which he held as his eyes stared down at the grotesque remains of my legs. On my left leg was a large indented scar which I knew ran from the top of my hip down to right above my knee. A good four inches thick, the old scar gleamed in the white light of the street lamps given to me by my torturers and the doctors who tried desperately to save my life. Next to it were several dozen thin lines crossing this way and that, the ones I had given myself. All different lengths, yet the consistent width of a razor blade. My right leg mirrored it.
I was as still as a statue, a ball the size of an apple sitting in the pit of my stomach as I stared up at him.
I watched as his eyes began to turn red as they misted over with tears. His lips wobbled as he lightly ran his fingers over the thin self-inflicted scars.
His eyes flicked to mine and he asked, “Do you still do this to yourself?”
There wasn’t any judgment in his voice but its croaky tone, full of love and sorrow broke me a little. My insides cracked as tears began to come forth.
“I haven’t in a couple years,” I replied, gulping down the frog in my throat.
“That’s good,” he ran his hands lightly over the scars, moving towards the larger one. "And this one?”
I couldn’t meet his eyes this time. "An accident.”
He leaned back, his eyes wide. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily in a way that people do when presented with a large problem or a harsh reality.
I pulled my pants up and brought my legs close to my chest, curling up in a tight ball. I’d like to think that no one had seen my scars before, but I knew they had. I knew that the large one had a photo sitting in an evidence lockup, much newer looking, the box it was in gathering dust. I knew that plenty of psychiatrists and nurses had seen the self-inflicted ones while I had sat in my protective little room, much like a cell, for several weeks before they no longer considered me a risk to myself and handed me back to good old Sam. And eventually back to my broken father and now sober sister.
His hand came up to brush my cheek. "I’m not going to pressure you for answers, Atalanta. I do hope you’ll give them to me freely one day.”
I glanced up at him. He looked uncomfortable, physically at least—scrunched awkwardly with me in the passenger seat— but his eyes were warm, and he wore a soft smile.
I nodded before going back to looking at my knees. I felt him lean over and his lips touch the top of my brow. Carefully, he climbed back over to the driver's seat and readjusted it.
Without a word, he shifted the car back into drive and took me home.
Chapter Eighteen
Hip
I pulled up into the dirt driveway of my home, my legs tingling as the motorcycle's engine rumbled beneath me. I could hear barking in the distance, the sound racing closer and closer to me with each second before the pack of dogs were upon me.