little difficult seeing as how the man’s balls were showing as he stretched. Nick tried valiantly to ignore the tenting in his sweat pants. Owen yawned again, padding over to the kitchen counter, selecting a plum and biting into it noisily. He came and flopped down next to Nick.
“Whatcha watching?” He tickled Sock’s head and the monkey chuffed quietly in pleasure.
“ Ronin ,” muttered Nick. Owen’s nearness was driving him to distraction. This man just exuded sex appeal. “It’s halfway through.”
“Pity we don’t have popcorn. We could have pretended we were at the movies together.” Owen grinned as he took another bite of his fruit. Juice dribbled down his chin and Nick wanted to lick it off him. He shifted a little farther away. Nick watched intently as the action on screen played out. He couldn’t focus on the film, what with long, muscled legs just inches from his own, and the scent of male sweat and aftershave assailing his nostrils.
Not only was Owen making him feel unsettled physically, the fact he hadn’t pushed Nick on the “getting to know you” thing and was quite content to just be there beside him made him feel a little guilty. He swallowed, staring fixedly at the television. “Do you really want to know more about my nightmares?” Nick asked tightly as he looked Owen in the eyes.
Owen relaxed and looked at him searchingly. “Yes, I do. But like I said—only if you want to tell me.”
Nick nodded. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about it before other than psychologists and doctors—and my dad of course. It’s not easy to talk about.”
“Then tell me as much as you feel comfortable saying,” Owen said quietly, picking up the remote and reducing the noise level from the TV. He reached out, taking both of Nick’s hands in his, staying Nick’s fidgeting. Owen’s hands were warm and strong, long fingers that entwined with Nick’s, grounding him. His face was reassuring, his eyes never leaving Nick’s face. Nick took a deep breath. There was never an easy way to begin his story so direct was always best.
“When I was nine, my ‘mother’ rented me out to men for money.” Owen gave a deep gasp, his hands tightening on Nick’s. Dread washed over Nick. It never got any easier in the telling.
“That’s the only time you’ll ever hear me refer to her as my mother again—her name was Barb. It didn’t matter what they wanted; she was happy to let them do what they preferred. The more extreme, the more money it meant to her.” Nick closed his eyes in shame and guilt as memories came flooding back. “I fought back at first, but after being beaten so many times that I lost count, it made more sense just to do what they wanted. It became a way of life, a way of surviving.” His voice trembled with the memory.
He closed his eyes tears seeping between childish lashes, smearing his cheeks with salty essence like the come he was so often expected to swallow. He hated that even more than this invasion of his body. Having sweaty, dirty cocks in his mouth, feeling the bristle of hair scraping his cheek as the men forced themselves deeper into his throat. And then finally, the gagging as they shot their semen into his mouth, slapping him if anything got missed or he spat it out.
The room was quiet after his words. Nick didn’t want to look up at Owen for fear of what he’d see on the other man’s face. Disgust, pity, revulsion—he wouldn’t be surprised. “Most of the scars you see are from those times. The cigarette burns, the cuts…all part of some man’s fun and something to do with a young boy. Some of them I did myself. I cut myself to get rid of the bad feelings I had.” He closed his eyes. “I was raped and abused in any way they wanted. Barb would watch them do it.”
Nick remembered days and nights spent with any sharp object he could find, finding solace as he cut deep into his flesh. He’d welcomed the feeling that he was still alive and the pain had taken
“Whatcha watching?” He tickled Sock’s head and the monkey chuffed quietly in pleasure.
“ Ronin ,” muttered Nick. Owen’s nearness was driving him to distraction. This man just exuded sex appeal. “It’s halfway through.”
“Pity we don’t have popcorn. We could have pretended we were at the movies together.” Owen grinned as he took another bite of his fruit. Juice dribbled down his chin and Nick wanted to lick it off him. He shifted a little farther away. Nick watched intently as the action on screen played out. He couldn’t focus on the film, what with long, muscled legs just inches from his own, and the scent of male sweat and aftershave assailing his nostrils.
Not only was Owen making him feel unsettled physically, the fact he hadn’t pushed Nick on the “getting to know you” thing and was quite content to just be there beside him made him feel a little guilty. He swallowed, staring fixedly at the television. “Do you really want to know more about my nightmares?” Nick asked tightly as he looked Owen in the eyes.
Owen relaxed and looked at him searchingly. “Yes, I do. But like I said—only if you want to tell me.”
Nick nodded. “I haven’t spoken to anyone about it before other than psychologists and doctors—and my dad of course. It’s not easy to talk about.”
“Then tell me as much as you feel comfortable saying,” Owen said quietly, picking up the remote and reducing the noise level from the TV. He reached out, taking both of Nick’s hands in his, staying Nick’s fidgeting. Owen’s hands were warm and strong, long fingers that entwined with Nick’s, grounding him. His face was reassuring, his eyes never leaving Nick’s face. Nick took a deep breath. There was never an easy way to begin his story so direct was always best.
“When I was nine, my ‘mother’ rented me out to men for money.” Owen gave a deep gasp, his hands tightening on Nick’s. Dread washed over Nick. It never got any easier in the telling.
“That’s the only time you’ll ever hear me refer to her as my mother again—her name was Barb. It didn’t matter what they wanted; she was happy to let them do what they preferred. The more extreme, the more money it meant to her.” Nick closed his eyes in shame and guilt as memories came flooding back. “I fought back at first, but after being beaten so many times that I lost count, it made more sense just to do what they wanted. It became a way of life, a way of surviving.” His voice trembled with the memory.
He closed his eyes tears seeping between childish lashes, smearing his cheeks with salty essence like the come he was so often expected to swallow. He hated that even more than this invasion of his body. Having sweaty, dirty cocks in his mouth, feeling the bristle of hair scraping his cheek as the men forced themselves deeper into his throat. And then finally, the gagging as they shot their semen into his mouth, slapping him if anything got missed or he spat it out.
The room was quiet after his words. Nick didn’t want to look up at Owen for fear of what he’d see on the other man’s face. Disgust, pity, revulsion—he wouldn’t be surprised. “Most of the scars you see are from those times. The cigarette burns, the cuts…all part of some man’s fun and something to do with a young boy. Some of them I did myself. I cut myself to get rid of the bad feelings I had.” He closed his eyes. “I was raped and abused in any way they wanted. Barb would watch them do it.”
Nick remembered days and nights spent with any sharp object he could find, finding solace as he cut deep into his flesh. He’d welcomed the feeling that he was still alive and the pain had taken
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