Fable of Happiness (Fable 2)

“Yet, I did!”

“And I forgive you for it!”

“And I don’t want your fucking forgiveness!” His cock bounced between his legs as he fell to his ass again, his hands balled. Pre-cum beaded the top of his red erection, seeming to have grown in size, tormenting him from taking me and not finishing.

“Get away, Gemma,” he growled. “Get the hell away from me.”

“Tell me why when all I’m trying to do is be your friend.”

He froze. “My friend?” He sucked in a stuttering breath as he shook his head. Crossing his arms on his knees, he lowered his forehead to the splint bracing his broken bone. “I’ve destroyed you.” He groaned and this time it was even deeper, rougher, like thorn-studded velvet across my skin.

I went to him.

I slinked one arm around his chest and one behind his back and I hugged him, pressing against his side.

And if I thought I’d seen Kassen Sands reach rock bottom before, I’d been mistaken.

He collapsed forward, crying out as if I’d done exactly what he expected and torn him limb from limb all while pouring acid on his bleeding pieces.

His entire body became an earthquake as he hunched away from me. “Stop,” he whimpered.

I didn’t stop.

I dropped my forehead to the crook of his neck and squeezed him as if the only thing keeping him alive was this contact between us.

And maybe that was true. Could a hug have the power of resuscitation? Could I force goodness into him? Light? Love? Just from the blanket of a hug?

“It’s okay,” I murmured, inching even closer to him, wrapping him up as much as I could in my arms.

He snarled under his breath, trembling harder. “It’s not. It will never be.”

“Just let go, Kas. You’re with me. Only me.”

For a split second, he did what I said and relaxed against me. His tension slipped away. His chest inhaled with a haggard breath. He dropped his cheek against my hair and gave in.

But then it was over and he became stiff as a board again, his hands came up, trying to unbind my arms from around him. “Let me go.”

“It’s just a hug.” I burrowed deeper into him, shivering as the ice from his skin coated mine. I’d hoped my heat would warm him, cure him. However, the opposite had happened. He’d infected me with his coldness, the perpetual blackness in which he resided.

“Gemma—” He pushed me away with a grunt, his jaw gritted and eyes wild. “Stop.”

I sat back on my knees, studying the anger in his stare and the suffering in his body. He looked as if two creatures lived inside him. An animal who’d been mistreated for so long it no longer knew how to act and a boy who still desperately wanted to believe in second chances. A mischievous malice blended with dangerous bitterness.

I should’ve been the one accepting comfort after what he’d done. I was fully within my right to scream at him and plunge the knife into his heart. Yet, there I was, feeling guilty for not being able to soothe his pain. For feeling wrong by trying to force a hug on him, when really, I should respect his space, seeing as no one else ever had.

I didn’t have a clue how to act or what to do in order to grant him peace.

Dropping my gaze down his body, I sucked in a breath as I caught sight of his erection. It hadn’t deflated. If anything, it seemed to have grown even harder. A rock-hard weapon that currently did its best to drive him mad.

He groaned under his breath, catching me staring. Angling himself away, he went to cup his length, to grant some privacy, but the moment his palm landed on his cock, he hissed and ripped his hand away. A wash of white flashed over his face, followed by glittering sweat on his forehead as if just the barest brush of his own hand made him fight the urge to be sick.

How would that feel, not being able to trust yourself? To have your own body stolen from you so you couldn’t grant a smidgen of comfort or care? What sort of monsters had taken a boy and groomed him so badly that a simple graze of his palm made him rather choose suicide over masturbation?

My shattered heart cracked all over again, fragments on top of fragments, splinters within splinters.

With his head bowed, he brought his knees up higher, trying to hide his twisted arousal. “You need to leave,” he growled. And God, the pain in his voice. The profound desolation, the stinging lust and yearning desire. Whatever nightmare had triggered his need, he wouldn’t be free of it unless he came. His body had gone too far to be denied.

In any other ordinary man, he could grant relief on his own. I could give him some time alone, he could stroke and fondle and be rid of the desperate hunger in his blood.