Page 102 of His Coveted Obsession

When we pulled away, his lips glistened with saliva, and his eyes were still closed. Then his mouth tugged into a smile, popping those damn dimples. His lids slowly opened, exposing his bright blue eyes, still surrounded in green, yellow, and purple from the bruising.

“I missed you, too, Superman,” he said, letting me go and stepping back to let me in.

I walked inside to the smell of brewing coffee filling the air, my hands shoved into the pockets of my jeans, and my fingers tapping.

“I tried to be patient,” I said when we stepped into the kitchen. Annie was at the table eating a bowl of cereal.

“Hey, Easton,” she said, waving.

“Hey.”

“Annie, can you eat that in your room? Would you mind? I need to talk to Easton privately,” Thomas said.

She rolled her eyes dramatically, but got up, taking her cereal with her.

Once the door slammed, Thomas headed to the refrigerator. “I’m sorry I don’t have any chai for you, but I have root beer?”

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

Thomas poured himself a cup of coffee, doctored it, and sat down at the table. I’d been planning what I was going to say to him, but now my mind just went blank as I reeled in my frustration for waiting so long to see him. Getting upset with him went against everything Sid had told me.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” he finally said, slowly turning his mug on the table before blowing on the hot coffee and taking a tentative sip. “Everything was really hard to process because I wasn’t sure what to do about any of it. I’m still a little messed up in the head after what happened to Annie and me, and that I actually killed someone, but I’m so grateful you saved us. If I hadn’t known you, we probably would’ve ended up being someone’s plaything or dead.”

Suddenly, Sid’s words simply clicked.

I sat next to Thomas and took his hand in mine. “Little Rabbit.” He smiled sweetly at that. “It’s odd to say. Every time I do, I think of Luca’s stuffed rabbit. But it also suits you and… you like it.”

“I do. It makes me feel loved.”

I didn’t understand how, but I took his word for it. I pressed my palm to his, gripped his hand, and flipped our hands overso his was on top of mine. “This right here, your touch, makes me feel things. I need it in a world where I barely feel anything at all. When I first met you, I only wanted sex, but as I got to know you, the little things you did made me want you more. I never realized I could feel this aching need for touch, to watch you sleep, breathing softly next to me, or listen to your little sex noises. I enjoy it so much that I’ll do anything to keep you.”

Thomas tilted his head and smiled gently, pressing his free hand to my cheek. “And people say you’re incapable of love. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said.”

“You liked that?”

He nodded slowly, still smiling. “Yes. More than anything.”

“Okay. Well, Sid said I should tell you my story. He said it was important that I trust you with it. I do trust you. If I didn’t, I never would have let you touch me in the first place. That touch is more than just my being on the spectrum. That’s part of it, but…”

He removed his hand and sandwiched my hand between his. “I can tell it’s going to be a painful one. You don’t have to tell me.”

“It’s not painful. It’s frustrating and irritating. I get angry when I think about it. But it’s also the first time I’ve ever felt truly alive.”

He watched me, shoving his spare glasses over his nose. I liked the other ones better. They were round. I was used to those. I didn’t like the more angled ones. They didn’t fit his oval-shaped face.

I tapped my fingers into his palm as I recalled my story. “My parents weren’t just assholes who were murdered. Abuse and neglect were a part of it, but it was so much worse. Mother also sexually assaultedme regularly.”

“Oh, my god, East. I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t want to be touched after that either. And I thoughtmydad was bad.”

And that was another discussion to have. His father.

“She started small, testing her boundaries when I was eight, then she grew bolder and bolder. If I dared question her, stop her, or ask for help, she would hurt me physically.”

Thomas’s eyes turned red and watery. But I didn’t want to see it for some reason. So, instead, I stood, paced, and tapped, tapped, tapped.

“This went on for years. Father was in organized crime. A leader. So, he was gone a lot, leaving me in the hands of my pathetic and perverted mother and the staff that ran the household. Everyone knew. They had to have known. How could they not when I was always bruised and withdrawing? Whenever Father was around, he’d see it, ask about it, and then the lies would start. Mother would lie, and I would corroborate those lies, or I would tell my own.”

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