Page 49 of Make Me Pretty
Pocketing the knife, I rest my hip against the counter of the vanity, hands gripping the edge as I stare through to the shadowed form just on the other side of that glass. Something bumps my palm, and I flick my gaze down to find a pink lighter.
My brow arches as I glide a finger over it, finding it slightly warm to the touch. My lips twitch.Him and the color pink, I fucking swear.
Abel isn’t conventionally flamboyant—he’s too ugly, too rough for that. Truly a ropy foster kid in those regards. But it’s like he chooses certain things to reflect back to the world that he isn’t what everyone says he is—unabashedly sexual, always donning what I presume is his favorite color, impervious to any and all opinions people may have of who he is.
And it’s… compelling.
Howdoeshe just… not care?
With one last tap against the smooth surface, I turn away from the lighter and the thoughts of whatever the fuck he’s doing with it to cross my arms over my chest and listen to the sounds Abel makes as he cleans himself. Howthoroughhe’s being if the curve of his arm is any indication.
Jesus fuck.
My head rolls between my shoulders, eyelids falling to half-mast imagining his long, spindly fingers shoved inside his hole,all the while watching his shadow move. His other arm jerks, creating a rhythmic splash of water against the foot of the tub.
Knowing he’s getting himself off, right now, right in front of me, has flashes of his little cock jerking beneath my foot burning through me, and my teeth latch onto my tongue to keep noises locked in.
My blood coagulates in my veins. Everything—hate and desire and need—has propelled its way to the surface, becoming impossible to ignore when we’re in the same vicinity. Skimming along my flesh, fire licking gasoline, burning brighter and hotter with each passing second.
My skin grows damp from the steam, beads of moisture trickling down my temples and my spine, making me itch. The movement of his arm speeds up. Water spits at his feet with ferocity, making my dick lurch.
I reach down to press my palm flat against it, panting through the humidity as Abel’s breathy little moans permeate the air. They hitch, merging closer together until they’re one continuous stream of pleasure.
“Runt,” I muse, loud enough to be heard over the shower. My heart skips, fingers digging into the flesh of my biceps as I wait with trepidation and excitement.
All movement stops in an instant, filling the small room with a new form of peaked intensity, and all the while, I stare at the outline of his body. Watch as he pulls his fingers from himself and stands straighter.Finallyturns around.
The knobs creak, and the sound of the water cuts off, leaving the room in an amplified silence. Water drops hit the floor of the shower with a long, drawn-outplink, plink, plink.Feet slide over the porcelain, wet skin rubbing together.
I keep my features schooled into a blank stare when the door finally slides open, and I’m met with a full-frontal view of Abel’sbody. Our eyes connect for a split second of molten metal before I drop my gaze to pick him apart.
He really doesn’t have an ounce of body fat on him, his torso the exact same as it was five days ago with the addition of yellowed blemishes. Heat-reddened skin stretched over bone in a sickly way. Curves that make me itch to dig my fingers in and hold tight. To mar his flesh with fresh bruises the shape of my fingers allfuckingover again because I already know how pretty he looks all black and blue.
I follow the dense line of hair like the happy trail it is down, seeing him bare below the waist for the first time. Saliva pools on my tongue, a confused mix between an ache and nausea. His dick is thin and small, even though it’s rock hard, but it suits his little body. The base is enveloped in a neat patch of coarse blonde hair, and as my eyes zero in on it, I want nothing more than to delve my tongue into it, to feel the wiry hair scrape against—my stomach contorts, a heavy sludge of vomit creeping up my throat.
My back bows as sweat licks across my forehead, burning beneath my skin. I drop my chin to my chest, focusing on the rapid rise and fall of my sternum, the raspy, stuttering breaths between each movement, even as my gaze never leaves Abel’s crotch, the length of his dick sticking out from his puny body.
“Are you finally done?” he asks, deadpan. I force my eyes away from his groin, bypassing the odd, curved welts near his thighs to confront his steely gaze. His impertinence dissolves my dread in an instant, a quick mutation into my own version of apathy.
“I’m done when I say I’m done,” I respond, molars clenched together at his attitude.
“Well, hurry the hell up. I’m cold.” His skin is pimpled with gooseflesh from head to toe. He tries to cross his arms over hischest, but I snap out against it, grabbing him.He doesn’t get the comfort.
“Put your fucking arms down.”
Abel eyes me, big mouth pursed in aggrievance before it quirks up in a small smirk.
Go ahead, little runt. Push me.
It’s what we both need, isn’t it?
He yanks out of my grip to hold his arms out in front of himself. Water drips from the tips of his fingers as hedisplayshimself to me. My eyes never stray from his, steel gray and devious, filled with untold secrets.
“Show me your pussy.” My face warms.
Abel balks, face igniting into crimson—probably mirroring my own. His arms drop to his sides before crisscrossing over his midsection. I step forward and yank them down. His skin is slick and hot against my palms as he wriggles around, fighting me.
“Shit!” he yelps, grappling for balance as his feet lose traction. I wrap my arm around his narrow waist and pull him against me. His legs kick in the air, wet tendrils of hair slapping my face as I drag him back until I slam into the vanity.
