Page 132 of He Should Be Mine
I do not succeed.
The sight of Molly’s discarded book and reading glasses are screaming at me in condemnation. If I wasn’t already going to hell, I’d deserve it for this.
The bedroom door opens. Molly steps into the living area. He is wearing a little black dress. His golden hair is lose and tumbling in soft waves. Stockings cover his legs. Chunky black trainers are on his feet.
The way the tight dress skims over his flat chest and slender hips is exquisite. The dress has short sleeves and all the definition of his biceps are on full display. His body is masculine as well as pretty. Sheer and utter perfection.
Riccardo’s words from a lifetime ago burn in my ears.
I want one of those femboys. Those pretty ones.
I certainly succeeded there. Molly is the prettiest femboy in the whole damned world.
And I caught him and gave him to Riccardo like a gift. The biggest mistake of my whole entire life. The one sin I will never be able to atone for.
“How do I look?” asks Molly.
“Beautiful,” I tell him truthfully. Helplessly.
He stares at me with wide eyes. The sapphire brightness is dimmed and the sadness in them is lancing through my soul.
I step up to him. My darkness drawn by his flame. My fingers itch to cup his face. But the cameras are still watching. Always fucking watching.
“He is just a client,” I say. “It is nothing more than work. Meaningless sex.”
Blue eyes bore into me, searching, probing, seeking.
“You really believe that?” he whispers.
“Yes,” I say with all the authority and confidence I possess. With every ounce of bluster I cultivated in dark back rooms and shady deals with dangerous men.
Molly holds my gaze for a beat longer. Then he sighs. A deep exhale of relief.
I pull out my phone and pretend to stare at it before I give anything away. I’m not sure I believe what I just said, but Molly needed to hear it.
I might hate and loathe the thought of Molly sharing his body with anyone else, especially Riccardo, but I would never hate Molly for it. That much is true. This situation is far from his fault. Nevermind the fact he was a sex worker long before I met him. I would never hold either this situation or his trade against him. As much as it pains me.
He needs to do this to survive, and his life is worth any price. We just need to get through the next few weeks, and life will be wonderful. All this pain will be nothing but a distant memory.
I’m pretty sure Molly doesn’t want to ply his trade anymore. He will be happy to be only mine. And I will be devoted to him. The rest of our long lives will be perfect.
If he can get through this, then I can too.
He gets the terrible end of the deal, having to suffer Riccardo’s attentions. I only have to know it is happening. A far lighter cross to bear, and one I can shoulder without letting Molly know that the weight pains me. He doesn’t need to carry my pain as well as his own.
The front door beeps as it unlocks. The sound shoots through me with the force of a bullet. My hand inches towards my holster in reflex. I’m glad I’m wearing my weapon. Part of me was expecting Riccardo today. So I really do have no excuse to fall apart.
Molly runs over to greet him. I busy myself at the fake bar. I need to give my hands something to do.
And I don’t want to see Molly hugging Riccardo.
“Molly, Baby, you look so beautiful!” says Riccardo.
“Thank you, Daddy!” squeals Molly.
The whisky sloshes on the counter. I completely missed the glass. Molly sounded so believable. So genuinely pleased, flattered, and excited.
I take a deep breath and pour again. This time it hits the cut-glass tumbler.
