The Nature of Cruelty (27 page)

The book is Homer’s
Odyssey
. I read it twice back in my first year of college; it was basically the first ancient Greek text I ever studied. Sometimes I need to go back to it when I want to reference things if I’m writing a paper or doing research.

“How are you enjoying it?” I ask him softly.

“It’s written kind of weird,” he says, furrowing his brow. He still isn’t looking at me.

“That’s because it’s a poem,” I reply.

He thumbs the thick pages. “It’s a touch long for a poem, Lana.”

“It’s an epic poem. They’re notoriously long.”

“Ah, I see.”

“So,” I begin, fiddling with the hem of my skirt, “you never came home last night…” I let the statement trail off.

Again, his lip twitches. “Yeah I…it’s actually kind of embarrassing.”

“What?”

“I fell asleep in that spare room you left me in at Alistair’s. I didn’t wake up until this morning and found you still hadn’t come back. The house looked like a bomb hit it when I went downstairs.”

“I can imagine,” I say, relieved that his reason for staying out was entirely innocent. “But about last night — I have to tell you something.” I pause and take a deep breath. “When I went to find Sasha, I walked in on her with one of the strippers, a
girl
one. I was so mortified that I ended up running straight into a taxi and going home. Sasha followed me back, and we spent the night talking.”

Now Robert finally looks at me. He appears intrigued. “So she actually came out to you?”

“Eh, yeah. It was, well, there was a momentary awkwardness, but then we were fine, and we just talked and talked until we were too tired to talk anymore.”

“It sounds like you both needed that.”

“We did.”

“Is she going to tell Mum and Dad?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe when the time is right.”

Robert chews on his lip, pondering. My head is still resting on his shoulder. Feeling the need to connect with him, I take his hand in mine and interlace our fingers, bringing them over to lie on my lap. His eyebrow goes up as he stares down at me curiously.

“I can’t stop thinking about what you did to me last night,” I whisper bravely.

His breathing comes out sounding like a groan, and he moves his thumb against the fabric of my skirt.

“Can we do something?” he asks, all throaty.

“Yes. What is it?”

“Come with me,” he answers, tugging me to my feet and leading me into his room. He closes the door and lets go of my hand, retrieving his camera from a drawer. I haven’t seen it since he photographed me in the garden that time. He sets it down on the nightstand and then lies down in the middle of the bed.

“Um, okay,” I say, not knowing what to do. “What’s the camera doing out?”

“I’ll tell you later. First I want you to explore me. I don’t want you to be nervous when we’re alone together anymore. Last night you were so anxious you were practically shaking.”

“I wasn’t that bad,” I protest.

“That’s because you weren’t the one looking. I want you to be relaxed when I touch you. I don’t want you to be feeling anything other than pleasure.”

My mouth has suddenly gone dry. “All right, what should I do?”

“Whatever you want. Strip me naked, touch me, look at me, get used to me. Think of my body as your playground. You can do whatever you want, and I promise not to interfere.”

This offer seems too good to be true, and I’m still suspicious of what the camera is for. I take a step toward him but then hesitate. “I can’t do it, Rob. It’s too weird.”

At this he bolts up from the bed and drags me down to him. Once I’m seated beside him, he lies down again, spreading his arms out on either side of his body, his head resting on the pillows.

Biting my lip, I reach out for the hem of his T-shirt and pull it up slightly, revealing the “V” of his hips. Glancing up at him, I find him staring at me, his attention rapt and his breathing shallow. I pull the T-shirt up all the way, and he obliges me by raising his body so I can lift it off over his head.

I stare my fill before running my palm over his six-pack and up along his pecs, shying away from his nipples even though I want to see what they feel like. He must be reading my mind, because he takes my hand and places it over one nipple. I suck in air and then exhale.

I glance at him for several seconds, undecided.

“I told you, you can do whatever you want to me,” he urges, his voice strained now. I watch the muscles in his arms move as he clenches his fists.

Lowering my head to his nipple, I touch my lips to it softly.

“Fuck,” Robert hisses.

I look up at him, and our eyes connect.

My other hand wanders down to the buckle of his jeans, and when I get just shy of the blatant bulge in his pants, his eyelids flicker. I have no idea what I’m doing. Figuring things out as I go along, I press my palm to his erection as my inexperienced tongue slips out and swirls around his nipple. Unwillingly, I let out a quiet moan and begin rubbing him slowly up and down.

He gasps but otherwise remains quiet, just silently watching my actions. This continues for several more minutes as I trail my hands along his naked skin and undo the fly of his jeans. The next time I look at him, his mouth is hanging open as he instructs me, “Grab my camera.”

“Why?”

“Just get it, baby, please.” The desperation in his voice is what moves me. I lift the camera and bring it to the bed. He takes it from me and turns it on before handing it back.

“I want you to pick out the parts of me you like the most and photograph them.”

I stare at him for a long time before my eyes light up with understanding. Not only is he giving me free rein to get to know his body, he’s also trying to make me understand why he likes to photograph me. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Stop lying. I can tell you want to just from the eager look on your face, Lana.”

I narrow my gaze at him and study the camera, messing around with some of the functions. Next, I try to figure out exactly which parts of his body I like the most. To be perfectly honest, every piece of him is my favourite. I move up the bed and focus the camera on his face, zooming in on his lips. After how good they felt going down on me, I’m definitely a little bit preoccupied with them right now.

I take several shots, and he appears to be even more turned on by the fact that I’m picturing him. I guess we all have our quirks. The next thing I shoot is his hair, and then his arm, in particular the muscular part at the top. I shoot his eyes and his chest, and finally the line of his jaw.

When I’m done, he takes the camera back and pulls me into his lap.

“Now let’s see what you’ve taken,” he says, scrolling through the menu to the picture gallery.

His arm bands around my waist, one hand massaging my hip. When he sees the first picture of his lips, he bends down and kisses my neck.

“My lips are one of your favourite parts of me, huh?”

I nod, turning to run my nose along his jaw. His hand stills, and I feel his breathing heavy and humid on my skin. He starts scrolling through the pictures more quickly now. When he gets to the last of them, he groans and places the camera down on the bed. His erection presses into my lower back as he unbuttons my shirt and pulls it off me. My bra goes with it, and then he’s cupping my breasts, moulding them with his hands.

I arch back into him, sighing loudly. He picks up the camera again and takes a shot of his hand on my breast.

“Robert, don’t,” I say, but he’s already taken it.

His mouth moves to my ear. “Please, Lana, I’d never show it to another soul. You have my word on that.”

I turn my head to look into his eyes, and for the first time there’s transparency there. I can see he’s telling the truth. Still, it takes me a moment to make up my mind.

Then, very quietly, I whisper, “For you only.”

His smile is blinding. “For me only,” he agrees, slipping his hand possessively over my stomach and taking another picture. I catch sight of it, and the contrast between his tanned arm and my pale stomach is beautiful. His hand trails farther, pushing up my skirt and moving beneath my underwear. I moan when he caresses me between my legs.

“You’re soaking,” he breathes as his fingers stroke me and then try to find their way inside. I feel a slight burn as he enters a place never before touched. “So tight,” he goes on, mouthing my neck and then flicking his tongue over my earlobe.

I shiver in his arms, instinctively rubbing off his hardness. He moves so he’s on top of me, and my legs fall open. His lips meet mine in a frenzy of nips and sucks as he grinds his erection between my legs. I can feel my cheeks getting warmer as the intensity of the sensation builds. His hands are holding mine above my head now, the muscles in his arms straining. His hard penis rubs me in just the right spot, and I can feel an orgasm building.

He rocks in and out. For a moment I forget about being a virgin and just feel like I’ll die if I can’t have him inside me. Somehow, within the space of a few days, my fears have faded away. Perhaps I’d been waiting for Robert all along.

Our kiss deepens exponentially, his tongue dancing with mine, his lips memorising me. He breaks it so that he can ask in between choppy breaths, “Are you almost there, baby?”

“Yes,” I whimper. “Almost.”

“Okay, wait for me,” he says, but I don’t know what he means. His mouth is back on mine now, and there’s a fire burning where he’s pushing himself faster against my soaking-wet underwear.

I come harder than I realised it was possible to come, just as Robert’s hold on my wrists tightens and he moans into my mouth. I stay wrapped around him, shuddering with the after waves of my orgasm. His hands move down my arms and fold around me.

He bites softly on my ear as he chuckles, all out of breath. “I think I might have made a mess.”

It takes me a second to get his meaning, and then I laugh. “You should go clean up, then.”

His arms tighten around me. “Not yet. I’m happy where I am for now.”

Soon enough his breathing relaxes, and he adjusts us to a more comfortable position. His hand makes lazy circles on my belly, paying particular attention to the needle scars.

“You’re the most perfect thing to me, Lana. Never forget that,” he says, dead serious, like he’s making a vow.

I’m so sated I feel like purring. “You’re the most beautiful thing to me,” I reply.

“Not perfect?” he questions, amused.

“No, not perfect. Perfection doesn’t exist, but beauty does. And you, Robert, are so beautiful I sometimes want to spend whole hours just staring at you.”

“I like hearing you say stuff like that to me. It gives me hope.”

“Hope for what?”

“Hope that one day you’ll forgive me for my past sins.”

I swallow and nod, wondering if I’m capable of that. Perhaps I’ve already forgiven him — I just haven’t said it out loud yet. His strokes on my stomach get slower and then stop completely. I look up to find he’s fallen asleep, his breathing deep. I snuggle further into his embrace and close my eyes, and soon I’ve fallen under, too.

Fourteen

A
n hour later I wake up, mostly because my body is complaining. A wave of weakness washes over me. I glance at the clock on Robert’s wall, which tells me it’s almost three. I’d been so wrapped up in him from the moment I got home today that I completely forgot my lunch. I try to move off the bed, but Robert’s hold on me tightens.

“Stop fidgeting,” he complains sleepily, his hand moving to cup me between my legs.

I feel a momentary thrill but do my best to ignore it. “Robert, I don’t feel well. I need to take my insulin,” I tell him in a soft voice so as not to wake him entirely, but the second I stop speaking, he jumps up.

“Shit. Sorry. Go ahead,” he says, helping me from the bed.

I hurry to my room and take my medicine. I can already hear Robert in the bathroom turning on the shower.

A little while later he peeks his head in past my door. “I’m going to make some dinner. Any preferences?”

“Oh, could I have chicken and a baked potato?”

“Of course you may,” he says with a grin, giving me a sweeping bow before leaving the room. When I follow him downstairs a while later, I hear him pacing in the back garden while talking on the phone. His voice is tight with annoyance, but I can’t tell who he’s talking to. Presuming it’s something to do with work, I throw together some salad to go with the baked potatoes and chicken.

Sasha gets home just then, throwing her car keys down on the counter with a sigh and pulling up a stool.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah, just some crappy source wasting my time trying to sell me a story about sweet fuck-all. I swear to God, I don’t care if they tell me bloody Keith Richards has died, I’m not getting out of bed on a Sunday for that job ever again.”

“Oh. Well, do you want some dinner? There’s plenty to go around,” I ask, knowing how food always cheers Sasha up.

“I’d love some. I was too hung over this morning to have breakfast. All I’ve had today was a black coffee with a ton of sugar to keep me going.”

“Hey! Who told you to take over?” Robert asks, interrupting us and coming back in from the garden. “Go and put your feet up on the couch, and I’ll bring the food into you.”

He escorts me out of the room and settles me in the living room.

“Oh, Rob,” Sasha calls from the kitchen. “Could we talk?” She sounds serious. I wonder if she’s going to tell him about being gay, seeing as I know now. Well, it’s not like he doesn’t know already, it’s just that she doesn’t know he knows – sort of.

“Sure, be right there,” he calls back. When he returns to the kitchen, one of them shuts the door tight so I can’t listen in to what they’re talking about.

Resigned to not knowing, I switch on the television and flick through the channels. Twenty minutes later they come in, with Robert carrying two plates, one for him and one for me. I look back and forth between them, but they’re acting completely normal, so I can’t tell what the conversation entailed. The only difference is that Robert’s smiling and looking at Sasha more affectionately than normal.