Part Ten

She found herself shaking all over, every muscle involuntarily quivering so that she wasn't sure she could even move, let alone stand. Her shocked mind had registered the sound of the lock sliding into place on the bathroom door, and now the sound of the shower running. He wasn't coming back after her, the man who'd just . . . what? Had he raped her or fucked her? Was there supposed to be this sort of indecision after something like this? She wanted to laugh suddenly, the idea seemed so preposterous. Instead she lay still on the floor, her dress torn aside, sore breasts exposed, blood smeared over her thighs, across her face. Defiled. Had she told him she wanted that? And had she?

Grant didn't even know the extent of some of the wildness of her past, some of the things she'd done. Some of the things she'd wanted to do but never had the guts. You couldn't be a lawyer and behave that way though, could you? You had to wear a silk print dress and carry a briefcase and have your nails manicured every week so they looked good when people found themselves admiring your diamonds. What you thought about when you closed your eyes in bed at night couldn't always be ascertained from the persona on the outside. And what went through your mind when you discovered a naked boy with a hardon sprawled out on your oh-so-proper fiance's bed couldn't always be predicted. Blush can be from embarrassment. Or anger. Or desire. Maybe all three.

He was beautiful, that boy. God, incredibly beautiful. Young. Skinny, but he looked like a model, like he'd stepped right out of the pages of a Vogue advertisement. Did boys who looked like that force themselves on you, when they could probably seduce anyone they wanted? What a na�ve question. As though the beautiful people were exempt from wrongdoing and illicit desire. Hell, she was beautiful herself, she should know the answer to that.

Lisa had no doubt either, had believed it from the moment he'd spat the incendiary words at her, that the boy had been in Grant's arms the night before. Had sucked the cock that she thought was hers alone, had made Grant hard with desire. For him. And had Grant returned the favor? Had the boy's big dick that had felt so hot inside her been in her fiance's mouth last night?

Lisa was gripped by a wave of nausea. That's why you did it, she accused herself. Because you knew he'd had Grant, and so you had to have him. Fuck you, Grant, he wants me too, now deal with that, you cheating cocksucking bastard. And guess what, Detective Moretti? He was a better fuck than you ever were. He wanted me more desperately than you ever did.

She sat up shakily, tugging the elastic of her bra back into place and settling her breasts inside the cups, fastening what she could of the dress across her chest. Jesus, it was true. That boy had fucked her with more passion than Grant ever had. Had she known all along that something wasn't quite right between them, but denied it? They were such a perfect couple, why question things like that. So what if she had to suck him to get him hard. Except that one night. Lisa sat thinking. That night he'd been insatiable. She blinked as she remembered him asking her to ride him, the way he closed his eyes and seemed in his own little world. The way he reminded her of a whore. The reason was all too clear now. Taking a shower in his bathroom.

Suddenly Lisa was filled with rage. Strangely, not at the boy in the shower, but at Grant. At the man she'd loved and trusted, who'd lied to her about one of the most fundamental things in the world. She blushed with fury, feeling like a fool. And Lisa couldn't tolerate feeling like a fool. Resolutely she got up from the floor, picking up her bloodied panties with a frown. Fuck, she was a mess. And it wasn't her fault either. Without giving it a second thought, Lisa banged on the bathroom door. No answer. She pounded again, anger fueling her bravado.

"Goddammit let me in," she yelled, slamming her fist against the door again and again until finally she heard the shower turn off and the bolt slide open. When she pushed the door open forcefully, it swung open so wide it crashed against the wall, and the boy jumped back, startled. Naked, long hair wet and clinging to his neck and shoulders, his eyes looked enormous in his gaunt face. Feeling as if she had the right, Lisa raked her gaze down over his bare chest, the line of three red welts on his neck from her nails as she'd tried to fight him off. His pointed boyish little nipples, and the thick shock of dark curls glistening wet below his flat belly. His penis still long and thick when limp, a droplet of water clinging to the tip. He'd been inside her, she thought, then raised her gaze back to his.

He was attempting to look cocky despite the fact that he was naked and huddled in the corner of the bathroom. But Lisa was no fool. She could tell by the quiver of his thin shoulders and the redness of his eyes and nose that he'd been crying. Was he sorry? Afraid of losing Grant? She found herself completely unafraid, even as he drew himself up and looked about to verbally attack her again.

"Save it," she barked, watching him blink silently in response. He clearly hadn't expected her not to run with her tail between her legs, bleeding all over the place or not. Well fuck that. When he didn't come back at her right away, she softened slightly, regarding him with narrowed eyes.

"Do you love him?" she asked quietly. "Is that why you did it?"

Paulie's mouth gaped, even his well-honed sarcastic cruelty escaping him in his surprise. "I . . . I . . ." he stammered, pulling a towel from the rack and wrapping it around his shoulders as though attempting to protect himself from the question.

"That answers my question," Lisa replied with a sigh. "Now get your skinny ass out of the shower, because I need it. I'm a mess, as you so kindly pointed out, and I'm not going anywhere like this. If Grant comes back in the meantime, I guess we'll just have to explain things to him."

The boy opened his mouth as if to protest, but didn't fight her when she clutched his thin arm and tugged him out of the steamy bathroom. "I suggest you get dressed," she said with a calm she didn't completely feel as she shut the door and slid the bolt back into place.

* * *

Detective Moretti tried to shut many things from his mind as he drove back to the shoddy neighborhood where this unlikely misadventure had started. The way Paulie's wet mouth felt swirling around his finger, bringing back all the pleasures he'd experienced with that mouth on his dick earlier. How needy the boy looked, how frustrated and alone, kicking the wall when he thought nobody was watching. Behind the bravado, Grant knew there was a vulnerability. But whether or not Paulie would ever let him find it, he had no idea. For now, he was tired of the come-ons followed all too quickly by the put-downs.

And yet, here he was. Risking his career for this boy who probably didn't give a damn about him. Who probably didn't find him at all attractive, while Grant found himself practically salivating every time he was near. Never in his life had he wanted someone like he wanted Paulie. And didn't that just figure? That he would be a fucking whore.

Moretti made his way carefully into the darkened building, not announcing that he was an officer as he usually would. No, this was no official mission. He just wanted to know whether there was a dead body lying in a pool of blood in here. Someone the boy who was now sitting in his living room had killed.

God, the place stank. Dirty, disgusting, furniture that looked like it had come from a junk heap. Bare mattress on the floor, sheets that looked soiled. This was where Paulie lived? Grant felt weak at the knees suddenly, with the concrete realization of just how desperate Paulie's situation must be. And at the same time revolted that he'd had his mouth all over the boy, knowing now how he lived. Unconsciously he swallowed hard, grimacing. Feeling dirty. Wanting to get the hell out of there and back to his clean comparatively luxurious apartment.

The string from an overhead bulb brushed against his hair, and Grant reached up to tug it, looking around the sparsely furnished kitchen. The glare distorted colors, muting them to shades of brown and gray, so it took him a while to realize that the darkened area on the floor was actually blood. Fuck. A lot of blood. Grant was standing in it, and as he moved his feet he realized it was still slightly tacky. He followed the dark spots through the hall, and to the door. So the other man had been able to get out, either on his own or with help. Grant breathed a slight sigh of relief. At least Paulie wasn't a murderer. Criminal behavior was beginning to seem more relative than ever before in the detective's rapidly distorting view. Did he just want to believe that Paulie was a good guy? None of the evidence pointed that way, yet Moretti clung to just that conviction. His instincts --- or perhaps his libido --- kept insisting on it.

As quickly as he could, Grant made his way out of the dingy building, turning off the light before he left and removing his shoes in the hallway. He didn't want to leave any bloody tracks that could be followed up, although he very much doubted that anyone would be following up on this crime. In this neighborhood, violence was expected. Moretti thought with a twinge of guilt, that nobody cared as long as it only involved the neighborhood's own residents. No wonder Paulie was so cynical, living here like this.

All the way home, Moretti thought about giving Paulie the good news. Hoping it would make the boy open up to him. Hoping for another shot at those creamy pale thighs, that rounded little ass. Those full red lips. He reached down to adjust his rapidly swelling dick as he anticipated seeing the boy again.

* * *

When Lisa emerged from the bathroom, she looked as pulled together as one can in a torn dress with a bruised cheek. Hair washed clean of her own blood and untangled, gleaming chestnut around her shoulders. Paulie swallowed hard when he saw the evidence of his slap on her face. Wondered if there was similar evidence of her slaps on his.

He'd disposed of the bloodied shorts and found some clean scrubs in Grant's bureau. Although they were loose on his lanky body, the drawstring kept them from falling down over his slender hips. He'd also put on a plain white tee shirt, the hem of which he was fumbling with nervously as he sat on the couch, legs crossed beneath him. His hair too was clean and shiny, almost as long as her own. She thought to herself that he was just about as pretty too.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked finally, after they'd sized each other up again. He didn't know how, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that somehow the woman had gained the upper hand, and it was making him crazy.

She regarded him coolly before answering. "I don't know."

"Whaddya mean you don't fucking know? Are you gonna tell Grant what . . . what happened? Or are you not? I mean, it's not fucking rocket science. Either you are or you aren't."

"I don't know."

She knew she was exasperating him, and she could smell his fear. Fine. Let him be afraid this time, he'd fucking scared the shit out of her when he'd jumped her. "Jesus," he exclaimed, shifting restlessly on the couch and wringing his hands, "You're such a bitch, you know that? I was right about that, wasn't I? You're a goddamn bitch."

Lisa smiled wryly at him. "Maybe. But I have every right to be angry."

"Fine, be pissed at me, but you LIKED it, bitch." Paulie jumped up and wagged a finger in her face, trying to make her flinch. "You know you did, I could feel it. I felt your hungry bloody little cunt suck my big dick inside and spasm all around it, don't tell me I imagined that. I made you cum, baby, and cum hard. Better than Grant can, I bet."

As soon as the words had left his pouty mouth, Paulie seemed to regret them, seemed to question why he'd brought Grant into the discussion. But wasn't that who they were both arguing about anyway?

"You think so, huh?" Lisa grabbed his finger and pushed his arm down without backing away. "Well maybe I did like it, but what about you, kid? Are you supposed to be Grant's little boy toy or what? What are you doing fucking his fiancee and getting so turned on you couldn't stop yourself from cumming almost as soon as you got inside me?"

Paulie scowled and yanked his hand away, plopping back down on the couch sulkily. The corner of Lisa's mouth curled seeing him that way, in spite of all that had happened. He was undeniably appealing.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked, settling herself on the other end of the couch.

He peered at her from under his unruly hair, long lashes sweeping up and down provocatively. Seeming to consider the pros and cons of repeating it now that what had happened had . . . well, happened. "Paul," he stated finally. "My name's Paul."

"I don't know if you'd prefer to think of me as nameless, but my name's Lisa."

"I know your name," Paulie retorted.

At this she looked surprised, and he brightened a little. "Grant told you about me?" she asked.

"Oh yes, all about you, everything," he went on, becoming animated in his gestures as he gained confidence.

"Really?" Lisa interrupted. "What did he tell you exactly?"

"Oh, all kindsa things. Like . . . like I suck his cock better than you do." Paulie eyed her intently, awaiting her reaction.

She smiled, which obviously irritated him. "Nice try, Paul."

"Fine, don't believe me. But it's true." Petulant, the boy came off as flamey and feminine.

"I'm sure it is," Lisa allowed, still smiling at how appealing the boy could be. "Maybe you could give me some lessons, the benefit of all your experience."

Paulie was readying a retort, and starting to almost enjoy the banter, when the door opened.

* * *

"Paulie, I've got good news, I didn't find . . . "

Grant stopped short, his mouth gaping in amazement at the sight that greeted him. Paulie on one end of the couch, long legs drawn up under him, looking sullen and at the same time as heart-stoppingly beautiful as always. And fuck if Lisa wasn't sitting on the other end, staring at him with an expression he couldn't quite fathom. Her brown eyes were dark with emotion, but she was frighteningly composed when she spoke.

"Tell us the good news, by all means, honey." Her words were normal enough, but the tone of her voice was like a shaft of ice, cutting straight into the most vulnerable parts of the detective. His heart, yes, but even more horrible, his identity. That carefully constructed self-view that kept him propped up every single day, got him out of bed and kept him going. Allowed him to be the person he had to be in order to live with himself. Now all that was threatening to unravel by the simple juxtaposition of the two people on his couch. The two people he was fucking. Ohgod.

Lisa seemed to be the only one capable of speaking. Paulie obviously didn't want to, although he kept throwing nervous glances in Grant's direction. In the midst of his own fear, Moretti's training kicked in suddenly, almost as a defense against the confusion of emotions swirling around his head. Paulie had three red welts on his neck. Scratches. What the . . . ?

"So are you going to tell us the good news, or would you prefer to just tell your talented cocksucker friend here? Want me to leave so you can be alone with him?" Her manner dripped sarcasm.

Jesus, she knew? Fuck, of course she knew. Knowing Paulie, he'd probably bragged about it. Ohgod. He was finished. If she told, if everyone found out. If his father found out. Grant sunk into the nearest chair, holding his head in his hands, his temples throbbing.

"You're just jealous."

Paulie's voice. Grant jerked his head up at that. What the fuck was going on here?

"Well don't forget, you promised me lessons, you filthy little big dicked whore."

Lisa's voice? Jesusgod. He stared at her hard, trying to fathom those words coming from Lisa's glossy painted lips. Something wasn't right. Her cheek was bruised. What? Her cheek was bruised. And her dress . . . her dress was wrong . . . torn? Was it torn? A sick feeling, even worse than the terror he'd felt before, began to form in Grant's stomach. He could feel his hands begin to tremble as he met Lisa's dark accusatory eyes.

"Lisa?" His voice came out high-pitched and wavering. All the instincts he suddenly wished he didn't have were screaming at once. "What . . . ?"

She got up from the couch slowly, and now he could clearly see that her silk dress was torn in the front. And that she was not nearly as composed as she'd seemed. She smoothed her delicate hands down over the ripped fabric, adjusting the dress as best she could, and picked up her purse from the table. For a long moment, her eyes held Grant's, and he could see the swirl of emotions there. Anger. Betrayal. Regret. His stomach lurched again as he fought to find some voice, but Lisa spoke first.

"Why don't you ask Paul?" she said, her own voice quavery now, her composure threatening to crack.

And with that, she turned and walked out, letting the door slam behind her.

continue...