Dissent (17 page)

I
tilted my face up to the sun for a second before walking forward into
the water until I was up to my shoulders.

“How's
the water?” Isaiah asked and I could feel the water moving as
he walked in.

I
wasn't going to turn around. I was going to do the smart thing and
stare at the outline of trees. Or swim away. I was most definitely
not going to look at him. But even as I tried to make myself believe
that I was strong enough not to, I felt myself turning around. Just
seconds too late to get the full view. He was in the water up to his
pelvic bone, exposing the deep dents of his impressive adnois lines,
creating a V up toward his hipbones and stomach. I knew I should look
away, but I didn't. Because I simply didn't want to.

“Like
what you see?” he asked, smiling a big, uncharacteristically
goofy smile as he got closer.

I
felt myself shrugging, not willing to find the words: 'Oh, god, yes'.
“Where'd you get that scar?” I said instead, gesturing
out and splashing him slightly with water.

“Which
one?” he asked, shrugging, coming closer, barely a foot away
form me.

“The
one on your side,” I clarified, turning my head to look up at
his face. Which was much, much safer.

“Knife,”
he said, looking down at me, the smiling slipping away. “I was
learning how to throw one, it hit the side of the target and came
back at me.”

“How
old were you?”

“I
dunno. A kid. Eleven maybe.”

“And
you were allowed to be out throwing knives all whilly nilly?”

“I
was under orders to throw the knife,” he said, “until I
hit the target ten times in a row.”

“What
attempt was that?”

“Seven
in a row.”

“That's
a shame. You were close.” His short, humorless laugh made my
head tilt to the side. “What?”

“Baby,
I wasn't allowed to stop just because I got a little cut.”

“A
little cut?” I asked, outraged. “It takes up half of your
side!” What kind of monster made his kid keep doing target
practice when they were bleeding?

“My
father thought pain was... good for the soul,” he said, his
words sounding more guarded than usual.

“Because
he was really religious, right?” I asked, not caring if I was
poking at a sore spot. “You said that you were really religious
growing up.”

“Yeah.
I mean... I didn't know anything else.”

“Catholic
school?” I asked, nodding.

“No,
baby,” he said, shaking his head.

“Stop
'babying' me. I'm trying to get to know you a little bit.”

“Why?”

“What
do you mean, why? Because I spend twenty-four hours a day in your
presence. Because I live next door to you. Because we are naked in a
lake and what the fuck else is there to do?” A small, devilish
smile started to spread across his face. “Except that,” I
said, smiling. “Come on...”

“Alright,”
he said, with about the same enthusiasm as if I told him to roll
around in some broken glass. “My father was a fundamentalist,
an extremist. He was practically militant in his beliefs. He built a
house in the woods with no luxuries. You know,” he said, giving
me a sad smile, “like running water or heat or electricity. I
was taught to read and live by the bible. My sister wasn't even
allowed to learn to read...”

“Seriously?”
I asked, too shocked to keep my mouth shut. It was almost impossible
to wrap my head around the possibility of people still living that
way. Especially when you grew up privileged and taught to strive for
the same power positions as men.

“Yes,”
he said, looking away from me, squinting at the horizon, making
creases form next to his deep green eyes. “Seriously. Women
were supposed to follow orders, keep house, produce babies, and have
no mind or desires of their own.”

“Jesus,”
I said, then let out a strange, hysterical laugh. Jesus. That was
totally appropriate, Darce. Good going. “Sorry,” I said,
shaking my head at his pained face. “I'm sorry. I just... I
can't imagine that.”

“I
couldn't imagine anything different,” he shrugged.

“But
then,” I said, looking up at him, “how did you get to
where you are now?”

He
shrugged. “Well my sister ran away when she turned eighteen.
She was...” he shook his head, closing his eyes tight and all I
wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and tell him to forget it.
It didn't matter. But that would be stupid. Because it did matter. It
was a part of him and that mattered. And he needed to know that I was
okay with hearing it. “She bore a lot more punishment than I
even did and my mother pushed her to run. Then one day she did.”

“Good
for her,” I said, not able to help myself.

“Yeah,”
he agreed, nodding. “Then that afternoon, my mom went out into
the woods and killed herself. I guess she wanted out too...”

“Oh,
Isaiah,” I said, feeling tears rise up in my eyes and blinking
furiously at them. “I'm sorry. That must have been...”

“It
wasn't,” he cut me off, shaking his head. “It wasn't
terrible. Because I was told it wasn't terrible. And I was so
brainwashed that I couldn't imagine not believing what my father told
me. Even though I was nineteen at the time...”

“It's
not your fault that...”

He
sighed, a long, deep, resigned sound, as he looked down at me. His
arms went around my lower back, clasping together at the base of my
spine. Not pulling me forward, just settling there. “I know,”
he nodded. “I didn't know for years after. After he got sick
and I went to find my sister so she could pay her last respects.”

“Where
was she?”

“In
the 'New Sodom and Gomorrah',” he quoted.

“New
York?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah.
She had run there and lived on the streets for a few years until she
started her own phone sex operating business...”

“No
way,” I laughed.

“Yeah,”
he said, smiling and nodding. “That's Fee, though. She was
strong. So much stronger than I ever realized when we were growing
up. I hated her when I went to fetch her. Our father had twisted all
kinds of awful tales about her and I believed him. Until I saw her
again. And she fucking screamed at me about child abuse and getting a
grip and taking a look at the real world.”

“I
think I would like your sister.”

“I
know you would,” he said, fondly. “She's a hardass like
you.”

“A
hardass, huh?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Well,
maybe not hard,” he said, his hands slowly moving down my body
and cupping my ass. “But it's a pretty fucking perfect ass
nonetheless.”

I
half snorted, half laughed, slapping his chest hard. “Finish
your story,” I told him, squinting my eyes at him, but not
bothering to tell him to quit pawing at my ass. I didn't particularly
want him to quit it.

“So
our father died. And Fee left me this porn magazine on our dining
room table and told me to go see her when I wanted to learn about the
world.”

“So
you did.”

“Not
right away. I spent... a lot of quality time with that magazine. It
was the first naked woman I had ever seen. And I had a lot of
masturbating to do,” he laughed. “Then my grandmother
died too and I was essentially alone in the world and found myself in
charge of her estate and business and I was clueless...”

“So
you went to your sister.”

“So
I went to my sister. And the rest is just a lot of reading and
learning. And fucking.”

“Hey,”
I said, shrugging and giving him a sly smile, “you had to make
up for lost time.”

“Yeah,
I guess I did,” he agreed.

The
sadness was back in his eyes. The deep, tormented awfulness that I
recognized from that first encounter on our balcony. Because he, in
fact, was tormented by the ghosts of his past. And maybe he was a
prick, but it was hard to imagine coming through a situation like he
had completely unscathed. He was bound to have damage. He was bound
to screw up. And to need a little more forgiveness.

Maybe
I had been too harsh with him.

My
hands moved out between us, landing low, near his hipbones and slowly
moving upward. The muscles underneath my fingers tensed slightly as I
ran over them, brushing his scar, then moving toward his chest, over
his shoulders, around his neck. I leaned forward, resting my face
against the warm skin in the center of his chest. He tensed slightly
at the contact for a long moment before his hands grabbed my ass
tighter and pulled him against his chest.

The
contact was like a shock to my system. Like a hundred little buzzes
of static electricity where we touched. Which was everywhere from our
feet up. But despite his fingers digging into my ass, despite his
hard cock pressed into my lower belly, despite our nakedness... it
wasn't sexual. For a long moment it was just bodies giving and taking
comfort and acceptance.

His
hands stopped grabbing my ass and slowly started moving up my back,
slipping underneath my wet hair, and stroking up my spine. I closed
my eyes tight, enjoying the feeling. The water was cold around me,
his skin hot on mine. His hands moved up to my shoulders then moved
outward and went down my sides, the tips of his fingers brushing the
sides of my breasts.

“You're
so beautiful,” he murmured, his lips against my forehead. I
closed my eyes, pulling him a little tighter.

I
took a breath, pulling back slightly, my hand sneaking up to play
with the hair at the base of his neck as I looked up at at him for a
second before pulling him down to me, my lips pressing into his and
sending a jolt of desire straight down my core. His fingers flexed,
sinking into my hips as his tongue slipped past my lips, toying with
mine until I couldn't think of anything but getting more of him.
Finally getting all of him.

“Alright,”
he said, pulling suddenly away. “I can't believe I am saying
this, but we need to stop.”

“Nuh
uh,” I said, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling his lips
back to mine. He let me kiss him for a second, then his lips spread
into a smile against mine. “What?”

“Nothing,”
he said, still smiling. “I want this...”

“Me
too,” I said, running my hands down his chest, his stomach.

His
hands shot out, grabbing mine as they threatened to slip lower, and
holding them tightly in his. “We can't.”

“Sure
we can,” I said, leaning up and planting my lips on his neck,
making his breath rush out of his mouth.

“Darcy,”
he said, his voice trying to sound firm, but failing. “Stop.”

“Come
on, you know you want this,” I said against his skin.

“More
than you know,” he agreed, pushing me backward. “But, by
some awful twist of fate, baby, I find myself without a condom.”

I
found myself laughing, shaking my head. Because I didn't have one
either. And I always had one. It had just been so long. There was no
reason to carry one around. Except now there was a reason and it was
pressing into my stomach and I really fucking wanted it.

“Damn
it,” I said, letting my forehead slam against his chest.

“After
your show tonight...” I shook my head against him. “Why
not?”

“Get
out of the water,” I said, pushing him backward toward the
shore.

“Why?”
he asked, brows drawing together as more and more of his body got
exposed.

“Just
shut up and get out of the water,” I said, still pushing at him
as he stumbled over a rock and made his way completely out of the
water.

“Where
am I going?” he laughed as I just kept pushing him backward.

“There,”
I said, pressing him backward onto a large rock formation that looked
reasonably smooth.

“You
want me to sit down?” he asked, his brows drawing lower.

“Yep,”
I said, standing there dripping in front of him as he got onto the
rock, looking up at me.