I let out a short laugh.
“You can use the word ‘sex,’ Roc,” I say. “It’s not dirty.”
He smiles, and I reach down to make him look at me again.
“My first year on campus,” I tell him, “I met Lynn, and she brought me here—to Power Exchange. It took a while to figure out where I fit in, but I found out that I like sex. I like it a lot. It just has to be on my terms.”
“It doesn’t make you...I mean, make you think...remember...?”
“No,” I say definitively, “it does not. It’s not the same—not even a little bit. It comes back to what I meant about being a dominant. Everything is within my control, which is nothing like my childhood when all the power and control was taken from me.”
“But the act...what you’re doing is still similar, isn’t it?”
“I know some people who have had similar experiences feel that it is—and I’d never begrudge them the methods they use to handle their own trauma—but that’s not how I see it.”
Rocco shakes his head again.
“I once had a pizza with anchovies on it,” I tell him. “I thought it was the most disgusting thing I had ever tasted. When someone told me what they were, I actually puked right there in the trashcan. I’ll never willingly eat an anchovy pizza again, but I still like pizza with green peppers and extra cheese. Pizza on my terms. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose so.” He doesn’t sound convinced.
“At some point,” I say, “I had to decide if my past was going to run my life or not. I decided it wasn’t. It took a lot of talking and a lot of reflection, but I’m good with where I am, and even though my childhood was awful, I’m not in that situation now. Sometimes it still causes me issues, but I learn to work through them all.”
“That sounds hard.”
“It can be, but the more I do it, the easier it becomes.” I wait to see how he will respond, but Rocco says nothing. “Do you ever talk about it?”
He doesn’t answer.
“The first time I told anyone—well, the first time as an adult, anyway—it took hours to get the whole story out. I kept having to stop to cry or be sick or just leave the room. I pushed through it, and the next time it wasn’t as hard. Now, I can get through it in a few minutes.”
Again, I wait, and again I get no verbal response from Rocco at all.
“I want to know what happened to you, Roc. Will you tell me—at least, give me some idea?”
The silence lasts so long, I begin to think I’ve pushed too hard and that it is time to pack up and go home for the night. As I’m just about to suggest that, Rocco finally speaks.
“Yes,” he says softly, “I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you all of it.”
Chapter 7—Rocco
It is the least I can do, right?
Casey had just shared something horrible about her past. In fact, it’s so horrific, I feel like maybe my history pales by comparison. If she can speak so freely about what happened to her, why can’t I even manage to form a single syllable?
Because I can’t even think about it, let alone talk about it. That’s why.
I chew on my lip, open my mouth to speak, then close it again. I shuffle around a little, inhaling deeply. I try opening my mouth once more, but the results are the same. I sigh heavily, annoyed with myself.
“Let’s try something,” Casey says as she gives my shoulders a little push.
My cheek goes cold as it loses contact with her breasts, and I feel a little disheartened by this. Lying that way was quite comfortable, and I didn’t really want to move.
Casey gets up on her knees and shuffles the cushions around a little until she can sit upright. She leans her back against the pile and spreads her legs, beckoning me to sit between them. I shuffle up to her, back against her chest, and she wraps her arms around my waist.
“Lean your head back,” she says. “Good. Now scoot down just a bit so you can still have your head on my tits, boob man.”
I feel heat rise to my face, but she just chuckles and hugs me to her. I lean back as she instructed. The position is still comfortable though not quite as good as having my cheek on her soft flesh.