by Genna Rulon
The dirty look I threw his way left no question as to my feelings regarding his pleasure in Jay’s suffering.
“Come on, beautiful…I know he’s been a good friend to you, but even you have to admit that is fucking ironic.”
I couldn’t help but giggle. Replaying the scene years later with new perspective, it was ludicrous. We smiled at each other until a thought arose that stomped my merriment to smithereens. “What about you and Miss Public Indecency? I hardly think you have grounds for jealousy,” I finished bitterly.
“Ah, I’m not the only one battling the green-eyed monster. Not so fun when the shoe’s on the other foot, is it?”
My elbow connected with his ribs before he had time to prepare. “Ouch. Dammit, beautiful, your elbows are lethal weapons.”
Good! He had it coming—I was the one who had a front-row seat to the Wes and Miss Slutty McSlutterson’s live-action porno.
“To answer your question, no, I didn’t have sex—of any kind—with…with…whatever her name was. Evidently, you’ve bewitched Wes, Jr. and he will only respond to your siren call.”
“Well, at least one of you had his head on straight,” I admonished, secretly pleased with his admission. “Now, can we stop talking about sex with other people? It’s killing my warm fuzzies.”
“I’m sure I could distract you from such unpleasant thoughts. For example, I have never officially made love to you,” he said while rising to his feet with me secure in his arms. “An oversight I’m about to rectify.”
“As long as you’re not planning to rectalfy, I second that motion,” I joked salaciously.
His surprised laughter was music to my ears.
“No…not tonight at least,” he said with a wink. “It seems you’ve been spending entirely too much time with Sam in my absence, an issue I plan to thoroughly address. Then again, I’m beginning to see the personal benefits of girl time.”
Having reached our destination, he placed me gently on the bed and undressed me carefully and deliberately, like I was made of glass. With each article of clothing removed, our mood shifted further from naughty nettling to cherishing caresses.
Naked before him in every way possible, I returned the same attention, dotingly removing the fabric that hid him from me. With each exposed inch, I worshiped his body, conveying my desire to connect with him at the most fundamental level of our beings.
Equally exposed, he covered me with his body, engulfing me in his warmth and presence. The embrace was safe and familiar like…home. Never having had a real home, the feeling was not instantly recognizable—yet once identified, it was undeniable. Wes was the home I had searched for and tried to build for myself. In my journey since escaping To Ieró, I had found a family, filled with the love and acceptance of friends. However, until now, I had remained homeless. Soul-deep recognition brought forth unparalleled peace, causing tears of joy to form.
“What is it, beautiful? Why are you crying?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
“You—you’re my home. I finally have a home, Wes,” I whispered with conviction as a quiet sob escaped.
“Yes, baby. I’m your home and you’re mine—always. Through any storm, I will give you shelter. When you’re broken or damaged, I’ll repair you. In the cold, I’ll warm you, and when you get too hot, I will be the one to cool you down. And if trouble comes, I will protect you at all cost—with my life if necessary,” he pledged solemnly. “I love you, beautiful…all of you. Even the parts about yourself you hate are miraculous to me,” he whispered. With those final words, he slid inside me, breaching the barrier of skin to find the heart of me.
He captured my hands in his as he slowly raised them next to my head, interweaving our fingers to cement our connection. We kissed as if it were our only source of sustenance—nibbling lips and sliding tongues, we feasted on one another endlessly.
Our pace was slow, allowing us to relish every miniscule sensation together. I felt his pleasure as keenly as my own—every muscle contraction in response to my touch, every throb of desire, every pulse throughout his body in time with his heartbeat.
His body slid against mine sensually, further arousing my sensitized skin until I anticipated each glide of his muscled chest as much as the thrust that followed. I moved with him in perfect counterpoint, my legs woven around his, keeping us connected from our threaded fingers to the tips of my toes.
Each time I raised my hips to meet his stroke, tiny explosions of light on the backs of my eyelids rewarded my efforts. Finally breaking our kiss, he nipped at my neck before teasing my earlobe with barely-there kisses.
“You’re killing me, baby. I could get lost inside you for days, wanting nothing more than the feeling of you wrapped around me, squeezing me like you’d rather die than let me go. Every inch of your soft body pressed against mine…there is nothing in this world that’s better.”
Untangling my legs to hitch them higher around his waist, I locked my ankles behind his back, clinging tightly as his rhythm picked up speed. My core clenched, alerting me that I was nearing the precipice. The air around us charged with an inexplicable energy, the intensity of which elevated our lovemaking from passionate joining to something that would be indelibly etched in our memories.
Desperate for all of him, I pulled my hands free to grip his head, pulling his lips to mine with urgency. Understanding my need, he grasped my hips tightly, working me harder with equal parts power and finesse. The additional force and twist of his hips detonated the nuclear orgasm he had built, and I exploded with a ferocity that left me shaking with involuntary muscle spasms. He followed closely behind, whispering words of love before unintelligible groans of completion. His body remained stiff, every muscle contracting for long minutes as the after-effects of his own volatile orgasm subsided.
When his body finally relaxed, he fell to his side before rolling on his back, taking me with him and draping me across his body like a favorite blanket on a cold night. Neither of us spoke for several minutes, each lost in our own thoughts…or perhaps trying to regain the ability to think.
“What was that?” I finally asked, breaking the companionable silence.
“I think that was making love…on steroids—no, jet fuel. Whatever it was, I want to do it again in about an hour, and then again an hour later, and…hell, let’s find a way to do nothing but that forever,” he suggested.
“An interesting idea, but I believe the only profession that would be compatible with your plan would be a career in porn—and I’m not up for cameramen in the bedroom. Plus, we’d have to eat at some point,” I explained reasonably.
“Mmm, food does sound good. What mountains of food does Sam have hidden away for Griffin?”
“Dunno, and the kitchen is sooo far away,” I pouted.
“Luckily, you have a man who loves you to tend to your every need. I’ll go forage for sustenance while you rest up for dessert.”
After a delicious dinner of leftover Chicken Rustica with grilled veggies, Wes and I relaxed in bed, enjoying gentle touches and innocent kisses while we snuggled.
“This is amazing,” I finally said, breaking the silence. “Just lying here with you—it feels so…right, like we’ve been together for years. Isn’t that weird?”
“Weird or not, I wouldn’t trade this time with you for anything. It’s like you said, being with you is home, and I haven’t had a home since before I can remember. Thank you for giving me that gift, beautiful.”
“You’re welcome, but I think it’s me that should be thanking you,” I said quietly.
His only reply was a dismissive Pssht.
“Have you met Thia?” he asked abruptly.
“Hello, non sequitur,” I chuckled. “Yes, several times. She’s a friend of GriffLo, and I guess mine too. Actually, she’s my therapist now…it was one of Dr. Mesina’s motherly conditions in support of my work.”
“Wait…Dr. Mesina? Do you mean, Dr. Rosalia Mesina?”
“Yeah, she’s my academic advisor. I�
��ve told you about her several times—weren’t you listening?” I asked, teasing…mostly.
“You’ve told me plenty about your academic advisor and I remember it all, but you never used her name. I guarantee it,” he said with unerring confidence. “I can’t believe I didn’t make the connection myself,” he muttered while laughing. “Damn, this is going to be fun. Ry is going to lose it when I tell him.”
“Tell him what?”
“Do you remember me mentioning my best friend Ry?”
I nodded.
“Ry—Ryland Mesina. Dr. Rosalia Mesina is his mother and the closest thing to a maternal figure I’ve ever had. Holy shit! She is going to have a field day with this. She’s been riding my ass to settle down for years. I think she goes to church every Sunday just to light candles for my ‘poor lost manwhore soul.’”
“You have got to be kidding me! I feel like I should break into a chorus of ‘It’s a small world after all.’”
We both laughed at the coincidence, Wes securing my promise to meet Ry next week.
“Why did you ask about Thia?” I questioned, backtracking to our previous topic.
“I played poker with her tonight. She’s…I’m not even sure what to call her—eccentric, maybe? I liked her, even though she pinched every chip I won off Hunter and Griffin. Plus, I’m almost positive poker night was a cover for group therapy, of which I was the star tonight.”
“That sounds about right. If the powers that be decided we belonged together and we weren’t fixing the problem at an acceptable pace, there is nothing they wouldn’t do. They are a devious bunch, and with Thia at the helm—geeze, they could probably take over the world or solve the Middle East conflict. I’m glad they used their powers for good.”
“So am I, baby. I would have found my way back to you regardless—my stubborn pride was already weakening—but their intervention was welcome,” he admitted.
“Agreed,” I smiled. “But whatever you do, don’t ever repeat that to any of them—it’s the equivalent of granting permission for future meddling.”
“I wouldn’t mind meddling if this is the result,” he said, hugging me closer.
“You say that now. Have you already forgotten Sam’s lack of boundaries?”
I felt his exaggerated shudder. Exactly, buddy!
“Point taken. Silent gratitude it is,” he conceded. “I’d like to take you out for dinner tomorrow night—our first official date.”
“We’ve gone to dinner before,” I said in confusion.
“Yeah, but that was ‘hanging out,’” he replied with finger quotes. “I want to take my woman out to dinner and show her off,” he finished with a wink.
“Well, by all means, flaunt me, baby!”
"Here's all you have to know about men and women: women are crazy, men are stupid. And the main reason women are crazy is that men are stupid.”
-George Carlin
Westly
Dressed to impress, I picked my girl up at Sam’s and drove her to my favorite restaurant, Thai House, for our first date as an official couple. I checked all the boxes: brought flowers, opened car doors, pushed in her chair—yes, I was kicking ass at this boyfriend thing.
Since she’d never eaten Thai, I selected a few items for us to share and our waitress also suggested her favorite dish on the menu.
“Beautiful, you don’t have to clear your plate if you’re too full,” I said, laughing, as she groaned in pain while trying to squeeze the last bite of spicy eggplant into her overloaded tummy.
“But it’s sooo good, and I want Ashley to know how much I enjoyed it.”
“Who the heck is Ashley?” I asked, at a loss. Did I even know an Ashley?
“Ashley…our waitress—the one who recommended the eggplant,” she said, sighing dramatically when I scanned the restaurant, trying to identify the server in question. “Cute girl with blond hair, fixed in one of those awesome side braids everyone is wearing.”
Nope, I had nothing. I shrugged, unsure why I cared in the first place.
“Hey beautiful, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, Wes…I may even answer you,” she quipped.
Obviously, Thai made her feisty, which would benefit me later. Note to self: bring home a take-out menu.
“You said you hate the name Meg. Have you considered what name you’re going to give Hunter for your identification papers?”
The curiosity was killing me. Rarely did people get to select their own name, and I couldn’t help but wonder what she felt represented who she was—or rather who she wanted to be.
“I’ve narrowed down the list, but he promised I had a few more weeks before committing. It’s a tough decision…I want something that represents me but still sounds pretty. Plus, I want to have an easy nickname.”
“Okay, are you going to tell me what you’re considering?” I prompted.
“Nope, I want you to be surprised. I’m not telling anyone ‘til I’ve decided. Otherwise, all the differing opinions will make it impossible.”
“My opinion doesn’t count? What if I hate it? I’ll be forced to repeatedly call out a name I despise every time we make love. Think of the potential trauma,” I argued.
“Oh, poor baby,” she mocked. “I’m tempted to name myself ‘Christopher’ just so you have to cry out a man’s name every time you come.”
“Oh, you’re evil...wait a minute, why do I sense Ev and Sam are behind this particular suggestion?”
“Because you’re astute,” she teased, confirming my suspicions.
“You ladies need close supervision on all future playdates,” I declared, happy for an excuse to crash girls’ night and spend more time with my woman. Having just gotten her back, I wasn’t ready to play nice and share just yet. Maybe in a year or two…nah!
We arrived back at my house and decided to watch TV before bed, both of us too stuffed to do much else.
“Do you mind if I borrow your laptop to check my email?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting on a message from Dr. Mesina.”
“Go for it.”
Snagging my computer from the coffee table, she began to click away while I headed to the kitchen to grab us drinks. A few minutes later, her horrified gasp had me running to her side.
“What is it, beautiful?” I asked as calmly as possible.
Without speaking a word, she turned the screen so I could see.
“You have to help me out here, baby. I have no idea what I’m looking at,” I reminded her.
“It’s from him,” she replied shakily. “It’s another email warning.”
“What does it mean?” I asked, still unsure what the hell it said. To me, it was nothing more than a strange image that could almost pass for a tattoo.
She pointed to the bottom image as she explained, “This is the sign for The Alpha—like his signature. They are the Greek letters for alpha and omega intertwined.” Pointing to the top picture, she continued, “This is the symbol for The Omega...see, it’s The Alpha’s symbol upside-down. It’s supposed to reflect The Omega’s subservience and lesser status.” Then, she pointed to the strange letters in the middle of the message, “And this means ‘sacrifice.’”
“Okay. I’ll admit it’s rather creepy, but what does it actually mean?” I asked, not understanding the significance of the email but suspecting there were implications I was missing.
“It’s a threat. He’s telling me time has run out, and if I don’t return he will force me to sacrifice something I treasure to appease Theós. I don’t know what, specifically, but he’s capable of anything. It wouldn’t surprise me if he hurt my mother in the hopes it would cause me to return.”
“You’re not going back there, not for any reason,” I ordered, “but especially not for the woman who birthed you. Christ, she even makes my mother look like ‘parent of the year.’” Screw women’s lib, I’d cuff her to me before I let her face that monster again. Hmm—cuffs—the plan had merit! “I know you’re scared, beautiful, but I pr
omise you are safe here. The FBI is involved and we are all on the lookout. You’re not going to be left alone for a second.”
She quirked her head to the side as if studying a foreign specimen.
“You’re getting awfully comfortable issuing orders. I’ve got my eye on you, buddy. Don’t think because your BFFs with Hunter the Hun and Griffin the Gladiator, you can start bossing me around. Luckily, I agree with you. It’s safer to have them come for me—now that you and Hunter know the dangers—than for me to return to To Ieró.”
“Hunter the Hun and Griffin the Gladiator? They are going to love that,” I laughed. “What does that make me?”
“Westly the Wicked,” she said suggestively before forcing me to prove precisely how wicked I could be.
"We can only bend so far before we break.” -Author Unknown
Meg
A week passed in relative peace with no further emails to taunt me. As Wes promised, I was never left alone, which helped me relax and control the panic that threatened.
Monday, I met with Hunter and provided my official statement to the FBI regarding the living conditions and treatment of those living at To Ieró, as well as the crimes being perpetrated by The Alpha. Reliving my time as The Omega became easier to bear each time I told my story, as if each recounting passed a bit of my burden to the listener, allowing them to help me shoulder the load.
Hunter was professional throughout the interview, but the telltale twitch in his right eye, coupled with his clenching and unclenching fists, indicated how deeply affected he was by my experiences. He paused several times for breaks, although I assured him I was okay to continue.
“It’s not for you, sweetheart. I’m the one who needs a breather,” he’d responded candidly.
After providing copies of the messages I’d received and explaining their significance, Hunter assured me the FBI would take the threats seriously, cooperating with local police to initiate drive-bys using both marked and unmarked squad cars. When we finally finished, he asked that I return to the New York field office to answer any additional questions that arose upon investigating the information I’d provided thus far. Of course, I agreed, willing—no, needing—to help in any way possible.
