Detained

18.

❝Breaking The Veil❞
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Same night, June 2016

Santiano entered the room and gently closed the door behind him. Moira sat on the edge of the bed, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap, her gaze fixed on him with a blend of apprehension and thrill.

He approached her with measured steps, his presence commanding yet soft somehow. He knelt in front of her at the edge of the bed, his hand settling lightly on the mattress beside her thigh, and Moira's eyes flickered between his face and the hand on the bed. Santiano could see the caution etched into her features and he leaned in slightly, his voice a soft murmur. "We don't have to do this if you're not ready. Everything is on your terms. We'll go as fast as you want and as far as you're okay with. If you say no, it's no."

His words were sincere, coaxed with an earnestness that made her feel a little more secure. She reached out, her fingers lightly grazing the back of his hand in a tentative gesture. It wasn't much, but it was a clear and significant gesture of trust. Santiano's lips twitched into a small smirk. "Use your words," he said softly, his tone steady and calm. "I need to hear you say it, Moira."

Moira swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making her voice tremble as she spoke. "Okay," she said, her voice barely above a whisper but resolute. It was an agreement to proceed, a brave step into the unknown.

Santiano nodded with an expression of satisfaction. He rose smoothly to his feet and began to remove his shirt, revealing the intricate, colorful tattoos that adorned his torso. The vivid mosaic of symbols and patterns was now visible in greater detail than when he had first been dragged into the house, his body now marked with the scars of his recent gunshot wounds.

As Santiano's hand moved toward the waistband of his jeans, Moira's gaze followed, and a jolt of panic coursed through her. The simple, seemingly harmless action triggered a surge of distress, dragging her mind back to those harrowing memories with Stacy. Stacy had loomed over her, his fingers hastily unzipping his jeans and that nasty smirk he sported on his face as he prepared to violate her. The evocation hit Moira with a sharp pang, her heart racing with the weight of old wounds.

Santiano noticed the immediate change in her expression—the flinch, the sudden stiffening of her posture, the fearful tremor on her lips, her breath hitching—Moira was beginning to spiral.

Gently, he reached out, his hand resting lightly on her knee. His voice was soothing yet firm, meant to cut through her distress without adding to it. "Moira, look at me." He waited until her eyes met his, filled with uncertainty and a touch of fear. "We don't have to do this..." he trailed, searching her face for reassurance, "If you want, you can switch places with me. You can be the one to take off my pants, and I'll just be here, okay?"

Moira's hands were trembling as she shifted to stand, the weight of the moment pressing heavily on her shoulders. Her gaze was fixed on the floor for a moment, as she tried to ground herself and shake off the grip of her unsettling memories. Santiano remained still, offering her a bit of patience before he sat in her spot on the bed.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Moira adjusted her stance, positioning herself so that she was now directly above Santiano. She took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing against the waistband of his pants before she reached for the zipper. Her fingers grasped the metal tab and her breath was shallow as she gently pulled the zipper down.

The zipper gilded open slowly, the fabric parting with a soft rustle. The tattoos on Santiano's torso seemed to go down further with his pants lowered and the fine hairs from his pelvic area were on full display.