"Mama, Papa, forgive me."
He whispers and any contemplation that began stirring in my mind was shoved away by the heated lips that pressed against my own, followed shortly by grabbing hands that found their way into my hair.
Sometimes I am not sure who he is, and when he pulls me closer, I can forget who I am. Years have slid by and the fighter I used to be has receded into me, leaving someone far more mellow, who hates in silence, who needs in silence, and is not afraid to punch the first person who mentions my weight. He never says anything anymore.
Sometimes I see his eyes slide down to my stomach and I pretend I never noticed. He tries not to touch me anymore than he has to, and when I'm not ignoring that, my mind conjures up the memory of overhearing him tell Stan that he thought I was sexy. Part of me wants to believe that it was a lie, or a conditional statement, but I heard him elaborate. I heard he likes every bit of me.
I lean back on the bed, pulling him on top of me. He eagerly crawls over me, his lips hot against mine and our tongues slipping together. He is already opening my jeans. My shirt is still on, a demand I made the first time that he still adheres to.
"Forgive me."
I stare hard at him, unsure what to make of his nonsense prayer, but his mouth slides wetly over my skin and I forget to think.
He takes everything he can get from me, and I do the same to him. This is my one chance at something. I don't know what he is doing it for, but as he lowers himself onto me, I see more than hear him mutter.
"I love..."
I do not know what to make of this. He moves as though I could have never heard him, as though he said nothing. His fingers dig into my clothed shoulders as he rocks himself on me, lost in himself.
When he works so vigorously like this, I often fold my arms behind my head ad watch him with a smirk, feeling confident and loving the desperate way he responds to my dominant nonchalance. When I'm not training myself into looking controlled, I have my hands on his hips, guiding him, and sometimes moving him entirely on my own. Now, my hands lie limply on the sheets. I'm just watching him.
"Sexy," he mumbles, and bends down to kiss me. We never kiss during sex. "I love..."
I don't let myself think anymore as his hands slide under my shirt and when I release, I realize this is the first time we have done this without a condom. His fingers rub over my stomach, his lips find my shoulder.
Mother and father will never forgive him.