Chapter 5: Boathouse Confessions

Vivian glanced at her phone on the nightstand, deciding whether to reach for it. With a sigh, she did, and her face became taut as she read the message.

We meet tonight at your love nest.

There was no doubt who the originator was, and his last three words chilled her to her bones. The implications of that secret ... She threw back her covers with a shaky hand but didn’t trust herself to stand yet. How could he possibly...?

Her mind flew back to her miserable childhood. Bitter toward her overbearing mother, afraid and hateful of her perverted father ... the lonely existence of an only child with no friends or confidants, until—

A buzz on her nightstand shook her back to the present.

Wear a coat; it’s chilly outside.

Uncertainty crept through her, pushing aside her stoic, matriarchal persona. Could he really be...? She stood on shaking legs and stepped slowly to her picture window, pulling aside the curtain.

The boathouse loft overlooked the Mystic River with moonlight glittering on its inky black surface. The loft had always been hers, given by her father as a place all her own to escape her dysfunctional family. It was a small, tidy space with a bed, table, chairs, and thick wool carpets to protect her feet from the cold floor. There were shelves for her toys and dolls and a heavy chest for other treasures. It had a quaint little oil stove that kept it warm in winter. She gazed across the open expanse toward the docks and the boathouse silhouette nearby. There was a soft glow from the loft window.

The phone buzzed again in her hand, startling her.

I’m waiting.

As she climbed to the small landing with the aged oak nautical door, the stairs creaked beneath her light steps. The door stood ajar, and she felt warmth spilling out. The oil stove radiated heat from the corner, and a single hurricane lantern lit the small space.

He stood with his back to the stove, warming his hands. He watched her enter quietly, then took her coat and shut the door tightly. “Thank you for coming,” he said softly.

His comment made her frown despite her nerves. “Did I have a choice?”

He smiled thinly as he returned to the stove. “No.”

She stood in the center of the small space in her nightgown, glancing around for anything out of place. The table stood where it always had, with matching pastel chairs. The bed with its iron frame and dolphin quilt ... She froze and stared in disbelief at the four weathered cargo straps at precise angles from each corner. Is this a joke? She nearly voiced the question until she recognized them, and the memories flooded back.

She paled visibly before his eyes, but he mistook her sudden pallor as guilt. “How many times did you have to force him?” Before he fucked you willingly.

Her poise changed as she stared at the bed longer. When she turned back, all pretense vanished from her expression, along with any concern or regret. “Force?” she replied disdainfully. “I never forced him to do anything.”

Her son-in-law stepped away from the stove toward her. “How long?”

She shrugged indifferently, “He was nine the first time.” Her eyes grew distant. “He was so beautiful. He worshipped me. His skin was so soft...” her words faded with a catch in her throat.

“Unlike your father’s?” His words were neutral but had the effect of a slap to the face.

She glanced back at the straps, with a haunted look, then spun on him, her expression dark and dangerous. “My scars were no different than a dozen other village girls.”

“Does Siobhán know her father is her bastard uncle?”

Vivian clenched her teeth and balled her fists at the unspoken aspersion. “Of course, she knows! He’s been in her life since they brought him back to us ... shattered and broken.” Her voice caught again, and she lifted her head defiantly to the ceiling and sniffed.

Martin looked sideways at her, “Explain.”

She hesitated, insulted by his demanding yet unassuming tone. “Years after he was sent away, shamed through no fault of his own...” she said bitterly. “They said it was an error by the wharfie in charge of the gantry. A fully loaded container fell back to the deck. Clevis narrowly escaped being crushed, but when he dove from its path...” her face became drawn, and she relaxed her hands, raising them to her breast. “He fell into the ship’s hold...” She turned away and stepped over to the table. “It doesn’t explain the damage to his body when he was brought home.”

She grew quiet, and Martin didn’t press further. “Tell me about Liam.”

Her posture reflected the confusion in her eyes, “Liam?”

“The boy who assaulted Siobhán when she was nine?”

“I ... There was no boy named Liam when Siobhán was a child.”

He showed no reaction to her declaration. “She said he held her down and licked her while he jerked off. It went on for years until he turned—”

Realization dawned on them, and she smirked, “Twelve?”

Siobhán had projected her father’s timeline into her narrative to give the lie more credibility.

“I thought your concerns were provisional to your own family issues.” Her tone was suddenly cold, mocking, and he studied her features in the dim light. Her resolve shifted as soon as the words left her mouth.

“You support her indiscretions?”

His rebuke stung her, and she looked away, her haughty demeanor deflating. “No, of course not. And I made it abundantly clear how they had shamed my table.” She took a hesitant breath and glanced at him with mixed emotions. “My daughter is foolish, and I had hoped she would settle down to raise her children and be a supportive wife.”

It was his turn to snort derisively. There was a long pause as neither wanted to continue the discussion of his marriage.

“Have we concluded our visit to your satisfaction?” She followed him with her eyes as he approached the bed and picked up a strap.

“Not yet.”

Her eyes widened as he turned and approached her. She stepped back fearfully, unable to read his expression or intent. He continued forward until he stood uncomfortably close. She felt her heart race as he touched her shoulders and turned her around. “Wha ... what are you doing?” she gasped as he grabbed her wrists and pulled them behind her back.

“Are you going to fight me?” he asked calmly, unthreateningly.

“Would it matter?” she hissed as he bound her wrists tightly.

He released her arms and gripped her shoulders, pressing his lips to her neck, sending a shiver through her body. “No.” He led her to the bed, turned her around, and sat her on its edge. He stood directly before her, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his gaze. There was a smoldering ember of defiance in her eyes. “So now you’re going to exact your revenge?”

He stayed silent as he unsnapped his fly. “Revenge for what?” He pulled the zipper down and let his trousers slide down his legs. She tried to look away, but her eyes were drawn to his erection twitching in front of her face. Her breath caught in her throat as she struggled to remain calm.

“For my daughter’s adultery!”

He grabbed a handful of her luscious red hair and gripped it tightly, causing her to wince at the brief pain. His eyes were intense as he pulled her forward. She opened her mouth obediently and felt him enter her until his tip pressed against the back of her throat. She stared up at him incredulously as he tightened his grip again. She closed her lips around him and began sucking as her tongue flitted about his shaft. He closed his eyes and sighed, lifting his face to the ceiling. “Siobhán’s adultery is irrelevant.”

Martin speculated that Vivian had never experienced an adult-sized penis before he took her. Judging by her pained expression, he assumed correctly. She tried to appear cold and indifferent as he lifted her gown over her head and lowered her onto the bed with her legs over the side. He parted her legs and knelt before them, feeling his animal instincts take hold as he breathed in her scent. She cried out when his lips touched her smooth vagina and began kissing and sucking on her labial folds. Involuntary whimpers came from her chest, and her pleasure receptors began firing. Her mind collapsed from the onslaught of impulses, and she lubricated under his tongue. It had been years since she had brought another to her bed. But she had never experienced this intense flurry of pleasure. It only took seconds for her body to rebel and give in to her orgasm. She convulsed and cried out involuntarily. It was too much, but her hands were bound, rendering her helpless to his continued oral stimulation. “Oh God! Please—” she cried. “I can’t—” Her voice gave in to a raw, pleading scream. She tossed her head and then tucked her chin as it consumed her. When the sensations faded, leaving her tingling and breathless, she looked up to find him still on his knees, regarding her with an unreadable expression.

Her chest heaved as she struggled for breath. She was vaguely aware of being lifted onto the bed and positioned lengthwise. Her mind drifted from the ebbing rush that had dazed her. She felt his weight as he joined her on the bed and positioned himself atop her, and a chill swept over her as the sweat on her skin dried. Then her eyes flew open as he grunted and buried his entire length inside her. She cried out in shock and pain, then gasped for air as he began pounding her rapidly. The pain was forgotten as he drove the air from her lungs with every thrust. She closed her eyes and prayed he would finish quickly. Then she experienced a new rush of pleasure as his thick shaft stretched and stimulated her vaginal walls. He filled her, sending her soaring to new heights. She lost sense of everything, but his body connected to hers. Pleasure-driven impulses rushed through her with the intensity of the sun. Then, when she didn’t think another orgasm was even possible, she went supernova.