Mara's corruption deepens and Zeno is totally clueless about his girlfriend's plight

Morning After Communion

The stale air of the living room clung to Zeno’s skin as he blinked awake, the faint musk of his own arousal still lingering beneath the blanket draped over his lap. His cock throbbed against his thigh, stiff and aching—a phantom echo of the dreams he couldn’t quite remember, only the hazy impression of Mara’s lips wrapped around him, her throat working as she—

“F-Fuck! Good fuckin’ job, girl."

The growl slithered through the apartment walls, muffled but unmistakable—his father’s voice, thick with a satisfaction Zeno had never heard directed at him.

He sat up too fast, the blanket pooling around his waist. The damp spot on his shorts stuck to his skin, cold and shameful. Had he…? No. He hadn’t finished. But the ache between his legs said otherwise, his body thrumming with the ghost of release.

The bedroom door was still closed.

Why was it closed?

Zeno’s bare feet hit the floor before he could stop himself, the hardwood creaking under his weight as he crept down the hall. The muffled sounds grew clearer with each step—wet, rhythmic slaps, Mara’s breathless whimpers, the groan of bedsprings bearing a weight they weren’t meant to hold.

His hand hovered over the doorknob.

Turn it. Open the door. See.

But his fingers wouldn’t move.

The door swung open before he could decide.

Mara stood framed in the threshold, her swollen lips glistening, her cheeks flushed a deep, feverish pink. The camisole she wore—his camisole, the one he’d bought her as a joke—hung off one shoulder, the thin fabric doing nothing to hide the dark bruises mottling her collarbone.

"Good morning, sleepy-head," she murmured, her voice hoarse.

Zeno’s throat tightened. "M-Morning."

She stepped into him, her arms looping around his neck. The scent of sweat and something else—musky, wrong—clung to her skin. She went in for his cheek yet Zeno had wanted more, the voluptuous woman's lips met his in a kiss that tasted of salt and bitter copper, the flavor lingering on his tongue like a brand.

"Why would you want to kiss me after that?" Mara whispered against his mouth, her grey eyes searching his.

Zeno’s pulse stuttered. After what?

The bedroom behind her yawned open, revealing Ettore sprawled across his side of the bed, the sheets pooled around his waist. The old man’s chest—thick with greying hair, his belly soft with age—glistened with sweat. His hands were laced behind his head, his grin a slash of white in the dim light.

"Boy," Ettore rumbled, his golden eyes glowing. "Your girl’s got a mouth on her."

Mara flinched, her fingers digging into Zeno’s shoulders.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The pulse in her wrists synced with the throbbing behind Zeno’s ribs.

"D-Do you want a water?" Mara blurted, pulling away too fast.

Zeno’s gaze dropped to her chest. Her nipples—hard, the peaks dark against the sheer fabric—were raw, the skin around them red and abraded.

Like she’d been—

"Zeno?"

He blinked. "Huh?"

"I said, Ettore still needs one more go before he’s ready," Mara repeated, her voice flat. "Three at night and three in the morning."

Zeno’s stomach lurched. Three what?

But the words wouldn’t form. His mouth opened. Closed.

"That’s okay, Mara," he heard himself say. "You can take your time."

Her face twitched, something like horror flickering behind her eyes before it was smothered under a wave of dull acceptance.

"We were supposed to go grocery shopping," she muttered, her fingers plucking at the hem of her camisole. "But I’m… busy."

Zeno nodded, his cock stirring against his will. "I’ll go. You stay. Help Dad."

Mara’s breath hitched. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah!" Zeno’s voice was too bright, too eager. "Bond with him! Watch a movie or—"

"I’m sure we both know what he’s going to want to do," Mara interrupted, her voice dead.

Zeno’s smile didn’t waver. "If it makes him happy, it makes me happy."

The silence that followed was pregnant, thick with everything unspoken.

Mara’s lips parted. Say no. Fight. Scream.

But Nero’s voice purred from the bedroom, a sound that vibrated through the walls:

"Mara."

Her spine stiffened, her pupils dilating.

"I’ll… take care of him," she whispered, already turning back toward the door.

Zeno caught her wrist. "When I get back, maybe I can convince him to go back to Mom?"

Mara’s laugh was a broken thing. "Sure, Zeno."

The door clicked shut behind her.