Two hours later, the party is in full swing. I’ve taken a position near the doorway, watching the parade of pretty people stream into the house. Handsome men. Beautiful women. Money and entitlement ooze off each and every one. The walls of the brownstone shake from the music Rath has pumping through the speakers. Head ducked down, headphone pressed to his ear, he’s completely entrenched in the role of DJ, shifting quickly from tortured classical music to energetic pop, bass-heavy hip-hop, and crazy electronica.
Tristian’s parked himself near the door, taking on the role of host. Apparently this requires giving every attractive girl who enters a kiss on the mouth before making some comment on their hair, outfits, or tits. They giggle and whisper into his ear, hands resting on his bicep, visibly pleased that he’s paying them attention.
Killian’s sitting in a soft leather chair in the den, two blondes perched on the arms. They’re dressed in FU orange and purple, doting on him like royalty. One is playing with the hair at the base of his neck while the other massages his thigh.
It makes me wonder about my clause in the contract. The fidelity clause. No doubt any Lord could have their pick of girls here tonight. But they can’t. Because of me. Briefly, I wonder if I should consider the flirting to be crossing some line. It’s a laughable thought, anyway. None of them care about following the spirit of the clause, only about the technicality. And the spirit behind it isn’t something I’m willing to cop to.
The spirit being that, secretly—stupidly—the thought of them owning me while fucking other girls struck me as insulting.
I laugh bitterly into my half-empty cup. As if anything about this arrangement isn’t insulting.
Now that I’m watching the sorority girls draped over Killian, my stomach twists anxiously. Killian wanting something that he can’t have? There’s a price to pay for that, and I’m not so sure it’ll be worth it, in the end.
The Lords, my Lords, are on the highest rung of the social ladder. Just like in high school. They move fluidly together, commanding the room, dictating the music, passing out drinks and ultimately creating social order in a room full of wannabes and chasers.
I have no idea where this leaves me. On the bottom with the slaves and servants? Charlene and the other girls from the interview all seem to believe otherwise, but I’ve yet to see all these privileges they all think so highly of.
I can only be certain of one thing; there will be hell to pay if the Lords think I’m shirking my duties. I slip back to the kitchen, weaving around boisterous dancers, bellowing football players, and make-out sessions that are getting graphic enough to make my cheeks bloom with heat.
The Lords’ personal stash of beer is well-stocked in the refrigerator, so I grab a bottle for Tristian. I pause, thinking of Killian with those blondes, and then of Rath, who’s still probably mad at me. With a steeling sigh, I grab one for each.
Entering the hall, I’m forced to squeeze through a group of guys.
“Excuse me,” I say, holding the bottles close to my chest.
“Hey, look. This one’s got the good stuff,” one guy says, pushing off the wall and eyeing the bottles. Or my tits. Maybe both. “You need some help with those, baby?”
I duck my head evasively. “I’m fine. Thanks.”
Another voice pipes up, this time from behind me. “That’s a lot of beer for one little girl. Sure you don’t want to share?” His heavy hands land on my hips, followed by the sour scent of warm, beer-tinged breath at my temple. “How about the three of us take those somewhere private and get to know one another better?”
It’s easy to shoot off a clipped, “How about you fuck off and let me go on my way.”
The guys look at one another, their expressions at first stunned, then amused. They laugh, their voices bouncing off the narrow hallway walls.
“You’re a little spitfire, huh? Don’t you know who we are?” He tilts his head and touches my jaw, eyes tracking his fingertip as it ascends to my bottom lip. Bile rises in my throat. I’ve seen the look in his dark eyes before. I know what he wants. They have me caged in, towering over me in a way that makes me tremble with the memory of Tristian and Rath forcing me to my knees. He thumbs my lip, trying to force the tip inside. “We’re royalty around here. I’m thinking we need to take you out back and teach you some manners—put this smart little mouth to good use. What do you think, Beck?”
“Tucker! Beckwith!” a voice cuts through my panic. The guy touching my mouth looks down the hall to where Tristian is standing. “Can you tell me why your hands are on my property?”
It’s taken me some time to learn to read Tristian. It’s only now that I realize how much better I’m getting, because his voice is perfectly even. His expression is serene, almost polite. But there’s something about those eyes, the way they’re able to chill you from the inside out with one look, that tells me just how pissed off he is.
Tucker and Beckwith must sense this.
The one behind me flinches away, while the one in front of me jumps back, dropping his hand like my lips are on fire.
He follows Tristian’s gaze to the leather cuff on my wrist and stutters out a hasty, “Hey, man, I didn’t recognize her with the hair and the makeup and—”
The other guy shifts further away. “Wait, she’s…?’
“Mine,” Tristian says, pushing through the crowd. His eyes skim over me like he’s checking for injuries or flaws. In one quick movement his arm is over my shoulder and a beer is in his hand. He lifts it to his mouth and swallows. “It looks like you were trying to delay my Lady from bringing me my drink.”
“I-I didn’t know.”
“I’m sure you the fuck didn’t, Beckwith,” he says, then cuts his eyes toward the other guy, who I assume is Tucker, “because if you were touching my girl, my drink, or any other piece of my property, I’d have to do something about it. Wouldn’t be pretty.”
“It was a misunderstanding. We were just offering to help her carry those drinks.” He gives me a pleading, simpering look. “Right?”
Tristian shifts his gaze to mine, waiting for an answer. Part of me just wants to lie and make it all go away. Another, much angrier part of me is remembering the look in Tucker’s eyes as he tried to force his thumb past my lips.
I take a breath and meet Tristian’s gaze. “They said they were going to take me out back and make me suck them off because I have a smart mouth. They wanted to teach me some manners.”
Tristian’s jaw ticks. “Interesting.”
“That one there,” I point to Tucker, “tried to shove his fingers into my mouth. They wouldn’t let me get past.” Even though he’s palming my shoulder soothingly, those icy eyes of his fix Tucker with an evil glint.
Tucker gives a tense laugh. “Bro, Tristian, that’s a complete lie. Come on, you know me. I wouldn’t—I mean, not here. She must have misunderstood or maybe she’s been drinking, I don’t—”
“My lipstick’s on his thumb.”
Tristian swiftly grabs for his hand, easily confirming this. Once he does, everything seems to happen in a blink. He has Tucker pinned against the wall, Tristian’s big hand digging into his chest. “So not only did you touch my property and upset our Lady, but you also lied to me.”
Tucker stammers, “I-I was just—”
“Racking up debt,” Tristian finishes. “The fair thing would be to take the two of you out back and teach you some manners.” By now, the confrontation is drawing stares and whispers. Tristian doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, it just makes him press harder. “I’m trying to think how we’d do that. Any ideas, Lady?”
I look on wide-eyed, my heartbeat ratcheting up. “Um…”
But Tristian just shakes his head. “Lucky for you two, we’re all just trying to have a good time tonight. I can’t bother the others about this, so it’ll have to wait.” He releases Tucker with one final shove into the wall. “It’ll give our girl some time to think of something creative. In the meantime, I think you’re going to call it a night and leave the party.”
Tucker and Beckwith both nod, still looking like they might piss their pants when they scurry away.
When Tristian turns back to me, I see there’s still a hard look in his eye. “Once you’re finished delivering those, come find me.”
He walks off and a flurry of nerves rises in my stomach when I realize that I fucked up, too. I was talking to other guys. I’d broken a rule. Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m completely screwed. Blood rushes to my ears as I search for Rath and Killian. The best thing I can do is try to make up for my mistake.
Rath is still by the stereo, talking to a group of people about music. I stand behind him and try to discreetly swap out his empty beer bottle with the fresh one. He looks down at me with that same hardness in his expression from this afternoon. Guess he’s still holding on to that one. “Do you need anything?” I ask as sweetly as possible. “Something to eat?”
“I’m fine,” he says, taking a swallow of beer before turning back to his friends.
I exhale and face the room. Killian is no longer on his throne, but I spot him headed upstairs with the two girls from before. Martin specifically told me not to interfere with his pregame ‘ritual’. But I can’t think of any ritual that includes going upstairs with two sexy blondes that doesn’t involve having sex with them. Not that it matters. What am I going to do? Follow him up there and tell him no?
The thought alone makes me shudder.
Still holding the extra beer, I make my way back to Tristian, who I eventually discover is out on the back deck. He’s standing alone, leaning against the railing. He spots me and a small smile curves on his lips. I know the best thing to do is to admit what I’d done upfront. Maybe if I do it out here, he won’t embarrass me in front of the whole party.
“There you are,” he says, glancing at the bottle in my hands. “Is that for me?”
“It was for Killian, but…he just went upstairs.”
“Ah, the pregame ritual.” Tristian laughs, using the deck rail and a strong fist to dislodge the beer cap. “I’ve never met someone so superstitious in my life. Once he does something that he thinks is lucky, he’ll add it in. In ninth grade, he wore two pairs of socks and won a game. Now he does that every game.” He takes a long swig of the beer. “Junior year of high school, he hooked up with two girls—blondes—before the homecoming game. He scored three touchdowns. He’s insisted on doing that ever since.” Tristian casually confirms what I already suspected.
“So he’s up there right now, violating the contract.”
Tristian glances up, either at my words or the flatness of my voice. “Are you jealous?”
I pull a face. “Of what? I don’t want to have sex with him any more than he wants to have sex with me. I just think if he’s not going to respect the contract, then why should any of us? Why should I?”
He raises an eyebrow, setting his beer down. “First of all, if you wanted to fuck Killer as much as he wanted to fuck you, you’d be up there right now riding him like your life depended on it. Secondly, I’m beginning to think you haven’t even read the contract.”
I bristle equally at both those assertions. “I’ve read the contract a hundred times!”
“Then you know that Killer’s pregame rituals supersede any other clauses.”
I freeze, remembering that section of the contract. “But…” How was I supposed to know his pregame ritual involved fucking other girls? Stupid. Deflating, I realize that I’ve been outplayed. I sullenly wonder, “Do you think it works?”
“The ritual?” Tristian asks, humor dancing in his blue eyes. “I think Killer wants to fuck two girls at once, and there are plenty of blondes willing to help Forsyth have a winning season.”
Nodding, I take a deep breath and say, “About earlier. I wasn’t talking to those guys on purpose. They cornered me and I was just trying to get away. I promise I wasn’t disobeying the rules.”
He reaches out, pausing at my flinch, to tuck a wayward curl behind my ear. “Oh, Sweet Cherry, I’m not blaming you for that. Those two are absolute fuckwits. New pledges. There are always a few that don’t get the rules. And there’s always a few that intentionally twist them.”
The feel of his warm fingertip against the shell of my ear makes me shiver. “They do?”
“Well, we sure as fuck did.” He takes a sip of his drink and leans his elbows on the railing. “Freshman year, all three of us made a run at the Lady who was serving here at the time.”
I hadn’t even though of that. I thought being here would keep a girl safe from things like that. “Did it work?”
He laughs, and like this, in the dark without all the artifice and posturing, he looks devastatingly handsome. “Hell no. We got our asses beat. Like, literally thrown through the gauntlet by the upper classmen.” He points to his butt. “I still have a scar from the paddling.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “So the Ladies really are off limits to anyone but the Lords.”
“Technically, yes.” He gives me an assessing look, then asks, “Can you keep a secret?” Before I can answer, he laughs. “Of course you can. You signed a contract. Well, we didn’t manage to get the Lady freshman year, but we did sophomore. It was a challenge, and she put up a fight, but in the end, we proved who deserved to live in the house.”
It occurs to me that he’s talking about Charlene.
It’s my understanding that the privilege of living in the house is for seniors only. I wasn’t sure how the guys managed to get in the house their junior year, but I guess I’m not surprised. They’ve always been incredibly competitive and ruthless. The story he just told confirms it. They take what they want. They get more than they deserve. The rest of us are just pawns in their lives.
He rests his bottle on the railing and shifts so that his hand is on my hip and we’re facing one another. “If someone ever tries to bother you, come find one of us. Male or female, we don’t care. You belong to us, Story. No one should ever lay a hand on you, do you understand that?”
I shiver at both the cool air and the sincerity behind that threat. “I do.”
He presses the back of his warm hand against my cheek. “Are you cold?” It’s startling, the way he’s looking down at me like…
Like he cares?
More startling than that is how, for a long moment, all I can think about is him bending down to kiss me.
All I can think about is how much I want him to.
Swallowing, I quietly admit, “A little.”
He doesn’t kiss me, though. “You have my permission to go get a sweater from your room, if you’d like.”
“Oh.” Even with the not-so-subtle reminder that I have no control here, it’s still possibly the sweetest gesture he’s made since I moved in. “Um. Thank you. Do you…need anything? From upstairs?”
“No, not now,” he says, winking, “but hurry back, I may think of something later.”
Even though we’re probably having whatever in this house constitutes as a pleasant moment, I’m relieved to go back inside.
Squeezing through the crowd, I climb the stairs to the second floor. Both bedroom doors are closed, but as I approach mine, I can hear voices in Killian’s. I pause, too curious for my own good. Sure enough, it’s obvious that he’s in there with at least two girls. I can hear one of them panting in breathy moans. They’re almost as loud as the bang, bang, bang of his headboard and the unmistakable sound of Killian’s angry, guttural grunts. I close my eyes and think about Killian having sex with someone. Those fiery eyes glaring down at her as his powerful hips punch into hers. Tingles run down my body and I can’t help but wonder…does he treat them like he treats me? Does he hate them? Does he want to hurt them? Maybe he’s different with other girls. Maybe he likes them. Maybe he touches them the way Tristian had just touched me. Maybe he holds them after.
Yeah, right.
My question is answered a moment later when I hear him roar, “Jesus Christ. Are you always this dry? It’s like sticking my dick in sandpaper.”
“Here,” a girl replies, her voice anxious. “Stick it in my ass. It should be good and tight.”
“No, let me suck you off first,” the other girl says. “I’ll get you ready. Fuck my mouth, baby, you know you like that.” A moment later, “Oh god, you’re so big. I can barely take it. Mmmmmm…”
The hallway fills with sounds of sex; loud and fake, porn star quality moans and squeaks. I can’t blame the girls for trying. Killian seems like the kind of guy who would want it that way. But I know better. Silly to think I’d wondered what Killian might be like with other girls. I know him. This is too easy. They like it too much.
That thought is confirmed when he shouts, “Fuck this! I’m done. Get the fuck out of here.”
“What?” one of the girls cries. “Why? Come on, baby, give us another chance. You can watch while Sadie eats me out.”
“If you don’t get the fuck out of my motherfucking room right now, I swear to god, I’ll show you what I really want to do to you!”
Even as I hear them scrambling behind the closed door, I’m still frozen in my spot from the sound of his voice, low and furious. I finally jolt when the door swings open and they rush out like the devil is on their tail. I jump, reaching for my door, but he’s there in a heartbeat, all big and angry.
Also completely naked.
“What the hell are you looking at!” he roars.
“N-nothing,” I say. “I swear, nothing.” Still, my eyes descend his body. His rippling, tattooed arms. His muscular, heaving chest. His hard washboard abs. He’s like a statue chiseled out of marble by one of the ancient masters. And below it all is his thick cock, hanging heavy between his legs. Even limp, it’s huge and intimidating, difficult to tear my gaze from. “I-I was just—”
“Just what?” he says, suddenly in front of me. He flings out a hand, clamping it around my upper arm, ignoring my flinch. “Snooping around? Spying? Digging up dirt on me?”
“What? No! I was just going to my room for a sweater. I was cold and Tristian…h-he said I could.” His eyes dart over my head to my bedroom door like he’s only just remembering it’s there. “I didn’t hear anything,” I hurriedly add.
I instantly regret it.
“Which means you heard everything,” he snarls, bruising my arm with his grip. “It’s not my goddamn fault. Those sluts with their fake tits and phony moans. It’s like a fucking low-budget porn show in there. Do you know how annoying it is to never have a single honest fuck?”
I’m not sure if he’s being rhetorical but he’s still holding onto me, and the anger’s rolling off of him like a warning. I shake my head, offering a meek, “No.”
“It’s pathetic,” he says through clenched teeth. “They’ve been fucked and manhandled by half the guys in this school. All I want is a good lay before the game. To settle some of this pent-up energy so that I can focus on the field instead of my cock for ninety fucking minutes.” His eyes narrow and pin to mine. “Tell me, why can’t I do that?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, holding back a wince as he grips my arm harder.
“Yes, you fucking do!” he shouts. “Else, you wouldn’t have tried to cut me off with that stupid fucking clause of yours. So tell me. I want to hear you say it.”
I look in his eyes, always so full of hatred for me, and I know what he wants me to say. He wants me to take the blame. He wants me to roll over. He wants to hurt me because he knows I can’t hurt him back.
Charlene’s words come back to me, and suddenly it’s like a toxic fog has been lifted.
I strike back. “I said I don’t know, Killian. I don’t know why it’s so hard for you to find a vagina to screw that meets your very special needs. But I can take a guess, if that’s what you want.” All the disgust and anger I’ve been carrying for the last three years rushes out. “Maybe you’re so fucked up in the head, so evil and spiteful, that fucking someone who’s willing just isn’t good enough for you. Maybe your dick is just as broken as your head. Maybe, deep down, you know there’s nothing appealing about you. Nothing special. Nothing worth wanting. So yeah, every time they moan—every time they beg for it—you know it’s fake. It can never be anything else.” His expression goes momentarily slack, eyes flooding with a darkness that I know I’m going to pay for. For a split second, I don’t care. I think it’ll be worth it. “Maybe you only want to fuck people who act just as disgusted by you as they feel. Because at least that’s genuine, you sick fuck.”
My back meets the wall faster than I can process the collision. “Oh, Story,” he says, mouth curling into a sharp, malicious grin. His gaze darts down, and I don’t know why, but I look too. His cock is no longer droopy and lifeless. It’s sprung to life, growing two sizes in the time it took me to mouth off to him. “I think you might be onto something. Tell me more.”
Shit.
“I-I—”
“No? Cat suddenly got your tongue?” I know better to reply, but he’s not done. He casually says, “Get on the floor.”
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Get on the floor,” he says, releasing me and shoving me down on the hallway carpet. I move to my knees, eye to eye with his bobbing cock. I try to wade through the rising panic to find acceptance in this. I knew this would come eventually. I force back the nausea roiling in my gut, but before I can settle it, he moves again, dropping in front of me. “Lay down.”
I lock up, gaping at him. “Killian…please…”
His hand shoots forward to take a handful of my hair. “You know that begging makes it hotter, Sweet Cherry. So beg all you want. Do you see what happens to my cock every fucking time you open your mouth? It gets bigger. Harder. The blood is pumping straight through me.” He grips it and runs his hand up and down the shaft. “I’m harder right now than I’ve been in years. It must be the fucking sound of your voice. It’s like a goddamn trigger.”
I bite the inside of my mouth, forcing myself to be quiet as I stare down at it, at his hand running up and down the pink, taut skin of his erection. It’s swollen and crazy big. Terrifyingly so. I think of the girl telling him to stick it in her ass. God.
“Lay down,” he says again, voice deceptively even.
“No.” A blow job is one thing. I’ve survived that before, and while I know at some point one of the guys will take my virginity, it can’t be like this. I won’t let him. “This is not happening.”
His laugh is a brittle, rough thing. “Want to bet?”
He doesn’t wait for my compliance, using the hand in my hair to shove me back. I grab his wrist, kicking out with my leg, but he uses every part of his body to force me into submission. It’s like I’m the ball wobbling down the football field and he’s determined to catch me.
It’s hardly a struggle.
He gets me flat on the ground in no time, one hand planted into my shoulder as the other swats mine away. The muscles in his chest hardly shift as he climbs on top of me, using his forearms, his knees, his legs to pin me there like a bug, completely unconcerned by my flailing limbs.
His eyes are alight like this, and even though they’re still full of anger, they’re also full of something else. Impatience? Excitement? He rips the straps of my dress away like they’re nothing, taking both my wrists in one big hand as he yanks it down my body, swiftly exposing me. His cock glides against my stomach, accidentally or intentionally, I don’t know. It’s smooth and hot and the tip leaves a sticky residue on my belly.
Breathing heavily, he looks down at my chest, greedily staring at my breasts. “Perfect,” he mutters, rubbing his thumbs over my peaked nipples. “Fucking perfect.”
Trying to stop my own chest from heaving, I let out a string of panicked appeals. “Killian, you can’t do this. You can’t fuck me, you can’t, you can’t, you’re my stepbrother, you don’t…you don’t want me. You hate me.”
The look in his eyes stops my voice cold. He shifts to pin my legs down with his feet, while his knees press into my arms. “I’m not going to fuck you, Sweet Cherry,” he says, his tone implying that he’s held off on adding a ‘not yet’ to his statement. “At least, not your pussy.”
He leans over and for a second I think he’s going to kiss me, my lips quivering at the thought, but he ducks his head and licks the valley between my breasts instead. He sits back up, his thick cock bobbing over my wet chest. His hands knead my breasts, squeezing and pushing them together before pulling them apart. I clamp my mouth shut, afraid that he’s going to force it between my lips, but he lines it up with my tits and pushes it between them instead.
“Yeah, that’s fucking good,” he groans, slowly pulling in and out. The points of his knees, the weight of his body holding me down, hurts. There’s nothing I can do. Nowhere I can go. I’m trapped, staring at Killian as his jaw clenches tight and his eyes shut, falling into a rhythm. His thumbs keep pressing down on my nipples, my very sensitive nipples. It awakens me, sending gradual jolts of unwelcome pleasure though my body. Every time he thrusts, his ass brushes back and forth across my lower belly, teasingly just above my pelvis. Warm, traitorous heat builds between my legs as I watch, powerless. He has no fucking idea what he’s doing to me.
Or at least that’s what I think, until he slows down, pushing the tip of his cock closer and closer to my face. He opens his eyes, and growls, “Kiss it.”
I turn my head away. “No.” The heat in my belly builds with every thrust, every tug and toy of my nipples.
“You will, Sweet Cherry,” he says, breath and movements slowing. He’s in control here. Always in control. “Kiss it.”
I spit, “Fuck you.” But saying things like that is now confusing. Am I saying it to make him stop? Or am I saying it to encourage him more? A fog has lowered over my brain, one that combines with the rhythmic push and pull of Killian’s cock as it slowly moves closer and closer to my mouth. Push, pull, push, pull. The most confusing thing about it is that, despite the way he’s pinning me here—despite the hurt—it doesn’t even feel aggressive. It feels like my body is suddenly on fire, like I have to put all my willpower into not raising my hips in tandem with his.
So much willpower that it’s impossible to fight the impulse to taste him.
He pushes forward again, his eyebrows pinching together. When he’s close enough, I flick out my tongue and lick the salty tip.
“Fuuuuck, Christ,” he shudders, a tremor running through his body. He does it again and this time I open my mouth, taking him inside. He’s slippery and salty, blistering hot. His breath grows ragged along with my own. I squeeze my legs together, seeking friction between my thighs, but the dark truth is that I don’t even need it. I feel like the winding ball of tension building in my belly is fit to explode just from the way he’s playing with my tits, from tasting him in my mouth, from feeling the weight of his body bearing down on me. “Tell me how much you hate me,” he says, nose flaring wide as he pistons his hips. “Tell me how much you fucking hate my guts, you dirty little white-trash whore.”
“I hate you,” I cry, feeling the spiral in my belly tightening. “You’re evil, and mean, and you let your friends hurt me. You’re the reason I ran away. You ruined my fucking life. I hate you so fucking much, Killian Payne!”
He opens his eyes and they hold mine for a long beat before he thrusts forward one last time, grabbing his cock in his hand. His body seizes, bold and beautiful, and warm come shoots out from the tip, coating my chest and neck.
He falls forward, hands landing next to my head, face inches from mine. I’m still trapped under his weight, semen pooled on my chest. He looks down at me, forehead sweaty, cheeks red. He’s disturbingly calm now, all that dark hatred and bright loathing seemingly erased from his stony features.
My own breathing is ragged, still coiled tight from being denied an orgasm I didn’t even want, caught in a whirlwind of emotions. What I’d experienced wasn’t exactly pleasure, but it wasn’t entirely pain, either. It was that place caught in the middle, the one Charlene must have been talking about. It’s dangerous. Sinister.
Killian blinks, like he’s slowly coming back to reality. He sits up, which forces his body to press down on mine. I cry out in pain. Without even looking, I know I’m going to have bruises from the way he pinned me down. He doesn’t seem to give a damn.
He exhales, releasing my arms and legs, and then climbs back to his feet. Fully aware that I can move now, I don’t. I stay exactly where he’s left me, sprawled out, breathless, aching, used.
“That,” he says quietly, “was your fault. You forced me to do that to you. Just like you always force guys to hurt you. You came up here and got in my business, and then you knowingly provoked me into this. That’s what you do, Story. That’s what you always fucking do.” His eyes travel over me, lips curling in disgust. “You think I’m the one who’s broken? Look at you. You can get away, but you won’t. Whenever you try, you just come right back. So what the fuck does that make you?” He shakes his head like I’m pathetic. Like he’s not the one who just defiled me. He bends and grabs a handful of the dress he’d pooled around my waist, yanking it over his spunk on my chest. “Clean yourself up and go to bed. You’re a fucking embarrassment.”
He steps over me and walks back into this room, slamming the door behind him. I’m left on the floor, half naked, covered in semen, while the sounds of the party travel up the stairs. A sob rises in my throat as I finally sit up. I don’t even try to stand, my arms and legs weak and wobbly from being pinned for so long. I crawl out of the hall and into my room, closing and locking everyone and everything out.
