by Mariano, Sam
“Doesn’t matter,” he says casually. “You’re here now, little virgin.”
I swallow, a feeling of foreboding sweeping over me as I look up at him. I’m full of anger because I knew this would happen if I came here tonight, but Grace gave me no other choice. I could let him hurt her, or show up and risk him hurting me.
It’s too late, so there’s no point thinking about that anymore. I need to get out of this and I don’t know how. My skin is still hot from the surge of adrenaline, from the effort of fighting him off. It’s hard to think with him on top of me like this, and then he makes matters worse, reaching down and casually slipping two buttons through their holes on my skirt.
“Carter, no.” I shove his hand away and start to rebutton, but before I can get even the first one fixed, he shifts, grabs my wrists, and shoves them over my head on the mattress. The movement brings his body closer, brings his face close to mine.
My heart skips several beats at how easily he holds me down when I’m fighting against him with all my strength. His dark eyes hold mine captive. I can’t look away. They don’t betray even a shadow of conflict. Instead, they sparkle, like he couldn’t be more pleased that this is happening. It’s terrifying, his disregard for right and wrong. The pleasure he gets out of making me powerless. He knows I am. I try to push his hands away with another burst of effort and his arms don’t move an inch, even using all my strength to shove at him.
“You like having me at your mercy?” I demand, my tone scathing.
Without remorse, he says, “I do.”
I try to free myself again, but it’s like trying to push a truck off me—useless. I don’t have the physical strength or stamina to match his. My body doesn’t go through the same rigorous training, so every burst of effort takes much more out of me than it does him. Cartwright’s words ring out in my mind: We’re champions.
I’m losing energy—and heart—with every failed attempt to get him off me. I’m breathing hard, flooded with so many different emotions; meanwhile, Carter hasn’t broken a sweat. He’s just waiting me out.
This is so unfair.
“Done fighting, princess?” he asks, casually, as if he could do this all day.
“What happened to you?” I demand. “What made you like this? Were you born this way, or did someone create this monster?”
Now he rolls his eyes, pulling my hands close enough together that he only needs to hold them with one, freeing his other hand up. “Let’s not get into another counseling session, okay, Ellis? You’re not getting paid by the hour.”
“Don’t do this,” I implore him.
Ignoring me, he uses his free hand to resume unbuttoning my skirt. He pushes it open and smirks at the plain, white cotton panties beneath. “Of course. Virgin panties.”
I flush with embarrassment, and that makes me even angrier. He slides his hand between my legs, cupping the last part of my body he should be touching. I draw in a few shallow breaths, drowning in humiliation. Tears sting my eyes, but I will them away. His knees are between my legs, so I can’t even squeeze them shut. I can’t stop him from touching me.
“Have you ever let a guy get you off?” he asks casually.
I refuse to dignify that question with an answer, glaring silently at the ceiling.
“Probably not, huh?” he replies, unbothered by my lack of participation. “You’re a bit of an ice princess. Doesn’t bother me, but… you are.”
I almost manage to ignore him, but then he slides a finger up under the fabric and I panic, moving my hips to try to get his hand off me. “Carter, please.”
He teases me, playing with the elastic, letting his finger brush the inside of my thigh. “Well, since you said please…”
I eye him warily, but he moves his hand away from my panties and trails it up my abdomen. He runs the flat of his palm all the way up until he can cup my breast, then he caresses one in his hand.
“Mm, I’ve missed these,” he tells me.
I’m still wearing a shirt, but it’s the black one that laces up at the bust. Carter begins working the lace free from the top, and when he’s done, the shirt gapes open all the way to my waist. He slides his hand inside and cups my left breast, palming it and sending a shard of ice straight through me.
I don’t know whether to ask him to stop again or stop feeding him. Maybe I should just shut him out. He’s probably going to do whatever he wants to me anyway. This is out of my control now. There’s nothing I can say or do—there hasn’t been, since he got a taste for this in that damn empty classroom. He may as well have held me down and inflicted all the crude bullshit he desired that day, because now on top of everything else, I feel like a fool. A fool for being intrigued by him, for letting myself feel even a sliver of sympathy for him, for letting myself wonder if there might be more to him, if maybe that day in the classroom, he got carried away, too.
He didn’t. This is who he is, and I don’t think he’s sorry.
He releases my hands and despite all the doom and gloom of the moment, I’m hit by a swell of hope. Is he letting me go? Is he stopping?
Then I meet his gaze, and he smiles faintly. “Now, let’s get this shirt all the way off.”
Chapter 14
Even though I’m tired, even though I know I’ll lose, I try my best to keep my shirt on. Carter seems to draw pleasure out of the struggle. Once he has my bra off, too, he shoves me back down on the bed in nothing more than my panties and removes the last of my doubts as to whether or not he enjoyed that; he grinds himself against me, and I can tell he’s aroused by how hard he is.
I don’t know how to get control of this thing, but force isn’t working. Well, it’s not working for me. It’s clearly working just fine for him. Force only works if you’re the stronger opponent. I don’t have the physical strength, but maybe I can win using a different kind of weapon.
Even though I’m terrified I’m about to be violated, I force myself to go soft. I stop struggling against him, stop flinching when he runs his thumb over my nipple, stop wallowing in the humiliation of him looking at me mostly naked. I stop everything and do my best to switch gears, to fight his violence with the last thing I want to give him—submission.
My hands aren’t pinned anymore. Tentatively, I lift a hand, reaching toward his face. As if on reflex, his fingers close around my wrist to stop me. He starts to move it like he has been, but when his hard eyes meet mine, I shake my head.
“I just want to touch you,” I tell him gently.
My heart hammers in my chest as he regards me skeptically, but I suppose he decides if I’m lying and I slap him, it’s nothing he can’t handle. He releases my hand to see what I’ll do with it.
My hand trembles slightly, but I bring it to his face, caressing his strong jaw. I bring my other hand up to the other side of his face and draw him closer. He lets me. I drag him closer until his forehead is resting against mine, then I kiss the corner of his mouth. He stiffens, but doesn’t pull away. Understandably, he doesn’t know what the hell is happening, but I keep at it. I keep touching his face, I kiss the other corner of his mouth.
His voice is low, more a grumble than anything. “What are you doing, Ellis?”
Ellis, not Zoey. He calls me Ellis when he’s keeping me at a distance.
Instead of answering him with words, I kiss his upper lip, then his lower lip. Before I can decide whether or not I want to kiss him fully on the mouth, he takes the decision out of my hands, claiming my lips aggressively, pushing me into the mattress as his hand moves to cup my breast. He squeezes while he kisses me, harder, faster, much more powerfully than the tiny kisses I was giving him.
Something stirs inside me, and this time it’s not fear. This time it’s something a little dizzying that knocks me off kilter. His tongue demands entrance to my mouth. I’ve never been kissed this way before, but I open my mouth on a gasp and he sweeps in, his tongue tangling with mine. I’m lost in a sea of sensation already, then his hand slips under the waistband of my panti
es.
“Wait,” I cry, breaking the kiss. “Carter, please don’t hurt me.”
“Sh,” he murmurs against my lips. “I won’t. Just relax. I want to make you feel good.”
I don’t trust him, but I try not to let him feel that. I draw in a shaky breath and meet his gaze, searching for something to believe in. His big hand covers me again, this time without the thin barrier of my panties.
Not allowing me time to think or doubt, his lips claim mine again. This kiss is hard and hot—it’s a brand and a drug all in one, marking me as ruined, then dragging me under so that I don’t care. I struggle to hold onto sanity, but Carter pushes his finger inside me, gently caressing me, tempting me to follow him instead. I gasp against his mouth. He catches my bottom lip between his and bites—not hard, but enough to startle me. He strokes my clit and I moan, my eyes rolling back, my chest working.
He leaves a trail of rough kisses along my jaw, making his way to my neck, fingering me all the while. I’m a mess of stimulated nerve endings, crying out and trembling, chills of arousal hitting me on and off. I can’t even think, I can only want. Need. Feel.
“Carter,” I cry. I don’t even know why, I don’t know what I want to ask for.
“Feel good, princess?”
With my eyes closed, I nod my head. “Yeah.”
“You want more?”
If I had the ability to think, I might consider what ‘more’ might entail and give him a resounding no, but I can’t think, I can only feel, and what I feel is a building tension inside my body, a need I can’t describe. It’s like he’s using his finger to drive me crazy and I’ll explode without some outlet. Instead of saying no, I nod.
Carter chuckles, kissing me softly, like he finds me adorable. “You really haven’t let anyone touch you before, have you? You’ve just been waiting for me to find you.”
I spread my legs wider, moving against his hand. “Carter, please…”
“Please what, princess? Tell me what you want.”
I shake my head, already flushed with all he’s doing to my body, so at least I can’t blush more.
“You want me to make you come?” he asks.
Licking my lips, I nod my head. My heart falters as I do, but I’m so close, I can feel it sneaking up on me. I need him to take me the rest of the way. I need it. “Please,” I whisper.
“Mm, anything for you, princess,” he hums against my lips, before claiming them again. His tongue sweeps into my mouth as his finger moves fast against my clit and I feel myself starting to come apart. In the same way he dismantled my shirt by drawing out the laces, he plays with me, teasing that sensitive place inside me like he knows just how to set me free.
And then he does. I cry out, helpless to keep the sounds in as pleasure so intense that I want to weep bursts open inside me. I moan and cry out against his mouth, the sharp pleasure taking its time moving through me. Oh, God, it feels incredible.
It finally stops, the sharpness ebbing, and I fall into a cocoon of blissful satisfaction. I need to be close to him. Gratitude consumes me, my body overriding my brain, wanting to thank him for that wonderful feeling he just gave me.
Carter must sense it—or I guess maybe he’s just experienced this before, but I haven’t. Either way, he rolls on his side and I immediately snuggle as close to him as I can get, wrapping my arm around his torso and nuzzling into his chest. At least for this moment, I am content as a kitten. I don’t care what he is, I don’t care about all he’s made me feel—my body is in control, and it only cares about the most recent thing he made me feel, and that was intense, mind-melting pleasure.
Carter’s arms settle around me and he keeps me close. I feel him kiss the top of my head, so I tip my head up, smiling at him softly, and give him a gentle kiss on the lips.
There are no words spoken between us, but after a moment, Carter reaches for one of my hands and guides it to the hardness between his legs. I got my release, but he’s still turned on. Still consumed with gratitude and affection, I don’t move my hand away. I rub him through the stiff fabric of his jeans, then I unbutton and unzip his pants so I can push my hand down inside.
I watch Carter close his eyes, see the pleasure on his face as I stroke him. His grip on me tightens as I work his dick. I can tell by the sounds he’s making, by the way he fists his hand in my hair, what I’m doing is making him feel as good as he made me.
Then he says, “Zoey, I need your mouth.”
I slide down the bed, tugging his jeans down. His cock springs free and I take it in my hand, pumping and stroking. Then I pull my hair over my shoulder and bend to take it into my mouth. He groans as soon as my mouth slides over half his length. I don’t take him deep this time, but I don’t need to. My hand has done most of the work, he just needed a place to come. With a couple more minutes of pumping and sucking, he grabs a fistful of my hair, groans, and empties himself in my mouth.
When he’s done, he uses the fistful of hair in his hand to drag me back up next to him. I’m still pretty relaxed, so I let him drag me around like a ragdoll. I curl right up with him again, feeling strangely safe and secure when he wraps his arms around my waist and holds me, like he wants me as close as he can get me. I rest my face against his chest, still covered with his T-shirt.
It’s probably indicative of our relationship that after what we just did, I’m stripped almost completely bare, while Carter is still almost fully dressed, only naked enough for me to service him.
I can’t care about that right now. Closing my eyes, I let myself relax in his embrace and refuse to let my brain turn back on.
* * *
I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I must have. When my eyes drift open, I’m alone on the bed. My skirt and shirt are laid out down by my legs, so I sit up, slightly disoriented, and reach for them. I look around, not seeing Carter, and my stomach sinks. Did he leave me here? He was done with me so he skipped out?
Probably. It would be stupid to expect anything less.
While I felt great in my brainless, post-orgasm moments, now reality comes back with a vengeance. I am a fucking moron if I thought I’d wake up and he would still be here, spooning me. Hell, while I’m expecting ridiculous things, I should just dream up a declaration of love and repentance, maybe a promise that we’ll go to colleges close to each other, since we are clearly going to get married and have babies all because he fingered me and I sucked his dick to avoid rape for the second time.
“Get it together, Zoey,” I mutter to myself, shaking my head and trying to orient myself to being awake. I’m still tired and I want to go back to bed. I will, but first I need to put my clothes on, go retrieve Grace, and take her home.
All the fun has died. My Carter high is wearing off and I am crashing, hard. Shit. That should not have happened. Well, there’s little point beating myself up over it, I guess. What’s done is done. Maybe now that Carter sort of got in my pants, he’ll lose interest in this chase. Maybe now he’ll leave me alone and I can get back to my life.
I’m able to look on the bright side, but as I’m walking down the stairs, I’m hit by a swell of dread. I keep my head down, hoping I can find Grace and slip out unnoticed.
Unfortunately, it becomes apparent that in order to get to the kitchen where I see her sitting on a stool next to Jake, I have to cross the living room full of teenagers. I don’t know how long I was upstairs asleep, but if Carter came down without me, they probably have ideas—
Before I can even complete the thought, Shayne smirks at me and starts golf-clapping. I swallow down a lump of embarrassment, but I can’t keep my eyes from darting around the room to see who else might have noticed, who else might be judging me.
Everybody. That seems to be the answer. Cartwright is smirking, red Solo cup in hand. Erika has her arms crossed. She’s not clapping, she goes the more direct route and says, “Whore.”
My stomach sinks and I head for the kitchen, trying to escape the lewd comments and additional mocking. Trying not to lo
ok for Carter. If I see him smirking and enjoying this, I won’t even be able to hold onto a shred of a silver lining. This will be all regret and nothing nice, and I don’t want to deal with that right now.
As if summoned by my thoughts, Carter steps into view. I didn’t see him because he was in the kitchen with Grace and Jake, not in the living room with everyone else. He frowns, glancing around at his friends clapping, making comments, and generally being assholes, then he sees me and understands why.
“All right, that’s enough of that,” he tells them.
“Hey, we shouldn’t be surprised,” Cartwright says, smirking and lifting his chin in Carter’s direction. “We all know Zoey the ho gets around.”
“Nope,” Carter replies, shaking his head. “We’re done calling her that. Knock it off.”
“Aww,” Erika sneers, somewhat playfully—but passive aggressively playful. “Look at Carter, protecting his flavor of the week. How gallant.”
This is more humiliating than I was prepared for. Just coming downstairs after falling asleep makes it so obvious I must have done something with him.
“She must have sucked that dick good, huh?” Shayne says, grinning.
My wide eyes snap to Carter’s accusingly. “You told them?”
Grimacing faintly, Carter says, “Nope. You just did.”
I can’t even look at Grace. I cover my face with my hands, while laughter and taunts fill the room at my back. “Nice one,” they tell him.
“Way to slut it up in my bedroom,” Erika chimes in, reviving the golf clap.
“You know what, Erika,” Carter says, casually. “You’ve sucked my dick, too, so if you’re handing out accolades, make sure to give yourself a pat on the back.” His gaze shifts and he lifts an eyebrow. “Brianna, you wanna talk shit?”
Brianna immediately chirps, “Nope.”
“Well, I ain’t ever sucked your dick,” Clemons states. “I’ll talk all the shit I want.”
“Yeah?” Carter asks. “The way you played tonight, you must be sucking someone’s dick to stay on the team, you slow-ass motherfucker.”