Broken English (Broken Lives Book 1)

by Marita A. Hansen

  I returned my attention to Phelia. “What will it take for you to go out with Jasper?”

  She jerked her head back. “Nuthin’.”

  “You sure ’bout that?”

  “Positive.”

  “Even if I let you get with me?”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “What do you mean by that?”

  I glanced down the corridor, Mrs. Hatton long gone. I wasn’t going to get her no matter how much I wanted to, but I could at least help Jasper get the chick he wanted.

  I refocused on Phelia. “If you wanna get with me, the only way it’ll happen is if you let Jasper fuck you at the same time.”

  “A threesome?”

  I nodded.

  She glanced at Jasper, who was staring at her with big puppy dog eyes, my mate begging her without even saying a word.

  She looked back at me. “As long as you’re in front of me the whole time and I can do whatever I like to you,” she said more readily than I’d expected, her quick agreement taking me by surprise. Maybe I was wrong to defend her the other day, because out of the three of us, I was the only one who’d resisted the idea.

  “Say yes,” Jasper said, pulling my attention to him. His eyes were now full-on pleading, the desperation coming off him in waves. “You won’t owe me for anything if you do this for me,” he added. “If anything, I’ll owe you.”

  I looked back at Phelia, who was also staring at me with a pleading expression. “Okay,” I forced out, knowing I needed a shitload of drugs to get through this.

  29

  CLARA

  It hurt ... hurt so much, knowing that Phelia was with Dante now. Ever since that day they’d skipped out on rehearsal, she hung out with him and Jasper, not leaving their sides. The day before my husband was due back from London, I watched her running a hand up and down Dante’s arm while they rehearsed their lines on stage, what she was doing upsetting me more than usual. I knew I had no right to be angry, that I had no claim over Dante. I was the one who’d rejected him, not the other way round. But as the minutes ticked by, I found myself getting more and more wound up. Then she took hold of his hand, that one small gesture finally causing me to snap.

  “That’s enough!” I yelled from my seat.

  They both turned towards me with questioning looks.

  “What’s wrong, miss?” Phelia asked, letting go of Dante’s hand.

  “I’m getting sick and tired of watching you feel Dante up when you’re supposed to be rehearsing.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m not feeling him up!”

  “Touching him, then.”

  “What’s so wrong ’bout that?”

  “There’s no touching in this scene, or the last one, or the one prior to that, so if I catch you doing it one more time, I will stop the rehearsal.”

  “But, I was only holding his hand, and he’s fine with it.”

  I shifted my focus to Dante. “Are you fine with it?” I asked, wishing he didn’t look so damn good. It was muftie day, which meant he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, he was wearing scruffy jeans and a Bob Marley shirt, which made him look sexy, the word fitting him down to his ripped T.

  “Of course I’m fuckin’ fine with it,” he answered me, his tone overly harsh.

  “Don’t use that language with me.”

  He grimaced. “What’s your issue? It wuzn’t like she wuz unzipping my pants.”

  I clamped my mouth shut, knowing I deserved that comment. Phelia frowned, looking between Dante and me, probably picking up on the intense vibe between us.

  “Just stop the touching,” I quickly said, needing to defuse the situation before her suspicions were piqued further.

  “I wuzn’t touching her, she wuz touching me.” He cocked his head to the side, giving me a look that said, ‘Like you touched me’.

  “I meant Phelia, not you.”

  “So, she can’t touch me?”

  “Dante, please stop goading me.”

  “No, I just needa get things straight so you don’t blow your stack again.”

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper, but I’m here to help you with the musical, not to watch what she was doing up there.”

  “Okay. I got it. She can’t touch me, but I can touch her.” He slung an arm over her shoulders, resting his hand on her breast.

  “Dante! Get your hand off her...”

  “Off her what, miss?”

  I didn’t reply.

  “It’s called a tit,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt.

  Phelia giggled, seemingly enjoying what Dante was doing.

  I stood up, unable to handle the situation any longer. “I’m done,” I said, grabbing my jacket and bag. I headed for the double doors at the back of the hall, so infuriated that I wanted to scream at him. It was even harder that I had to see him every damn day at school, reminding me of what I’d done, as well as what I wanted to do with him ... to him ... but couldn’t. He was just too attractive, a temptation constantly taunting me, playing with me, ripping my fucking mind apart. Not only did he distract me from my work, he put tainted thoughts into my head that didn’t belong there, ones that I constantly wanted to act upon.

  I headed for my office, which was on the other side of my classroom’s whiteboard. It was wedged in between another room, a tiny box without windows. Shutting the door behind me, I switched on the light and slumped into my chair, feeling like crying. I didn’t understand why I wanted him so bad. Yes, he was gorgeous, yes, he was intensely sexual, but I’d come across other gorgeous and sexual men before... No, I was wrong, because I’d never come across anyone as sexual as Dante. It came off him in waves: the way he looked, his expressions, the way he walked, his voice, his words—and it was driving me insane. I wanted to scream, to rage at something, anything... No, I wanted him to make me come, but all I could do was use my hand.

  I slipped it under my dress and burrowed into my knickers, desperate to let off some steam. I closed my eyes, imagining Dante up on the stage: his looks, his muscles, the sweep of his jaw line, his gorgeous hair... I squeezed my legs together and started rubbing myself.

  Undoing a few buttons, I pulled one of my breasts out of my bra and started rolling my nipple, imagining him doing it, using it to get closer to an orgasm, to a closure, to anything, because I couldn’t continue this way. He was turning me into a tight knot of frustrations, so much so that I couldn’t think straight anymore.

  Desperately needing release, I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, panting as I rubbed myself, my mind on Dante doing it for me. The pressure inside of me continued to grow, building up and up until pleasure shot through me, my climax hitting me, taking me to a Heaven I didn’t belong in, the name leaving my lips giving me a one-way ticket to Hell.

  A male voice gasped, “Jesus!”

  My eyes shot open, the realisation I’d forgotten to lock the door slamming into me harder than a freight train. But what hit me even more was who was standing in the doorway.

  Dante.

  He was staring at me with wide, shocked eyes. I stared back, also in shock, the both of us frozen in that moment, not believing what we were seeing. Then, like a switch had been flicked, his stunned expression turned to arousal. His eyes lowered to my bare breast, alerting me to the fact it was still hanging out of my bra. But again, I couldn’t move. Something was holding me in place, locking me to the chair, my hand not moving from my knickers.

  A smile formed across his lips. He closed the door and flicked the lock, the resounding click finally breaking me out of my stunned state. I let go of my breast and whipped my hand out of my knickers, quickly righting my bra. My mind was in a whirl, my face burning, my heart racing too fast for me to handle. I had to get away from him, because if I stayed, I knew things weren’t going to end well.

  “You just came saying my name,” he said, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it.

  I remained silent, unable to deny it. Though, his expression was starting to scare me. He looked like his father had in t
he principal’s office: wanting to mount me. It was the only way I could describe it, because his whole demeanour was animalistic, a tiger ready to pounce on his prey. It was a stupid thought, an overly dramatic description, but nonetheless it fitted the way he was looking at me.

  His hand went to his pants, unzipping his fly. “I can make you come harder with my cock,” he drawled, pulling it out.

  I stared at it in disbelief. He gave his dick a few strokes, then removed a condom from his pocket. The fact he had one at the ready was startling in itself, but the way he rolled it on, slipping it over his hard shaft with such fluidity was disconcerting. It was as though he’d done it a million times before, the movement second nature to him. The uneasy feeling grew, dragging me a little out of my shock, but I still couldn’t say a word. Instead, an unwelcome thrum of excitement ran through my body, overriding the unease and all other logical thought, my mind in a constant state of flux, shifting between emotions faster than I could process.

  Then he leaned down towards me, giving me another smile. He had me. And he knew it.

  I had to leave now, to push him away like I did at the detention. I needed to get the hell out of the room, because if I didn’t, I would regret it. But again, I did nothing, other than stare at his beautiful face. Those dark eyes. The wicked curve of his lips. All so captivating.

  He lowered his face, his breath mingling with my own. Then his lips were on mine. So soft, testing, teasing, tasting. His tongue pressed against my lips, tentatively at first, then with more force. I opened my mouth instinctively. He slid his tongue inside, tangling it with mine, becoming more and more aggressive. His hand moved to my head, his fingers digging into my hair as he ... no, we kissed, because I was now returning what he was doing, no thought involved, only desire, the bloom below becoming stronger. It was almost pulsing, aching for him, the built-up frustration of seeing what I wanted and not being able to touch it ... to touch him, finally breaking free. I was doing what I wanted, tasting, biting, gripping onto his head. I didn’t even remember lifting my hands. My body was several steps ahead of my mind, moving of its own volition. And I revelled in it, loving that I could finally bury my fingers into his hair, the soft waves divine to touch.

  Strong hands slid under me, lifting me with ease out of the chair. Breaking our kiss, Dante settled me on the desk and disentangled my fingers from his hair. Before I could react, he slipped a hand under my dress and tugged my knickers down my legs, being overly rough in his excitement. Part of the lace tore as he yanked them off. He tossed the ruined knickers aside, the pink material drifting down to the floor beside him, almost in slow motion.

  He grabbed my hips and yanked me forward, startling a cry out of me. He didn’t look up at me, didn’t even react, because his eyes were locked onto my naked crotch, lust dilating his pupils, making his irises look pitch black. A wicked glint passed through them. The next second he was on his knees, placing his mouth to my... I inhaled sharply, what he was doing unbelievable, indescribable. I couldn’t even think about the actual act, too stunned, too shocked, my mind a whirlwind of emotions, every single one battling for attention.

  Fear

  Shame

  Lust

  Need

  Pleasure

  Want

  And I did want this ... more than anything. He was doing things with his mouth and fingers that were making me squirm and tense all at the same time. The pleasure was overwhelming me, his manipulations so perfect, too perfect for someone of his age. That last thought filled me with apprehension, sending pinpricks of unease down my spine. My mind started screaming that this wasn’t right ... so wrong, so fucking wrong. He shouldn’t know how to give oral sex, to make my mind lose control over my body. Even my husband didn’t do half of what Dante was doing. But instead of giving into my apprehension and fear, allowing reason to wrench back control, I grabbed his head, locking him in place, allowing him to continue, losing a little piece of my sanity in that moment. My mind was tripping over itself, tumbling down a rabbit hole, getting lost in his manipulations, the high he was giving me, the pleasure, the ecstasy. Every lick and nip caused me to grip harder onto his head, tangling my fingers in his gorgeous wavy, black hair. I started keening and thrusting my pelvis forward, pressing myself against his face, wanting more and more.

  He made a grunting sound and took hold of my hands, forcibly detaching them from his head again. He inhaled loudly, looking a touch out of breath. He wiped a hand across his face and rose up over me, his expression once more resembling his father’s, just a hundredfold, because he didn’t look like he wanted to mount me—he was going to. He yanked me forward, placing his dick at my entrance. I watched it with a feeling of detachment, as though it was going into someone else’s body.

  Then it penetrated me. For a moment I could barely breathe, just lay there, panting, with him inside of me, his face flushed with ecstasy.

  “Jesus,” he groaned, pleasure overwhelming his face, making him look even more stunning. “You feel so good.” He closed his eyes, going still for a moment, the two of us locked together. Then a second later, his eyes snapped open. He grabbed my hips and started fucking me hard, what he was doing—again—only allowed in my fantasies. Not in reality, never in reality, but I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t want to either, what I was feeling winning over all of my concerns, causing my logic to disintegrate, to implode upon itself, wiping out all thought of right and wrong, only pleasure important, the feelings taking me somewhere I knew I couldn’t return from.

  I was damned.

  I cried out as he hit something inside of me just right. He placed a hand over my mouth, stifling more of my cries. My mind fell further into disrepair, the pleasure he was causing overpowering my body, making me breathe harder, to pant, to murmur his name, each sound getting smothered by his hand. I couldn’t deal with this, or how it felt, which just amped things up even more, yanking on my insides, causing my nerves, my lust, my desires, everything to soar up and up and up, until I felt like exploding, the pressure inside of me too much...

  I cried out into his hand, coming a second later. I grabbed his head and yanked it down. Dante let go of my mouth right before I smashed my lips against his. Then he was coming too, his hands gripping onto me hard, my mouth in turn swallowing his cries, the both of us not caring about anything or anyone other than the two of us, in this moment—now.

  Then it stopped.

  And the consequences began.

  *

  SHATTERED POETRY

  (BROKEN LIVES #2)

  Coming Soon...

  *

  BROKEN ENGLISH

  My identity is not seen in the way I look, but heard in the way I talk

  With a broken form of English

  That is neither British, Irish, or Scottish

  Instead, it’s shaped by my Māori heritage, interlanguage

  That belongs to New Zealand, not our Aussie neighbours

  We’re not convicts from their past, we’re prisoners from our present

  Stealing, whoring, tagging, killing

  Biding our time until we get locked up, away, never to see the light of day

  By the cops, pigs, oink-oink, disrespect they don’t deserve, but get nonetheless

  Cos we don’t understand their need to heed our country’s creed

  But they also don’t comprehend

  That the illegal things we do, perpetrate, commit, break

  Are not always by choice, but necessity, our families’ lives at stake

  Cos money doesn’t flow for us like it does on the streets of Herne Bay

  Unless we’re dishing out drugs, or letting a John or Jane pay to lay

  Fuck

  Our bodies into disarray

  It’s the poetry of our streets

  A broken rhyme for a dime, a verse for a hearse

  We’re killing ourselves, dying to feel, to deal, to steal

  Another breath, before we’re sent to our death

  Through a knife
, a fight, or a bullet to our brain

  Leaving behind a bloody stain

  Upon the streets of South Auckland

  Where fractured melodies play across an urbanscape

  Filled with houses carved from cemented dynamite

  Called Asbestos, Sillimanite, a painted Fibrolite

  Cold and mouldy buildings serenaded by cop lights

  The police blinding us with criminals’ kryptonite

  Until we have no fight

  Left in us

  Anymore

  By Dante Rata

  A modern day troubadour

  A Special Note from the Author:

  Thank you for reading BROKEN ENGLISH!

  I would like to ask if you could review this story along with any of my other books that you’ve read, regardless of whether you’ve loved or hated them, because every review counts, especially for self-published authors.

  Here’s the link to my Amazon author page, where you can find all of my books:

  http://www.amazon.com/Marita-A.-Hansen/e/B005H5W79K/ref=ntt_athr_dp_pel_1

  Also, if you’re interested in reading more about an older version of Dante, he features in the Behind the Lives series (from book 2 onwards). He also has a cameo in book 1, though please note that Behind the Hood has a different feeling to the rest of its series. Nevertheless, if you read Behind the Lives, don’t assume the outcome to Broken Lives. If Broken Lives’ first trilogy is successful, I will write a second trilogy about Clara and Dante, just continuing their story nine years later.

  Regards,

  Marita A. Hansen.