He pulls back to take in my face. “What are you saying?”
“You and me alone in a room, with no parental supervision.”
His brows shoot skyward. “Not even your bodyguard?”
I grin, wickedly. “Especially not my bodyguard.”
“Jesus. I think I just came in my pants.”
“Well don’t waste it on Jesus.” I do my best Darth Vader impersonation. “Luke, take me to your bedroom.”
“You’re so fucking weird. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. Believe it or not, you aren’t the first person to say that to me.” I slide down his body, trying my damnedest to temper my excitement at feeling his erection pressed against my soft belly. “I brought you a present.”
“Is it your pussy wrapped up in a big red bow?” he mutters, nuzzling my neck.
I pull away and wave the bottle of tequila in front of his face. “Nope, sorry, just booze.”
“So it’s as good as you handing me your pussy tied up with a big red bow.”
“Exactly.” I nod.
“A girl who brings real booze to a kegger. I think I kind of love you right now.”
“But you’re only allowed to have it if you do body shots off of me.”
“Christ, tequila never looked so damn good. If we don’t hurry I’m gonna be jizzing in my pants.”
“Nothing like teenage stamina,” I say and then spin around to face the room. I come face to face, or rather face to chest with a very familiar torso. Sam grunts as I barrel into him and then I back up into Luke.
“I thought you said you didn’t bring Sam with you, Pepper.” His tone is clipped, and one look at Luke’s face tells me he’s as happy with Sammy’s presence here as I am. Which—obviously—is not at all.
“I didn’t,” I bite out, glaring up at Sam.
“Can I talk to you,” Sam says. That isn’t a question, by the way—it’s a demand. His fingers wrap around my upper arm and he yanks me out of Luke’s embrace.
“No,” I say, attempting to yank my arm free, but I can’t. His grip is too tight, punishing.
“Hey, how about you leave her alone?” Luke says, finally standing up to Sam. About fucking time. Jeez, how many times can you let another dude cock block you before you lose all my respect?
“How about you keep your fucking mouth shut and your hands off Pepper?” Sam hisses in a low, deadly voice. He takes the tequila bottle from my hand and shoves it at Jake, who edges his way between Luke and I, allowing Sammy to pull me even closer to him.
Jake whispers something in Luke’s ear. His eyes widen as he glances back and forth between Sam and me, and then Jake puts his arms around Luke’s shoulder in a gesture reserved only for best mates. “Fucking kick-arse party, man. Come and introduce me to some of this sweet-arse under-age pussy.”
He lures Luke away, forcefully, and the next thing I know I’m being hauled into the kitchen and shoved into a pantry. Sam turns on the light and then closes the door behind him. He takes a step towards me. It’s only one step, but it’s enough for him to be towering over me, enough for his scent to engulf me, and turn my brain to mush.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“What am I doing? What the hell are you doing? You were supposed to drop me off and leave, not play chaperone.”
“I ran into Jake on the way out.”
“So you thought you’d stay and cock block me?”
“You need to stop talking.”
“Fuck you.”
“What are you doing with him, Pepper?”
“Well, I was trying to get laid.”
“Jesus Christ.” He runs a hand through his hair, almost knocking me out in the process. “You know he’s just using you, right? Once he gets what he wants he’ll be onto the next easy lay.”
“Maybe I’m just using him, too.”
“For what, Pepper?”
“Because he gives me what everyone else can’t.”
“What? Herpes? Fuck me.” He shouts. Music thumps in the background and the sounds of rowdy teens filter in beneath the pantry door, but all of that falls away when he says, “What can he possibly give you that me or anyone else can’t?”
“He makes me numb,” I shout back, and then I close my eyes. “When Luke touches me, I don’t feel a goddamn thing.”
“And that’s a good thing how?”
“Because it means I don’t have to cut myself in order to release the demons inside my head.”
Sam stares down at me, confused, and then he snatches up my wrists, frantically checking them over for scars. He shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
I tug free from his grasp and push him back half a step. He stumbles for a beat and then rights himself, staring at me in confusion. I take hold of my skirt and lift it up, exposing my underwear to him. Sam winces and closes his eyes. “What are you doing? Put your fucking skirt down.”
“Open your eyes, Sam.”
“Pepper.” His jaw is tight, and I know he’s grinding his teeth, because I can hear it in the tiny room that’s far too hot and too full of all the words we can’t say to one another.
“Open your eyes and see me. Just once,” I sob. “I just need you to see me.”
He does open his eyes, but it’s not to look at me the way I want him to. He’s angry. No, he’s livid. Sam pushes me up against the shelves. It hurts. His hands cup my face, but it’s not the tender touch I’d hoped for in my fantasies. “I see you. I see you every goddamned day. I’ve seen you every day since you were born. I see you and no one else. So don’t fucking tell me to see you just once, because no one on this earth sees you the way I do. Not your parents. Not my sister, not Elijah, or Lil, and especially not Luke fucking Roberts. Don’t tell me to see you, because I can’t get you out of my goddamned head, I see you and it kills me that I can’t have you.”
“Why can’t you have me?” I whisper, searching his face. It softens.
“You know why, Little.” He lays a kiss to my temple. “No one would understand it.”
“And you care what everyone else thinks?”
“I care what the family thinks. I care about what this would do to you. You’re still a kid, and I am not.”
I raise my brow and jut my chest forward. He glances down at my cleavage and exhales. “Okay, point taken. You’re a woman, Pepper. A young woman”—he shoots me a challenging gaze—“but this is still wrong on so many levels.”
“Why is it wrong if it’s what we both want?”
“Because sometimes what we want and what’s best for us are two very different things.”
“I want you, Sam.” I reach up and pull his face down to mine. He allows himself to be manipulated by my hands. His eyes are soft and pleading, begging me not to do this, or maybe they’re begging me to do this. I don’t know. “I don’t care if it’s what’s best for me, or the family, or the whole fucking town. I want you.”
He leans his forehead against my own. “You shouldn’t say things like that to me. You shouldn’t want me. You shouldn’t—”
I silence his words with a hot wet kiss. Sam doesn’t kiss me back. He holds completely still, his hands raised at his side, careful not to touch me. I break the kiss and stare up at him. “Kiss me, Sam. The way you did in my room. Kiss me like you only have this one chance in your entire life.”
His mouth crashes down over mine. It’s not gentle; it’s hard and bruising and somehow fitting, because it feels right to hurt one another this way. It feels right to have his hands tugging and pulling me closer, bruising and pressing me against him, and it feels right that he should be the one to ruin the void created when Luke touches me. It’s right because if anyone could make me feel, it should be him. He threads his hands through my hair and I climb him like a tree, until he has no choice but to grab my arse to keep us from toppling.
Sam breaks the kiss and trails warm, wet lips over my neck. Dipping his head, he takes my nipple in his mouth and since my shirt is in the way, he takes the fabric
in his mouth too. I throw my head back and moan. Sam digs his fingers into my arse cheeks, kneading them with each revolution of his hands. He pulls me lower and I feel the hard length of his cock press against my panties. He spins us so his back is now leaning against the full shelves of the Roberts’ food pantry. Several cans are swept off the shelf by his elbow. They crash down around us. One hits my knee and I yelp.
“You okay?” Sam asks, but he seems a little preoccupied by edging his fingers along the lace seam of my G-string.
“Keep doing that and I will be.”
He finally edges inside my underwear and circles his finger around my wet entrance. The void that I’d ordinarily feel with Luke is nowhere in sight. Instead, I feel everything: the rough callouses on his hands, the gentleness with which he touches me, the fireworks sparking behind my eyelids, and the sweet, arcing pleasure that sweeps over me from head to toe. My heart hammers against his. We’re both waging a war against the other that will take no prisoners, and ensure we’re both wounded beyond repair when we’re done.
“Christ, Pepper, your cunt is fucking perfect.”
This is both the greatest and the worst moment of my life because just as Sam slowly, and very carefully eases a finger into my wet heat, the pantry door opens, causing me to startle and jolt against his hand as he’s forced further inside. I cry out at the searing pain inside.
Sam retracts his fingers, curls his head against my chest and whispers, “God, Little, I’m sorry.”
“Pepper?” Luke stands in the doorway, flanked by Jake, some other guy whose name I don’t know, and the leaders of the Stupids: Lisa Gray and Britney Monroe.
Tears stream down my face, not just from the pain, but from the humiliation as well. This is not at all how I saw losing my virginity. For one, I sort of figured there’d be a penis involved, and two, I hadn’t expected my boyfriend would be standing in the doorway of his parents’ pantry, watching his girlfriend have her cherry popped by some other guy’s finger.
“I knew she was fucking her brother,” Lisa says.
Britney laughs and then whispers, “Well, if you were his sister wouldn’t you tap that too? I sure as hell would.”
“Britney, you’re sick,” Lisa says. The flash from a camera phone goes off and blinds me completely.
“You fucking whore. All this time I thought you were saving yourself for the right moment. Turns out you were already letting your brother stick it to you anywhere your greedy little whore cunt could get it,” Luke spits. I can’t look at him, so I close my eyes. “Look at me, bitch.”
Before I know it, I’m set on my feet and Sam is charging my boyfriend. I scream as he collides with Luke and they go down to the ground, with Sam on top, beating the shit out of him. I can’t do much more than stand there and gape with the rest of the onlookers as Sam pounds Luke’s face with his fist.
“Alright buddy, come on. We don’t need to end up in jail for hospitalising minors, no matter how tempting it might be,” Jake says, pulling Sam to his feet. He gives Luke a hard kick to the ribs and allows himself to be dragged away.
I can’t breathe. My throat has constricted and my breaths are sharp and shallow, though it feels as if the air is alien to my lungs, as if I suddenly stopped being able to filter oxygen and switched it instead for something heavier.
Sam wraps me in his arms and begins humming the tune he’s sung to me my whole life when a panic attack sets in. “Breathe,” he instructs, but I can’t breathe with all the people watching me. I can’t see through my tears, or feel past the ache between my legs. My head spins, and my vision darkens around the edges.
“Hold onto me. I’m getting you out of here,” Sam whispers and scoops me up into his arms. He carries me past the gawking teens crowded around the kitchen. I can’t look at them, so I curl my head in against his chest the way I used to when I was little and I close my eyes, willing away the shocked, sweaty faces, wishing I could un-hear their sniggers and the way their vile words mock the fragile new bond I have with Sam.
Sam carries me up the drive toward his car. Jake follows in our footsteps. I can feel his pent-up energy; he’s almost busting a nut in his attempt to keep the words from spewing from his mouth, and I have no doubt when they do come out they will be as attacking and vile as the whispers back in the house. Jake gets the door and Sam gently sets me down in the passenger seat. “Sit tight. You and I are gonna take a drive, but first I have to talk to Jake.”
I nod, but I don’t look at him. I just stare out the windshield at the smattering of raindrops that have begun falling. Sam closes the door and I flinch, and then I shut my eyes as tears trail over my cheeks.
“Dude, when you said you wanted to talk to her, I thought you were actually going to fucking talk,” Jake says. “What the hell are you thinking, man? She’s like your sister.”
“She is not my sister,” Sam spits.
“Well clearly you don’t think of her that way.” Jake shakes his head. “You realise if the family find out about this they’re gonna cut off your balls?”
“They’re not going to find out.”
“This is gonna be all over town by the time the fucking cock crows in the morning. You’re a dead man. Not to mention the fact that you assaulted a minor. If I hadn’t been there to save your arse the kid would be dead by now. You have got to get your shit together, and get your story straight.” Jake scrubs a hand over his short hair, water flies off in all directions. He glances at the car and turns back to Sam, his voice lowered but still audible. “People got footage of that shit, man. Not just that, but your hand was inside her fucking panties. They can’t get you on statutory rape—she’s over sixteen, thank fuck. But still, you’re seeing the inside of a jail cell before the week’s end. I guarantee it.”
“Shut up,” Sam snaps. “I need to think.”
“Think after you’ve gotten the fuck outta here. She’s a mess, man. Take her back to your place, get her cleaned up, and then get her the fuck home before her parents realise what a fucking colossal mistake you’ve made.”
Sam stalks over to the driver’s side of the car. He yanks open the door and throws himself inside. I shrink down into my seat and pray he doesn’t ask me to talk. I don’t know if I can. My voice is still hoarse from the crying and the panic attack. My head is cloudy and my bones feel like lead. I’m physically and emotionally spent.
“I’m so sorry, Pepper. I didn’t mean for any of that to happen.”
And there it is again. Nine simple words that give Sam an out. Nine little words that rip my heart out and promise that I’ll never be okay again.
In this moment I hate Sammy Belle more than I’ve ever hated anyone, because he’s the only person who can really hurt me, and he’s the one person that I continue to let do so.
SEX IS fun. Inking a client is fun. Getting so blind drunk that you steal a tractor, drive it five kilometres and run it into the creek with your best friend on your thirteenth birthday? Also fun. You know what’s not fun? Making out like you’re not green with envy when some bitch from high school is dating your hot roommate that you’ve been lusting after for longer than you’ve had boobs.
What else is not hot is pretending that you’re so unfazed by it that you lounge around the apartment all day in next to nothing, just waiting for said roommate to come home from work and notice you. Only when he does come home he barely even looks in your direction; he just launches himself into the shower to get ready for said whore. And what’s even worse? He’s still not ready when said whore knocks on the door, and you’re forced to answer it and entertain the bitch.
Also. Not. Fun.
“I’ll get it,” I call to Sam in a sugary-sweet voice, as if I’m not contemplating pushing this bitch down the stairs the second I open the door. I drop the dish I’m washing back into the soapsuds and stomp over to the door. Throwing it wide, I’m greeted by a very demure, yet surprisingly hot Olivia Michaels. Sam was right; she’s no longer the chubby girl from school, but instead she’s tall,
and has curves in all the right places—and I know curves in all the right places, because despite my teeny-tiny-almost-bordering-on-little-person stature, I have curves in all the right places, and I’ve spent my entire adult life up to this point flaunting that shit.
Olivia is wearing a pencil skirt and a shell-pink blouse complete with a soft pussy bow. In her hand, she carries a cream-coloured cardigan. Her heels are black and tall enough to give her a bit of extra height when standing next to Sam, but not enough to emasculate him. Her small square-framed glasses sit perched on her perfect little nose, and her blue eyes sparkle in the dim lighting of the loft’s entry.
She doesn’t need to flaunt anything in order to look sexy.
Aaannnd, now I hate her.
In every way she looks perfect for Sammy, and in every way possible, I hate her. I hate her so much I want to trip her up so she totters on her stupid heels and breaks her neck in the entryway. I hate her so much I want to rip open her blouse and pull the chicken fillets from her bra, though I’d probably just get a handful of real breast, and then I’d look like an arsehole and a crazy person. Or … even more of an arsehole and a crazy person.
“Hello Pepper,” she says, and her voice is high and breathy, and almost the exact replica of Marilyn Monroe’s. Now I’m definitely going to push her off her sexily sensible shoes.
“Olivia,” I say, and wave my arm out in front of me like one of those whore models on a fucking game show, indicating that she should enter, because if she doesn’t I’m going to let go of this heavy-arse door and smack her in the face with it. What does this look like, the fucking Hyatt? My little chicken arms aren’t made to hold open doors this heavy for prissy annoying bitches that—
“You look … well,” Olivia says. I’m sure she doesn’t intend to be condescending, but it’s as though she was expecting me to answer the door in a straightjacket, sipping liquid Xanax through one of those beer hats with the curly straws. Her eyes roll over me and I follow her gaze. I’m wearing the denim cut-offs I found in the drawer back at Holly’s house and used to wear way back before I began cutting—you know the uber classy ones with the pockets hanging out—a threadbare Taint t-shirt, and Sam’s gumboots that practically engulf my short little legs.
Now Leaving Sugartown Page 9