Starling (Southern Watch Book 6)

by Robert J. Crane

  I want him to like me.

  His hands didn’t press and twist for long; they moved south, to the button of her jean shorts. Lucia’s breaths were coming in short gasps now, a panicked feeling running the length of her like she was going to burst into flames at any second, like hell was going to reach out and get her for this. This was wrong, wasn’t it? Letting him feel her titties, putting his dick in her mouth, and—and whatever happened next—

  But I want him to like me.

  He opened her fly button and cranked down the zipper of her shorts with surprising violence; the teeth let out a squeal. Ray was breathing heavily now, his face moving to her neck, kissing her, leaning into her. He struggled with her shorts, trying to rip them down while she was still sitting on them.

  Lucia lowered herself back, thumping her head lightly on the door of the Chevelle. It hurt, but she didn’t let it distract her. Ray’s weight was on her, then subsided as he pulled at her shorts. She lifted her hips and they slid off, leaving the soft, cotton panties a half inch below their usual spot, her crotch feeling curiously bare even though it was still covered from sight by the underwear.

  Ray snatched that a moment later, dragging it off with the shorts. Both ended up in a pile in the floorboard, and Lucia glanced at them forlornly. “Looks like the curtains match the carpet,” Ray said with a grin, like that made any kind of sense.

  I really, really, really want him to like me …

  “You ready?” Ray asked, and before he’d even finished asking, he was on top of her, poking at her crotch with his dick. It felt like someone was stabbing her with a pen, but a little softer. He missed and hit the bottom of her right butt cheek, then fumbled around, adjusting, grabbing at himself—

  Then he hit the right spot and Lucia tensed, because it fucking hurt.

  She wasn’t hardly wet at all, but he shoved it in. He had his head back again, his abs rock-hard but not looking nearly so hot now that he was this close and right above her. He pushed in and she winced, tensing from the top of her head all the way down to every toe, the muscles reflexively tightening.

  “Oh, yeah,” Ray said, and shoved in deeper. It felt like he was covered in sandpaper. Lucia opened her mouth in anguish but choked back the cry of pain that threatened to come tumbling out. Ray opened an eye, saw her, and grinned. “Feels good, huh?”

  No, it feels fucking horrible, like you’re ripping my vag in two, Lucia thought, but she kept from saying it.

  It only got worse. He leaned in, pulling out and pushing it back in. He started slow, experimentally at first, and she got a little wetter, but the pain—fuck, shit, the pain!—it didn’t get any better. He was sweating, droplets coming off his chin and dripping right onto her face, her belly, and all points between. He bent over her, going for the neck again, as he thrust in, pulled out. Each time felt like he was using a hot poker to push into her. Was this supposed to be natural? Were people supposed to do this all the time?

  WHY?

  Lucia bit her lip and held back the tears as she lay there. He was going faster, faster, and it was like someone had taken a dry jackhammer and applied it to her pussy. Ray was letting her have it, and it was hard to believe that this little stump of a thing that had fit so easily in her mouth was causing all this pain. He sped up and it got worse, and Lucia wondered for a moment if she was actually going to die from it. Could you die from sex? It felt like it.

  The raw, tearing sensation, like she was being split in half, only seemed to get worse the longer it went on. She was breathing tightly, afraid to let it out or take it in, like that, too, would cause her pain. A tear rolling down her cheek; it was all she could do not to scream. Ray was on top of her, his flat abs pressed against her, and she tried to restrain herself. She wanted to shove him off with both hands, get out of the car, find a cold spring and just sit in it. He increased the tempo, like a drummer going into a long, painful solo, the music turned up so loud she couldn’t stand it anymore.

  Lucia was sure her vagina was going to split open, that she was going to scream any second, was going to die screaming because this was just so—so—so horrible. It had been impossible to imagine a baby coming out of that hole before, and maybe even more impossible now. His dick was so small compared to a baby, how would that even work …?

  She let out a little cry, a whimper, and Ray went faster still, his ass pistoning up and down as he thrust into her. How long would this last, this fucking hell of fucking? Forever, she thought miserably, her legs bowed and getting stiff from having his body between them at this angle, her back feeling the milder pain of a seatbelt buckle pinned against her ribs just above her kidney.

  Ray’s weight was crushing, the pain was agonizing. Was this what torture felt like? Maybe she deserved it. She didn’t say anything, didn’t dare to. She tried to arch her back, to at least get the seatbelt buckle from biting into her, from getting worse as he leaned more and more heavily on her.

  “Unnnnnh!” Ray bucked, thrusting himself deep inside her and holding there for a second, then pulling it just slightly in and out, over and over. It felt like variations of torment, like he’d wedged a jagged rock up in her pussy and was poking it around.

  Then he collapsed, his weight dropping upon her and his head coming down on her collarbone. That sent a shooting pain up her neck and down her arm, but it was minor compared to the agony of the hot poker he’d shoved up her pussy.

  “Ohmigod,” Ray said, just lying there still, finally. He was still in her, it still hurt, but at least he wasn’t actively ripping her in half anymore.

  Lucia waited, that sensation like the inside of her pussy was being pinched by a thousand angry vises not fading like she might have hoped. “What?” The word was tense and tight, like she was feeling.

  “Sorry I didn’t last longer,” Ray said apologetically. “I guess you got me all excited with that warmup.”

  Longer? she thought. Thank Christ you didn’t!

  He pulled out, and it hurt, but fuck, it felt so much better a second after he had. It was like she’d birthed that jagged rock, and while the wounds remained, at least the goddamned rock was gone. She sat up and winced as Ray pulled back, his little dick already sagging, shiny and wet with blood. She stared at it for a second, and her stomach sank.

  I’m not a virgin anymore.

  Then, with a breath of relief, the first she’d felt in a long time—I’m not a virgin anymore.

  “Next time I’ll last longer, I think,” Ray said. “You could just come over to the house, you know. Next time. It’d be easier.” He looked kind of thin and emaciated now that she looked at him in the faint light of the instrument display and a street lamp past a couple of dogwood trees.

  Next time? she thought. You think I’d willingly rip my pussy in half again? But she said, “Yeah. That’s a good idea. Making it easier next time.”

  I want him to like me.

  “You did pretty good on that blowjob,” Ray said, fishing for his own underpants in the floorboard. “But I could teach you a few things to make it even better.”

  “Okay,” she said. He handed her her panties.

  “Can you put those on?” He pushed the panties into her hand and looked down. “I just don’t want you bleeding on the seat. I didn’t know it was your time of the month.”

  “It’s n—” She caught herself just in time. “Sorry.”

  “Oh, it’s fine; it was good,” Ray said, breezing on like it was no big deal, watching her as she slid the panties on. She felt the ooze of blood and something else—warm, sticky, drying like concrete along her pussy lips and in the cotton crotch of the panties as she dripped into them—his cum, she realized with a start; he’d just cum in her. Like he could sense her thoughts, he said, “It’s so much better without a condom, ain’t it? God, like a whole different thing.”

  “Oh,” she said. She hadn’t really thought about it. It wasn’t likely she’d get pregnant after all, was it? Not this once.

  He was struggling back into his
pants. “Yeah, ain’t nothing like this.” Fastening his jeans, pulling his belt snug over those abs. They didn’t look so impressive now, and it wasn’t just the light. Something about the way they’d looked when he was looming over her, pushing into her like he was stabbing her in the pussy …

  They’d lost some of their appeal, and she looked away as she picked up her bra and put it back on nervously.

  His eyes roamed over her, like he was trying to drink her up, and she paused as she picked up her shorts and tank top from the floor. She watched him watch her and asked, “What?”

  He kind of shrugged. “Nothing much. I was just thinking … maybe you want to go back to my place? Have a couple beers. We could maybe do this again a little later, when the mood strikes …”

  Lucia did everything she could to reel in her immediate reaction.

  I want him to like me.

  But I really, really, really don’t want him to put that fucking dick knife in me ever, ever again.

  “I gotta get home,” she said, the soft fabric of her tank top rubbing between her thumb and forefinger as she rustled it nervously. It was right there, in her hand; if she could just get it on, it’d protect her. It’d be like it was before; she’d be a little sore—okay, a lot fucking sore—but he wouldn’t have that—that thing—where it could get into her again, stabbing its way inside her sex over and over again. “My foster parents are already gonna freak.”

  “Yeah, I get that,” he said sheepishly. “Mike’s a little … he’s wound tight. And I wouldn’t want to put up with the shit he has to put up with from your foster mom.” He shook his head like the mere thought revolted him. “Karen’s a real cunt. Heh. Karen the cunt. I don’t know how you deal with her, either.”

  Lucia just shrugged. “Where else could I go?”

  Ray said it faster than she could sense the trap she’d walked into. “You could stay with me for a while.”

  She just froze. About five minutes—and a fucking lifetime of pain ago—she would have wanted that. In a heartbeat. Now, though …

  Shit, he’d want to fuck again at some point. Hell, he already suggested he’d want to go again tonight.

  Lucia barely held back a hard shudder as her brain turned the gears quickly. “I’m still underage,” she said, and watched him freeze. “I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” He relaxed a little at that. “And you know my foster parents would—”

  “Yeah.” Ray nodded along. “Mike wouldn’t let that stand. I bet he’s a scary-ass motherfucker in court.” Mike was a lawyer, and Lucia figured Ray had it pretty right.

  “I should get home,” Lucia said, shuddering a little at last.

  “I’ll drive you,” Ray said, and he smirked again. “Wouldn’t be fair to make you walk after that, I guess.” He barked a rough laugh, and Lucia tried to smile. She wondered if she actually could walk, with this throbbing pain between her legs, and the aftereffect of feeling like someone had spread hair gel into her pubes and let it dry in there. Her stomach quivered as she started to get out of the car to move to the front seat with Ray as he eased in and started the engine. She blanched as she sat down wrong on the seat; how long was this going to hurt?

  And how the hell could she possibly be expected to do it again?

  *

  Lucia slipped into the house through the front door like a trespasser. It felt unnatural, this place, the finely upholstered sofas, the chairs that were so stiff and uncomfortable to sit in, the curtains that hung regally from the rods to make the image of the house from the outside appear a flawless, antebellum paradise.

  But inside … fuck, this place crawled, for Lucia.

  “I hear you,” a scratchy female voice sounded from the kitchen. A light clicked on ahead of her, and there she was—Karen, the queen bitch of this place. Skinny, ragged, a cigarette flaring from between wrinkled lips. That was a bad sign. Mike didn’t usually let her smoke in the house. Special circumstances, Lucia guessed. “And now I see you, dragging in at midnight like a goddamned whore.” Her thin lips parted as she transferred the cigarette to her leathery hands, which bore the signs of long sun exposure and age.

  Lucia didn’t lip off; instead she just dragged herself in, kept her head down. Her vagina was still pulsing with pain, and she avoided taking any long steps because she knew she was faintly limping. She just stood, steady and still; thank God the pain was already starting to fade, something she had thought impossible. She damned sure wasn’t ready to contemplate a “next time,” but knowing that at least it didn’t fucking scream forever gave her hope that someday she’d be able to sit normally.

  “Ain’t got nothing to say for yourself?” Everything about Karen screamed “white trash” except the house. Her straw-like hair hung limp over her long face, uneven strands half covering her lined forehead. “Whore.”

  “I’m not a whore,” Lucia mumbled.

  “What’s that, whore?” Karen made a show of leaning forward, putting a hand up to her ear, brushing back the aged straw to expose a dotted ear that probably had skin cancer growing on it. Lucia didn’t know much about skin cancer, but that growth on Karen’s ear just didn’t look right. She didn’t say anything about it, though, because honestly, she was kind of wishing Karen did have skin cancer. Nothing fatal, of course; she didn’t wish death on the woman. Just something debilitating that would get her the fuck out of the house for a little while, maybe put her in a bed for a while after that. “Does your dick-sucking mouth have anything stupid to say?”

  Lucia flushed hard red.

  Karen noticed and seized on it. “I knew it! I knew the moment I saw you, I said to myself, ‘This girl’s been off whoring. She’s been sucking dick.’ And now I know I’s right.” She advanced on Lucia, taking a drag on the cigarette, the tip flaring orange as she puffed on it. “Did you use a condom? I bet not. If you end up getting calved, heifer, I ain’t paying for it. The government don’t pay me near enough to deal with you squirting a little white trash baby out of that pussy of yours—”

  “What’s all this?” Mike’s quiet voice sounded from up the stairs. A light came on up there, and Lucia’s breath caught in her throat.

  Thank God. Mike was always the more even of the two of them, though it wasn’t like they were talking every day and eating ice cream like besties. He always seemed to put the damper on Karen’s white trash crazy tendencies, and Lucia let out a little sigh of relief as she saw his skinny, hairy legs come into view down the steps. He was wearing a pair of gym shorts that looked hastily thrown on; his white t-shirt was tucked inside the waistband in the back but not the front. His hair was short, usually slicked up and combed back, though his hairline was full and thick, no hint of loss. He was a good-looking guy—for an old guy.

  There was a flicker of disappointment in Karen’s eyes that matched the waning burn of her cigarette as she withdrew it from her mouth. “I caught this little whore dragging in just now.”

  Mike paused at the base of the stairs. “Come on, Karen. She was probably just out a little late. It’s only—” he checked his watch “—hell, it’s not even eleven yet.”

  Karen took a long, judicious puff of cigarette, running her eyes up and down Lucia in disgust as she did so. “Just look at her. You can tell she’s been out fucking someone. Who was it? Was it that man from down the block? I seen you looking at his ass like you wanted to crawl up in his crack and wear it like a mask.”

  Lucia blanched, involuntarily, in disgust. She’d tasted the front of Ray’s crotch now; no way did she want to go to the backside. “Ewww.”

  “Don’t you say ‘eww’ to me, girl, like I can’t see right through your whoring ass—”

  “Karen,” Mike said with the air of a man who had been woken out of a sound sleep. He blotted at his eyes and yawned as he worked his way over to them, bare feet tapping against the tile floor. “Come on. Be reasonable.”

  “Do you want to get stuck paying for her fucking?” Karen’s voice was like a screech.

  “She’s
sixteen. She’s been here for a couple weeks; I doubt she’s been fucking already,” Mike said with some amusement. He looked right at Lucia. “You haven’t been fucking already, have you?” He smirked, like using Karen’s own words against her was the funniest thing in the world.

  For some reason … Lucia couldn’t get the word, “No,” out just then. A part of her brain dimly thought she should just say the easy lie; and it should have been easy. She didn’t know these people. Karen, in particular, hadn’t been very kind to her. But Mike …

  Well, he kinda had.

  The lie halted at her lips, froze there, died there. She wanted to say it, to give birth to it, but she just … couldn’t. Instead she just froze for a second, then hung her head and didn’t look at Mike.

  “Hmph,” Karen said, ringing out her little snort of triumph.

  “Wait a minute.” Mike drew a little closer. “Did you—have you—you actually were sleeping with someone tonight?”

  Lucia stirred, taking her gaze back up again; she’d stared at the floor for a few seconds. “I was—I don’t—I mean, I …” There was a crushing feeling inside her, like she was back in that car, steel bending all around her from impact.

  “She did it!” Karen crowed. “She did it—probably with that dumbass mechanic that’s always outside with his shirt off to show everybody how much he works out. What’s his name—Roy?”

  “Ray,” Lucia said.

  Mike just stared at her, his face a cipher, partially shadowed in the night.

  “It was just this onc—” Lucia started to say, but was stopped when a thundering blow clipped her right in the jaw.

  It felt like she was in the car accident again, except this time without the protection of her own vehicle, like the semi had slammed right in her jaw. Her legs went weak and wobbly, and she staggered and hit her knees. Pain surged through her kneecaps and blood welled up in her mouth. It drowned her tastebuds in that coppery flavor, dripping thickly out between her lips.