Page 105 of I’m The Worst

“Every time you open your goddamn mouth, all I want to do is fuck it shut.”

Shoving his knee between my legs, he spreads me open. He grinds his thigh hard against me, and I whimper behind his hand. His free hand unbuttons my jeans and yanks them down with my panties, exposing me.

I look up, core pulsing when I see both of us in the mirror. Him towering over me.

“Look at you. Fucking desperate.” His mouth curls into something mean.

Keeping a fistful of my hair, he yanks hard, forcing my back to bow painfully as he frees his cock with the other hand. I brace my hands on the counter.

Yes. Please. I need this.

I hate the thought as it forms. Seeing myself in the mirror, wanting him to fuck me like this. In a filthy bathroom, with my pants around my thighs. Needing the only thing I’m good at getting.

He presses his hard cock against my entrance, but doesn’t push in. He starts to stroke himself, just the tip pressing inside me. I push back, needing more. He makes an annoyed sound and slaps my ass hard enough that I whimper.

“You think I’m going to fuck you now? I’m going to jerk off in you. You’re not worth the effort.” He tightens his grip on my hair.

Tears sting my eyes as he keeps stroking himself, his tip barely filling me. No. This can’t be it. I need more. I feel it so little, it makes me want to scream.

I try to move again, but his hand on my hip shoves me back against the counter, holding me still. He leans down, mouth close to my ear.

“I don’t want to fuck your cunt. I just need a hole to get off in.”

The words cut deep.

This isn’t what I want. I want him to fuck me. I want him to hold me. I want him to want me.

Jackal burns on my tongue, begging to be spoken. But if I say it, he’ll stop. He’ll pull away. He’ll look at me like I’m broken again—like last time.

So I stay silent, letting him use me, hating myself for how badly I need his attention, even if it’s like this.

Memories flood in as his tip nudges shallowly inside me—hands holding me down, bodies using me while I went numb, the feeling of being nothing but a warm place for men to empty themselves.

I’m so broken.

I’m so disgusting for not stopping this. For choosing this. For needing him so much that I’ll let him treat me like trash just so he won’t leave me alone with my own thoughts.

His thrusts get faster, staying shallow and cruel. I struggle to breathe through the tears. My clit throbs, my pussy aches, and I can’t stand the way he’s looking at me in the mirror—like I’m nothing.

“You keep pushing me. Keep running your mouth like you think I won’t fucking ruin you.”

Heavy spurts of cum shoot inside my pussy—the head of his cock barely notched inside me as he milks himself, filling my entrance with pulse after pulse.

When he’s done, he steps back. I stay bent over the counter, his cum slowly leaking from me, face burning with humiliation.

Pulling his pants up, he walks out of the bathroom. I press off the counter, fighting back more tears, shimmying my pants up with shaking hands.

I bite down on my lip until it hurts, until it gives me something else to focus on, and force myself out of the bathroom. Wolff is waiting by the exit, with the cart. He doesn’t look at me when I approach.

I wipe my eyes and follow him, every step feeling like lead.

He loads the bags into the trunk without saying a word. Gets in. Starts the truck. Silence stretches thick between us as we pull back onto the road. I sit as far from him as I can, arms wrapped tight around my middle, staring out the window as the snow comes down heavier.

After a minute, he pulls an envelope from his jacket and holds it out.

“Look at this.”

Inside, there’s a passport. The girl in the photo…kinda looks like me? Same dark hair, hazel eyes.