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He moves faster, harder, and I have to fight with all my strength not to scream. I have to think about Lucy. I can’t scare Lucy.
“That’s right,” he growls. “Take it. Take my cock. Just like I knew you would. This pussy is mine now. I can do what I want to it, whenever I want.” And still he’s thrusting, making me feel like he’s going to split me in two.
And it feels sort of good now that the worst of the pain has passed. I clamp my lips shut against a moan because I don’t want him to know, but that familiar tension is building. I hate him for this. I want him to keep going, but I hate him. I hate myself.
Then just as suddenly as he started, he pulls out, taking his glistening dick in his hand and stroking it furiously. My stomach churns in disgust when ropes of cum splash onto my stomach, spurt after spurt, before he finally stops with a deep sigh.
I’m not a virgin anymore. And I didn’t have any say in it. I don’t even want to move. The ache in my thighs and my pussy is enough to bring tears to my eyes again.
“There,” he murmurs, working his way from between my legs before getting off the bed. “Now I’ve got you all broken in. You’re welcome.” He even smiles down at me, cold and heartless, and every nasty word I’ve ever learned threatens to tumble out of my mouth.
And they would, too, if it wasn’t for the sadness in his eyes. I’m not imagining it—I don’t like him very much, especially not right now. There’s not an ounce of pity in my heart for him.
But the sadness is there. Plain as anything. He can smile all he wants, but he’s faking. I only wish I knew why.
“Clean yourself up. You look like a sloppy slut.” He strolls out of my room, not even bothering to make sure there’s nobody out in the hallway before stepping out and closing the door. How would it look, Hayes leaving my room in his underwear? Can he really not care?
I guess not, since he obviously doesn’t care about me. I look down at myself, at the cum on my stomach, and bile races up my throat.
There’s nothing for me to do but carefully get up from the bed and limp to the bathroom to clean myself up. There’s fire between my legs, and eventually I settle on a warm washcloth held between them, hoping to ease the pain.
Here I am in this big house, with just about everything I could ever wish for, and I might as well be in hell.
Maybe that’s what I deserve since, deep down inside, I can’t help but wonder if it’ll feel better if we do it again.
16
I’m barely out of a dream when one thought hits me clear as a gong: I’ve never been so sore in my whole life.
I wake up a bit at a time, groggy, miserable. My head is heavy and aching and I can practically feel the bags under my eyes when I open them the morning after losing my virginity.
I still can’t believe it happened. I can’t believe it hurt like that. I can’t believe it ended up feeling good. Is it always like that? It’s not like I have anybody to ask. Maybe Salem, but she’d probably want to know who it was, and I can’t tell her. We’re not related by blood or even by marriage yet, but it’s still weird. And God forbid anybody else found out.
I tried so hard to sleep, but it was useless until probably a couple of hours ago when exhaustion finally pulled me under for good. I might have been better off if I hadn’t slept at all, because now I feel like I’m moving through deep, dark water as I ease myself into a sitting position. My thighs are so sore, and my pussy throbs. Not in a good way, either.
It’s only once I’m sitting up that I realize my alarm didn’t wake me. I look over at the clock, confused—I couldn’t have woken up before it buzzed, no way—then gasp when I see the time.
8:00? It can’t be.
But it is. The alarm didn’t go off.
I pick up my phone. That alarm is off, too. It’s supposed to go off every morning at 6:30, but it didn’t.
I’m late for school. Very.
I can’t think about fatigue or pain or any of it as I request a car before running around my room, throwing on clothes, then brushing my teeth and washing my face in record time. I look like hell, but I can’t worry about that right now. I’m late. I’m late for the exam.
My stomach is in knots the whole way to school.
“Sorry, but can you drive faster?” I ask the Uber driver. I really need a car. Just another thing holding me back this morning.
