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“Now I’m just giving you ideas, aren’t I? Listen, Anya, I’m sure it’ll be fine. After seeing you today, you have nothing to worry about. Your autumn showcase is going to go off without a hitch, and everyone will love you just as much as Professor Moriari.”
I nod silently as we reach my classroom door, my brain on too much of a downward spiral to think clearly. While my heart still pounds uncomfortably hard in my chest, I know that Whitney only means well, so I try to let her off the hook. But I can’t help feeling twice as nervous about the autumn showcase knowing Nicolo might be there.
“I’ll see you in music theory?” Whitney asks, her eyes watching me with concern.
“Yes, I’ll see you in music theory,” I agree, giving her my most reassuring smile.
I like how close Whitney and I have grown since the start of school. She’s probably my closest friend, and I fully appreciate her for her endless wealth of knowledge. Still, I can’t help the way my gut twists at this most recent big reveal. Taking a deep breath, I try to steel my nerves. No matter what obstacles come my way, I can overcome them. And I’ll be damned if I let Nicolo Marchetti get in my way.
10
ANYA
As the weeks roll by, my body and mind have started to grow accustomed to the rigorous program at Rosehill College. And while it’s taken more effort to find my way with Nicolo’s incessant bullying, I’ve learned that generally, refusing to engage in his cruelty helps end it more quickly. Thank God I only have one class with him and have learned how to avoid him otherwise.
Hoisting my bookbag higher on my shoulder, I make my way to my history class with the familiar sense of dread that comes with the anticipation of whatever new hell Nicolo will have in store for me today.
He’s leaning against the wall outside our class as I approach, looking for all intents and purposes like a king among men as he lounges nonchalantly. It reminds me of the way he sprawled on the club couch weeks ago now, the physical embodiment of the message that he owns everyone and everything in this town. His friends, Dom and Jay, I believe, stand with him, the blond one talking animatedly and bringing a smile to Nicolo’s face.
As if sensing my approach, Nicolo glances sideways at me, and as soon as he registers my face, he shoves off from the wall to intercept me before I can enter the classroom.
“Well, if it isn’t Miss Trailer Trash,” Nicolo says, cutting off Jay’s story as he walks toward me. “Nice outfit, New Girl. Where’d you get this one from, a TJ Maxx clearance sale?”
Nicolo’s friends follow, flanking him as they sneer down at me, the three tall frames imposing.
I can’t help myself as I glance down at my flowing, light, slightly transparent, plaid shirt that I’ve cinched at the waist, my plain white leotard beneath it, and my simple pair of black leggings. Not the fanciest outfit, but it’s definitely not out of fashion or disrepair. Keeping my mouth shut, I shift to pass Nicolo in the space between him and the wall. But apparently, Nicolo’s not willing to let me off that easily today. Slapping the wall with his palm, he bars me from passing.
“What are you even doing at my school anyway, Anya?” he asks scathingly. “It’s obvious you can’t afford to go here. So who’s paying for your education? The crusty old men you dance for at a strip club?”
Anger flares in me, and my eyes snap up to Nicolo’s proud, mocking gaze. I know I shouldn’t talk back, but I can’t help myself. “I earned my position here,” I state proudly. “I got a full-ride scholarship for ballet.” I don’t go so far as to rub it in his face that having a dance scholarship means it’s really his family providing my funding. I know if I push it that far in front of his friends, I’ll regret it. I already regret rising to his bait at all.
Nicolo leans closer, trapping me against the wall with his arms as his lips curl in disgust. “Well, that explains why you’re so anorexic,” he sneers. “Aren’t you bunheads supposed to starve yourselves or something?”
I press my lips closed, knowing that arguing with him won’t help me. Even so, the way he cages me with his strong arms, pinning me in place without quite touching me, reminds me of how he flirted with me back in high school. His face is a mere foot from mine, and the smell of his cologne makes my heart race.
“That’s why the new girl has no curves,” Nicolo explains to his friends, glancing back over his shoulder at them. “I don’t think she even needs a training bra for her nonexistent breasts. Do you? I mean, can you even find your breasts?” he asks me. “I can’t from just looking for them, but here, let me help.”
Nicolo takes his hands down from the wall to grope my chest, gripping my breasts and squeezing them firmly in his palms. While my breasts might not look impressive in my athletic bra, I still do, in fact, have a modest B-cup size, and his rough handling makes my nipples harden as he grips me painfully hard.
“Oh, would you look at that? I found a couple mosquito bites after all,” Nicolo mocks as he continues to cop a feel, his thumbs finding my hardening nubs and giving them a good pinch.
Hot embarrassment makes my cheeks burn, and I shove Nicolo roughly away. “You are such a fucking asshole,” I say before spinning and rushing back down the hall in the direction I came.
Nicolo’s laughter joins his friends, chasing my retreat as they revel in their mockery. Hot tears of shame pool in my eyes as I race toward the bathroom, determined not to let them see me cry. Bursting into the restroom, I find an empty stall and close myself in before I sit, burying my face in my hands.
I can’t believe Nicolo went so far as to grope me, touching me so intimately right there in the middle of the school hallway. I’m mortified and embarrassed at how self-conscious he can make me feel about my body. But worse than that is the horrible fact that having his hands all over me actually turned me on. I chastise my rebellious body for its reaction, the way my core tightened from Nicolo’s unwanted attention, the way my pulse pounded through my veins. Despite the humiliation of it all, I liked the way he touched me.
Once again, I’m brought to my night with Nicolo back in high school, the way he massaged my bare breasts as he teased my nipples. My clit throbs at the memory of his lips encasing one hard peak and rolling it with his tongue. He’d been so tender with me then, murmuring about how beautiful I was–like a goddess who he was prepared to properly worship.
I swallow hard as I recall the deeper connection I’d thought we had found. In my naivete, I’d pictured countless nights together where we both might enjoy each other’s bodies. But that connection had turned out to be a complete lie. He’d only ever said those things so he could fuck me. And now, it seems I’m not even worth the pretense. He can just take advantage of me right there in front of everybody. And no one did anything but laugh because Nicolo is a Marchetti, and he all but owns this fucking college, if not Chicago.
The sensation of his body heat surrounding me as he trapped me rises unbidden to my mind, the way his warm breath tickled my neck when he leaned in to insult me. I can feel the flood of arousal between my thighs as a deep throbbing pulses through me, making me feel sensitive and aching.Needingsomething I don’t totally understand. I don’t understand how I can still feel so intensely attracted to Nicolo when I know just how big of an asshole he is. But I can’t help the sudden need for release coursing through me.
Holding my breath, I listen for anyone else in the restroom, but I seem to be alone, so I slip my hand beneath the waistband of my leggings. A shiver of arousal runs up my spine as I start to touch myself and realize my panties are absolutely soaking. Biting my lip, I fight back my confusion and shame at knowing something so embarrassing could turn me on like this. But I haven’t slept with anyone since Nicolo in high school. I’ve been too focused on school and Clara to waste time being interested in anybody. That must be why I’m so aroused by someone–anyone–touching me. I have years of pent-up sexuality to account for, and my body finally found an outlet.
I stroke my fingers between my slick folds, stoking my excitement as I circle my clit. The image of Nicolo’s hazel eyes appears before my mind’s eyes and my pussy throbs. Despite my hatred of Nicolo, I can’t seem to get our night together out of my mind, and the memory of it turns me on even more.
I try to focus on something less masochistic, formulating the image of a random sexy celebrity in my mind’s eye, imagining him pulling me close to kiss me. Biting my lip to keep silent, I start to finger myself, searching for some relief after being groped so publicly. My clit swells, pulsing with rising arousal as I play with myself, amazed at how wet I am without any foreplay. I can feel my thighs tightening, my orgasm far too close for the source of my arousal.
