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Nicolo’s proud lips twist into a mocking sneer. “You don’t want me? I don’t believe you. You’re just a coy little prude who likes to tease men but not put out. Aren’t you?”
My heart stutters as Nicolo reaches beneath the front of my tutu, and I swallow hard as his fingers find the peak between my thighs. I grip the edge of the makeup counter, white-knuckling it as he scoops the elastic fabric of my leotard aside, exposing my folds, still thinly clad in my soft-pink performance tights. His hand moves beneath the fabric of my leotard, stretching the elastic around my hip until his fingers find the waist of my tights. He yanks them down forcefully, his fingers scraping my flesh as they go.
Fresh tears sting my eyes at the sound of the delicate fabric tearing. This was my last good pair that didn’t have holes or runs in it. I swallow hard as Nicolo’s hand finds my bare pussy. His fingers stroke between my slick folds, and his palm presses against my clit as he pushes one finger inside me.
I cry out as tears obscure my vision, the knowledge that I’m about to come from his unwanted penetration making me fight the urge to sob. But I’m determined not to let him see how much this hurts and mortifies me. I bite my lip to stop myself from making another sound because, if I do, it might just come out as a moan of pleasure. My cheeks burn with the shame of knowing how close I am to an orgasm despite the fact that I donotwant Nicolo to touch me.
Nicolo releases a throaty chuckle, his smile spreading wickedly across his face. “You’re fucking soaking, you little slut,” he murmurs, leaning close to my ear. “I bet I could make you come in two seconds flat.”
The tickle of his breath on my neck makes me shiver, and my clit throbs, causing my pussy to tighten around his finger. Nicolo inhales deeply, as if taking in the scent of my arousal, and he releases his breath on a husky groan.
“This is how I know you want me,” he purrs as he moves his hand, his finger pressing further inside my pussy. I’m so close, and I cling to the edge of the cliff desperately, trying not to clench around his invading fingers, trying not to come. “You’re just playing hard to get, you little fucking tease.”
Desperately blinking away my tears before they fall, I shove Nicolo away as forcefully as I can, slamming the heels of my palms into his shoulders, so he has to step away from me. His hand slides out of my tights as his eyebrows rise in surprise at my physical rejection. For a moment, the room falls into excruciating silence as we both absorb the meaning in my shove.
“I would never want to be with you,” I hiss, narrowing my eyes. “You’re a soulless monster, and you must be stupid, too, to think I would ever consider dating you.” The tears come more quickly now, but I refuse to cry in front of Nicolo. I can hold them off, at least until he’s gone. “You’ve made my life a livinghell, and I just want you to leave me the fuck alone!” I shout, my hands fisting at my sides as I glare at him. I’m shaking with the force of my anger, fueled by my unwanted arousal still blooming in my core.
“You little cunt. You’re seriously going to turn me down?” Nicolo’s chest expands as he pushes his shoulders back defensively. “You’ll regret that, you slutty little tease. You’re going to wish you were never born by the time I’m done with you.” Looking down his proud nose at me, Nicolo sneers. His hazel eyes almost look green with the intensity of his rage.
Then, without another word, he turns on his heel and storms toward the door. He yanks it open so violently that the hinges groan in protest, and he slams the door behind him with such force it makes the lights above the makeup mirrors flicker.
As soon as he’s gone, my knees give out, and I collapse, sobbing, into the metal chair beside me. Thick tears pour down my face, marring the beautiful makeup I so carefully painted on my face before the performance. With the mirrors lining the wall and the bright lights shining down on me, all my ugliness is laid bare for me to see, the silver and black of my makeup a physical depiction of the war raging inside me as they blend with my tears, smudging my face and forming a hideous mask.
I’m weak and pathetic to respond so eagerly to Nicolo’s touch.What is wrong with me that I could still get turned on by him after he’s been so cruel to me?The shame of knowing how easily he could have me burns to my very core. Covering my face, so I don’t have to look at myself in the mirror, I bawl. My shoulders shake as I curl in on myself, ugly crying into my palms. I hate Nicolo and the power he still holds over me.Why do I have to crave the touch of someone so brutally mean, so spiteful?I’m a broken person, a flawed personality.
And now that I’ve rejected him, I’m terrified to think of how much worse my life could get. Clearly, he believes he can make it more miserable than he has over the last month of school. I shudder at the thought.Why, of all the schools in this world, did I have to end up at the same one as Nicolo Marchetti, the man who’s ruined me in so many ways?I can’t seem to escape him, no matter what I do.
14
NICOLO
It’s been weeks of escalating torture, trying to provoke Anya into agreeing to give herself up to me. While I know if I really wanted to, I could easily overpower her and her insubstantial dancer’s frame, I much prefer the challenge of getting her to spread her legs for me. I don’t find the thought of flat-out rape enticing. But I can’t seem to get the ballerina prude out of my head, and at this point, I’ve lost interest in other girls. I haven’t slept with anyone in weeks, and my balls are so bruised from abstaining that I’m uncomfortable even when I’m just standing. I’ve tried other forms of release, and the only way I can manage to shoot a load is by visualizing myself fucking Anya as I masturbate.
It’s infuriating, and to make it worse, Anya seems to be growing more resilient to my abuse. It doesn’t matter that I’ve kicked people out of their seats before class so I can sit beside her and torture her all throughout the lecture. She sits in stony silence, her eyes facing forward unless I absolutely force her to look at me. The other students have stopped even trying to sit beside her, hoping to avoid a confrontation with me–that’s the normal response people are supposed to have when a Marchetti decides they want to have their way about something. But Anya seems determined not to care that my family could crush her, ruin her chances of becoming a dancer, or even take her life if I so chose. Not that I would. I’m not that heartless.
But as I lean closer to Anya, whispering that she should just give it up since no one else is ever going to want her, she doesn’t even blink in response. It fucking pisses me off, and I shove her notebook out of her hands and onto the floor in front of her. Anya’s hand grips her pen, the only response she gives me, before she sets it gently on her desk.
Pushing her chair back, Anya slips out of it and onto the floor, and the thought of her giving me head while she’s under the desk makes me instantly rock-hard. She leans forward to grab her notebook, and I take a healthy look at her firm, round ass poking out from beneath the table. What I wouldn’t give to fuck her from behind, gripping her silky blonde hair to the point of pain as she cries out in pleasure beneath me.
As Anya shifts to climb back into her seat, I snatch the pen from her desk before she notices. Quietly settling back into her desk, Anya sets her notebook on the table, and a hint of surprise registers on her face. She glances toward my hands and catches sight of her missing pen.
I smile wickedly as her eyes slowly drag upward to my face. I can see the hint of fear in her sky-blue gaze. And just to get a rise out of her, I launch the pen, full force, toward the front of the class. It smacks the blackboard with a loud snap, hitting the wall less than a foot from Professor Kennedy’s head.
The strict history professor’s eyes snap up to glare at the class through her thick-rimmed glasses. Then she stoops to pick up the pen. “Whose is this?” she demands.
I feel Anya sink lower in her seat, her embarrassment radiating off of her in waves. Shamelessly, I hold my hand over her head and point down at her with my finger, making it blatantly obvious to Professor Kennedy that Anya owns the pen.
Jay and Dom snicker next to me, joining me in my abuse.
“I’m confiscating this,” Professor Kennedy says sharply. “I hope you value your next pen more, or you’ll soon run out of ways to take notes.”
“I’m so sorry, Professor Kennedy,” Anya apologizes breathlessly.
Refusing to acknowledge the apology, the professor shifts her eyes back down to the podium before her that holds her lecture notes.
I turn to smile at Anya, and satisfaction fills me at the color staining her soft, rosy cheeks. But she doesn’t turn to look at me or say anything. Instead, she reaches into the bag at her feet and withdraws another pen. Irritation flares up inside me. I want to hurt her, to make her feel as angry as she made me when she rejected me.
Reaching over while she’s distracted, I take the soft flesh on the back of her arm and pinch her mercilessly. Anya gasps, jerking upright and yanking her arm out of my reach. She bites her lip as if trying to stay silent, and she glances over to glare at me.Finally.It’s ridiculous how hard I have to work to get her to look at me. In response, I give her a wink, making light of the pain I’m sure I just caused.
