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He chuckles, and I can sense his green eyes piercing through the side of my face. I maintain my focus on the road as I pull onto the highway. My hands tighten on the steering wheel, and I check my side mirror before pressing hard on the gas pedal.
“You’re kinda hot when you’re angry and focused.”
“Don’t,” I snap. “Don’t tell me how you find me.”
In my peripheral vision, I feel him relax against the seat and spread his legs comfortably. “Why not?”
My heart beats hard against my ribcage, anxiety enveloping my body like a coat of dread.
“You know why.” I force myself to push the words past the heavy lead in my chest and the dryness of my throat.
“Oh.” He titters to himself before his sick voice perforates any sort of bravery I keep trying to put on. “Because I made you suck my cock.”
A wave of nausea makes me tremble, and I can feel my back spasm.
“I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t find you hot as fuck, little Scott. We’re from rival crews. There was only one thing to do once I got you all alone.”
“What?” I snort sarcastically. “Break me?”
His hand comes to the back of my neck, cold fingers that belong to death itself. “I could do it again, you know? We’re alone in your car. I’m stronger than you. I think you’re quite irresistible in your tight little tank top. I could wrap your ponytail around my fist. I also would really, really, like to see tears in those big doe eyes of yours again.”
“Stop,” I hiss. I try to shrug him off, but I’m driving eighty miles per hour and can’t do any sudden movements.
“I’ve watched those videos so many times. Especially the one where you suck my cock and swallow. Gets me hard every fucking time.”
My throat is so taut I can’t breathe. My chest struggles to expand no matter how hard I try to force oxygen into my lungs.
“Get your hand off me,” I heave. “Stop touching me.”
I’ve spent the last two years battling with myself over what he did to me. The days after it happened, I couldn’t speak or leave my house. I showered enough times a day that my skin was raw and red; it stung. Every time I tried to leave the house, I was too scared to bump into him. Every time my phone chimed, I was petrified the videos were viral.
It took me weeks to find a semblance of normalcy in my own house, but I still couldn’t be out on my own. I’d always tag along with Emma, Xi, or Lik.
The worst thing is, I got so good at hiding it everyone thought I was still strong Billie. The one who kicks ass and doesn’t take shit from anyone. They all thought my passion for MMA made me the toughest they’d ever seen. No one realized that the boxing gym was the only place I could forget about Caden. About the musky scent of his crotch against me. About the choking feeling of his cock down my throat and the sickly taste of his cum on my tongue.
No one knew the boxing ring was the only place I didn’t think of the pleasure he’d forced on me. I didn’t want to come that night. I didn’t want it to feel good. I never hated myself more than when I started associating sucking his dick and having his tongue on me as being things that got me wet.
The two events of that night mixed into the memory of the most earth-shattering orgasm of my life. The fear, the humiliation, the idea of two people watching us and being recorded. The fact that I was forced…it all melted into associating pleasure with a situation that I know traumatized me.
And yet, when Caden is near, when I smell that same marine cologne and the scent of weed and mint, when I hear his mocking laugh and his deadly voice, or when I see his wicked smile…my heart beats strangely. Fear and confusion blend, sickening me.
Instead of lifting his hand off me, he tightens his grip because he’s a sick fuck who gets hard from torturing people.
“Don’t be scared, little Scott.” He massages the back of my neck, and that sick feeling melts into warmth, trailing down my back. “If I wanted to have you again, I wouldn’t have waited two years for it.”
A sense of safety comes over me. That’s true. Caden’s reputation has always preceded him. The sick King. The brutal son who takes pleasure in torturing his enemies. The villain that even criminals like us fear. No one wants to end up face-to-face with Caden. He’s too unpredictable. Tooderanged.
I thought he was done, but he keeps going. “See, if I wanted to have your pretty lips wrapped around my dick, I would have followed you after school and cornered you in that narrow alleyway you take to go back to your house. I’d have put you on your knees in the dirt, stuck between the wall and me, and fucked your mouth until you passed out. Then I’d have left you there, only for you to wake up alone with my cum dripping down your lips.”
My stomach tightens at the thought, but I keep my eyes on the road and do my best to breathe properly.
“If I wanted to have your pussy, I’d have just broken into your house during the night and covered your mouth with my hand while I ripped your pajamas off your little body and bent you in half to fuck that tight cunt.”
He finally lets go of my neck and points to the exit I should take. “But see, I didn’t. So you’re safe, baby. As long as you don’t tempt me to hurt you.”
I switch on the indicator and exit the highway, feeling so hot I am genuinely considering rolling the window down.
He’s right, after all. If Caden wanted to hurt me some more, he would have done it long before tonight. If he’d wanted to harm or humiliate me after that night, my avoiding him wouldn’t have changed anything. He would have done it anyway.
