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His expression goes from amused to curious. “She’s the one who helped you trip, huh?”
It didn’t occur to me that he wouldn’t know that. I thought everyone knew who was the worst of my bullies, but to be fair, it’s likely only obvious to me because she’s made my life a living hell. To an onlooker who doesn’t care to look further, I’m a social pariah and everyone hates me, the end.
But I didn’t break this off only because he picked my bully. His choice proved that he was perfectly fine with a girl two years his junior; just not with me. And the Noble boy was right. I refuse to be that expired jar of commercial sauce on the shelf.
I’m not ugly. I’m not terrible. I’m not dirty. Someday, somewhere, someone will wantme.
“If I told you I wouldn’t touch her again—” he starts, his eyes calculating.
“I would still not be interested, whatever lie you say.” This unreal conversation is exhausting me. With a deep sigh, I conclude, “Look, you’ve never wanted me, and I don’t want you either. This is a good thing. Maybe I should have talked to you about it first, but I figured the parents were the only real obstacle, and now they’ve accept—”
“Who said I didn’t want you?” Less asks.
You, with every single one of your actions.
"It’s obvious. Just look at the facts.”
“What facts?”
I throw my hands up in frustration. “That’s not the point. It’s over. Have a nice life.”
He says nothing for a long moment; then that grin returns. The one from the lunch break. Wicked. Cruel. Unbearably beautiful, and more honest than any of his masks. He looks like the villain of a storybook.
“It’s cute you genuinely think you can decide when I’m done with my toys.”
He’s on me before I can react. Instead of pushing me against the door, this time, he drags me by the arm toward my plush pink rug, and twists my arm behind my back.
“Stop!” I wince. “It hurts.”
He only twists it tighter, seemingly effortlessly, and my body bends forward to avoid the pain, immobilized although he’s only using one hand to control it. I fall to my knees, and he adjusts his grip, taking both of my arms behind my back before pushing me face down on the rug.
“I’ll scream!” I promise.
He laughs. He actually laughs. “Wrong thing to say.”
I open my mouth to do just that, but I can only get, “Hel—” out, before his free hand circles my back, clasping against my open lips. He has some sort of fabric in hand—a handkerchief, I think—and he stuffs it in my mouth, gagging me.
“I guess you were feeling a little neglected, huh? But instead of coming to me for attention, you went to bitch to my father. Talk about being an immature little cunt.”
I’m too busy trying to wiggle out of his iron fist to notice much else, my head pressed against the rug, my voice muffled to useless whimpers. The moment he lets go of my wrist, my entire arm stings, and I feel so exhausted.
It’s over. He’s done. He—
He passes his belt around my head and tightens it around the mouth gag, muzzling me and freeing his hands. Next thing I know, my skirt is pulled over my ass, all the way down to my thighs. I gasp, glancing back as far as I can look in horror.
He’s up on his knees right behind me, his own pants down, and his hard, curved, lengthy cock pointing right at me.
I try to crawl away, stand up, and he only pulls on the belt, controlling my head.
When I’m within reach, he takes a fistful of my hair.
“You can feel how much I don’t want you, poison,” he grunts as his length presses at the apex of my thighs.
I thrash as hard as I can, screaming through the gag. But even as I do, I hear my little sister’s music blasting on the other side of the hall. The parents are still downstairs, too far to hear my tiny cries through the handkerchief.
I’m at his mercy.
“I can make your life a living nightmare. Is that what you want, poison?”
