My throat constricts, making it hard to breathe. I stay silent, knowing he’s waiting for me to accept the situation I’m in. That will be a cold day in hell. I’ll never accept this. However, that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. I just hope the light is dim enough for him not to see the ugliest part of me.
So, I nod with tears burning the back of my eyes.
Pleased, he takes a step away from me, but then just as quickly comes to a stop. “Move your arms, brat.”
Reluctantly, I clench my hands into tight fists and move them. Allowing them to fall down by my sides, I break eye contact with him and peer down at the plush, velvety carpet under my feet. My toes push into it, reveling in its softness.
A sharp intake of breath ensues. “I didn’t see this before.”
“Y-You wouldn’t. The light was too dim in the living room.”
His eyes burn into me, and I can feel the storm building and building. “Chaz never saw it, either. He would have told me.”
This scar is child’s play according to the one … Don’t think about it, Ari. I clamp my eyes closed, warring with my sentiments. I make sure my clothes cover my insecurities, but it never stops my thoughts from going back there when provoked.
As if on command, my mind flashes back to that night, and I’m unable to stop as the memories that crowd in on me, dragging me beneath the surface.
“Are you ready, firecracker?” I smile.
Trevor has been calling me that nickname ever since we first met our fifth-grade year, when I told him to fuck off and ran off with my friends. That didn’t stop him from pursuing me, though. In fact, it made him do it harder. Everywhere I went, he was there. He popped up out of nowhere, putting himself in my sights at every event until I was thirteen and we were entering eighth grade.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, papi,” I retort, batting my eyes sensually, a shiver of delight races through me when his darken with lust.
We’ve been dating since the summer we turned thirteen and haven’t turned back since. He’s been my ‘papi,’ because he acts like such a goddamn dad sometimes, and I’ve been his’ firecracker.’ It’s been bliss, and even now, when we’re in the middle of some pretty fucked up shit, it’s still bliss. I’d go anywhere, and be anything, if it meant I got to be with Trevor.
“You don’t have to do this,” he finally says, sobering. But I know he’s trying to talk himself out of this more than he is me. I’m in it one hundred percent. He’s my ride or die, and I’ll never let him go into Hell without being by his side.
Grabbing his hand, I rub my fingers over the rough callous of his scarred knuckles. “It’s you and me, Trevor. Whatever happens, happens. I’m not going anywhere.”
“This man wants something, Ariyal.” His eyes burn into mine. “I don’t know what, but if he wants to meet you, it can’t be good.”
Monday, Trevor got the call from his ‘employer,’ saying he needed to see him and wanted me to tag along. We didn’t know what it was for, but we all knew it was a mess of epic proportions. Ever since he started working for this guy, Trevor has been more closed off to others than usual. The only way we made it through is because he never shut me out completely. Who the fuck would hire a sixteen-year-old to do this type of job, anyway?
Ever since he started taking fewer runs, his boss started getting suspicious. Without him saying anything to Trevor, even I know a guy like this would start asking questions about why his top distributor would slow down suddenly.
We both know it’s dangerous going in there, but we know it’s even more dangerous not to.
“We’ll deal with it. Okay?” Leaning forward, I press a chaste kiss against his lips. When he tries to deepen our connection, I smile against his mouth. “Let’s get this over with.”
“I got you,” he says.
I shot a breathtaking smile toward him. “And I have you.”
The moment we enter the warehouse it is everything we didn’t want, but everything we expected. His boss didn’t like what Trevor’s doing, and for example, he and his men grab me out of nowhere and separated us. They take us completely off guard, just as our eyes get used to the dimness inside the debilitating building.
My scream reverberates throughout the warehouse, my eyes seeking Trevor’s. When his boss steps forward, I have a sickening suspicion I’d seen him before, but I can’t remember where. He’s regal looking, dressed to the nines in a three-piece tailored to fit him suit. His raven hair is graying at his temples, and he wears it slicked back over the top of his head.
He exudes nothing but calm and sophistication. However, there is a darkness surrounding him that absolutely terrifies me. It’s even as if the shadows are afraid to cling to his body.
“Trevor, boy,” he says, stepping up next to me. “Is she the reason you stopped doing your fucking job?”
Trevor doesn’t say a word, keeping his gaze trained on me. Tears brim my eyes at the helpless look in his. No matter what happens, we’ll get past this. He stopped taking the runs and doing less than savory things because of me; he wants to plan a future with me, and I him.
I’ll make sure I am the one punished for his misdeeds, because it was my fault he failed at his job.
“It’s not his fault,” I cry out.
“Shut up, Ari!” Trevor’s voice thunders.
“What’s your name, girl?” his boss asks, twisting toward me.
I fight the urge to push myself into the guards holding me, to get away from his menacing glower. “A-Ariyal Nikohls.”
It’s as if everything around us stops; the air in the room sucking out until we’re suffocating for a taste of the sweet substance. His eyebrow cocks up in surprise. “Nikohls, huh?”
I bit my lip and nod. Then he asks something that completely takes me by surprise. “Your father wouldn’t be Xavier, would it?”
My eyes round, nearly falling out of my skull. How does he know my father? “Y-Yes, sir.”
“Oh, the tangled webs we weave.” His dark, cynical laughter reverberates off the rusted metal walls.
Then his attention flicks toward Trevor, a black, demented smirk twisting his features. “A two for one. I should thank you” Then he turns toward me with the precision of a viper, plunging a hidden knife into my midsection, twisting. I scream in pain, splaying my hands across my midsection as he rips the knife out of me, and his guards allow me to fall to the ground.
“What are you doing?!” Trevor bellows, fighting against his boss’ men. “You will kill her you sick son of a bitch!”
No. He didn’t kill me. But he did something far worse. In the form of a branding iron and hot, hot flames—the sick son of a bitch forced his guys to undress me and brand the top of my pussy. The sounds of their laughter are the only thing I hear before I pass out.
“Brat! Brat!” I feel hands rough with callous’ clamp down around my arms. “Goddammit, Ariyal!”
Blinking rapidly, the fog of the memory slowly drifts away as I come face-to-face once more with Brett. “Wh—Huh?”
“Where did you go just now?” he asks, looking shaken. But I know that can’t be right. Maybe I’m just seeing things; diverting memory into reality. Seeing what I want to see, when it’s not even there.
Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I reply, “It doesn’t matter.”
His brows furrow. Jaw ticks in irritation. I know he wants to say something but stays silent instead. Stepping away from me, he takes his heat with him and I’m left feeling cold and dead inside. “Get undressed.”
I hate when they tell me what to do. It’s been this or that ever since my father left earlier today. I’m tired, weary. And with the memory fresh on my mind, not in the mood for his crap. “Leave.”
He scoffs. “I’ll see every inch of your body soon, anyway, so you may as well reveal it now, brat.”
He doesn’t know what he’s asking. He thinks I’m like everyone else, and I’m not. I’m a freak. Ugly, disfigured—no man, except for Trevor—will ever accept me for who I am, and
that’s because he was there that night. Brett will take one look at me, and either be sick to his stomach … no, he’ll just be sick.
Hey, maybe I should do it. It could mean he’d leave me alone.
The scar is deep and old, bubbled from the harshness of when Trevor’s boss pushed the blazing brand to my skin. No matter how well I took care of it, after this past year, it’s still raised, angry. Just seeing it every time makes me ill with sickness. It causes my stomach to roll, my guts to churn with remembrance.
“I—” I shift in place, dropping my eyes in embarrassment. “I can’t.”
I feel more than see Brett step closer. “You will.”
“Please, don’t make me do this,” I whisper brokenly.
Tears fill my eyes. I try my best to keep them at bay, but it’s no use. The memory resurfacing earlier, plus Brett ordering me to undress, push me to the breaking point. Soon, tears are running down my cheeks in earnest, sliding off my chin to fall on the carpet under my feet.
“Undress, Ariyal!” he thunders, the tone of voice making me jerk in fear.
It sounds just as dark and menacing as Trevor’s boss. Not the same, in general, but the timbre and force Brett uses behind his words sounds the same. It lets me know he means business, and I’ll either remove the rest of my clothes and shoes or he will do it for me.
“Brett, please.” I wrap my arms around my stomach, trying to make myself as small as possible. And that’s the piece of straw that breaks the camel’s back.
Stomping forward, Brett grabs my arms and flings them to the side. When I try to jerk away and cover myself again, he pushes into me so hard I immediately stop fighting. Every part of him is touching me, constricting me in a way that feels lethal.
“If you move one more goddamn inch, I’ll force you to your knees and make you choke on my cock,” he growls. “Test me, brat—I fucking dare you!”
His loud yell makes me freeze into stone. My eyes continue dripping, releasing a steady stream of pain and anguish. I don’t know why I’m reacting this way; I should stand up and confront him, because this is my body. But instead, I stay silent, even as he jerks my pants to my ankles. I never murmur a word of protest as he pulls my boots off my feet, along with my socks, and practically rips the jeans from my legs.
I’m standing in front of him in nothing but a light pink lace thong, nearly shaking in my spot at what he’s about to spy next. There’s no way he won’t be able to see it. The brand spans across the entire front of my pussy. Honestly, I don’t know how he didn’t see it when I was in the shower the day he was going to fuck Kamila. Or, maybe he did, and just said nothing.
Oh, God—what if he knows? He could be putting me through this just to be an asshole, which shouldn’t really surprise me.
“Brett, please, stop,” I urge out, backing up into the dresser.
He grabs the edge of my panties in a punishing grip. “Tell me to stop again, and I’ll bend you over this dresser and fuck you ragged!” He’s completely unbalanced. Worse than what he ever was before. How can I get through to him when he’s like this?
I cry softly, beseeching him with my eyes when they connect. Maybe there is no way to get through to him.
With a tug, a sob escapes my chest as my thong rips at the side. He slides them down my legs, leaning forward as he does. He’s right fucking there. Within inches of my biggest disgrace. I don’t step out of them, not even when he takes a stride back to take me in.
Except, he doesn’t react the way I think he’s going to. Instead, a deep, pleased growl rumbles in his throat, reverberating around the small enclosure.
“You look sexy with my family’s crest branded on that pussy of yours, brat.” He licks his lips.
And I … I die a little more inside when I start connecting the dots.
CHAPTER 21
My chest heaves, and nausea churns in my gut. I feel as if someone put me in a car smasher, dead set on squashing me flat. There must be a plausible explanation for all this. Possibly, a freak accident.
Yeah, I’ll go with that. Even though Brett has been nothing but arrogant, selfish, and conceited, I refuse to believe what happened to me has any reflection of my current status. It’s insane, completely unbelievable.
“Y-Your family crest?”
He nods, pleased. I tremble in my spot when he steps closer, then almost lose my breath when he sinks to one knee in front of me. I want to back away, but there’s nowhere for me to go. I’m trapped, pinned against a dresser and the fierce man kneeling in front of me.
“Perfect.” I barely hear his voice, but I can feel his breath as it ghosts across the surface of my skin.
Against my mind’s better judgement, my body breaks out into goosebumps. My skin tingles with his proximity, while my mind whirls with why he’s kneeling so close. He’s peering at my disgusting flesh as if he can’t get enough. I wish I could get rid of it; burn it away the same way they did to put it there.
But I know that will never happen. I may like a little pain when I’m with guys, but I don’t enjoy self-infliction. It’s never been my cup of tea.
A loud voice from outside the closet brings him out of his reverie. “Dinner is here.”
“I’ll have my dessert first,” Brett calls back, causing my brows to furrow in confusion just as I hear laughter boom from the other side.
When I go to ask what he means by that, he takes me off guard by thrusting his hand between the gap of my thighs. He wraps his arm around my upper thigh and hoists it up over his shoulder as he shifts closer.
“Brett.” I try to jerk away, tightening the muscle in my leg to pull it out of his grip, only he tightens his fingers on my thigh painfully, stopping me.
I cry out, slapping my hands out blindly against the top of the dresser. My fingers wrap around the sides, fingers tightening until they pale from loss of circulation.
“Brett,” I say again in warning. “You need to let me go. Now.” That familiar anger stirs.
His eyes reluctantly pull away from my branded mound to stare deep into mine. He doesn’t say a word, but I can see something brewing in his irises. I don’t know how I know, but with everything that’s happened since the first day I came here, I’ve been able to read him pretty well. He’s no different from all the other men I’ve been around; they all want something.
Then … he opens his mouth and fucks me with his words. “If I want to suck this goddamn pussy until you cream on my tongue, then by fucking God, I will. You will stand there and take it. Do you understand?”
His haughty voice does something to me. It makes that anger and hatred simmering in my gut to overflow. Before I can stop myself, my fingers unwrap from the dresser and my hand swings through the air. His head snaps to the side from the force of my hit, an ear-piercing clap of skin against skin extending through the air.
Several minutes tick by and he does nothing except drag in deep, ragged breaths. His nostrils flare in unbridled fury. And when he brings his eyes back to mine, the sight of my handprint stinging the side of his cheek causes joy to dance in my chest. Even as his entire body pulsates with an inferno that surpasses mine, I revel in the fact I marked him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” he growls, then slams his face into the apex of my thighs.
His hands are hard and rough, unrelenting against my sensitive skin. He will surely leave bruises, and honestly, I don’t know how I feel about that. I’m too shocked and frozen to worry about anything except getting him away from me. But no amount of twisting and turning will get his hold to break. It’s as if he’s forcing me to take the pleasure, like a rabid bulldog out for blood.
How does someone force someone to take something that feels good? That’s like walking up to a kid in a candy store and saying, “You can’t buy anything with your money, but I’ll give you whatever you want.” It makes little sense, and it’s fucking with my head.
It feels so fucking good, his ministrations begging me to succumb to the pleasure of his magical tongue
and full lips. But I know it’s wrong. Terrible. He shouldn’t be doing this; neither one of us should do this with each other. I hate him. I loathe everything he stands for.
So, why does it feel so goddamn good? Why does it feel like I’m about to burst apart in a million different directions? I can feel it building, budding into something more. And I don’t want that to happen. I know it’s just biology, but that would make me feel as if I failed. Like I wasn’t strong enough to field his advances.
“B-Brett,” I gasp his name. “Stop. Get off me.”
I’m so pathetic. Even I don’t fully believe the words coming from between my parted lips.
I’m a sick, sick bitch.
A growl rumbles in his chest, before he barks out, “Just fucking shut up and take it.”
His words vibrate against my pussy, and to my horror, I can feel myself growing aroused, wet. With the sight of him kneeling in front of me, his tight grip on my thigh and his face shoved full of my pussy like it’s a five-course meal, I tremble under the onslaught of pleasure. But it’s not as torturous, nor as damning, as the whimper that rises in my throat when his tongue takes one long, slow stroke between my folds.
I can’t hold it back. I fought, and fought, and fought, but it was like fighting a losing battle. It’s been months since I’ve felt the tongue of a man devouring me. Months since I watched a man nearly inhale my pussy like it was the best thing in existence. He’s rough with his hands, but gentle while he laps at my juices.
A need unfurls inside me, and I know exactly what that means. It’s a ball of aching desire growing, and with each stroke continues to expand. It’ll only be a matter of time before it bursts inside me and I come all over his tongue.
But … I don’t want that. I’d never want this, would I?
I try to shake the lustful haze from my mind, but it’s futile. It’s there, like a living entity inside me.
Little Plaything: A Dark High School Bully Romance (Reighton Preparatory Academy Book 1) Page 14
