by Alexis Angel
“Like I said, don’t fucking scream, or this will end even worse than its going to, understand?” he asks.
I can’t move. I realize I should yell. I should kick him, but he’s too strong. And he’s dragging me at an insane angle.
I can’t believe this is happening to me.
But just because I don’t have a good vantage point now, don’t think I’m beaten, hun.
When a man tries to take advantage of a woman, remember what we’ve always been taught. Just bide your time, be patient, and when ready, kick them in the balls extra hard.
I just need to find my opening.
96
Lance
I don’t fucking know what came over me, but the moment I heard Jocelyn walking up the stairs I was already lacing my sneakers and putting on a shirt. I’ve already ran fives miles on the fucking treadmill before moving on to the weights, but I can’t fight against this fucking urge to go after her.
When my eyes found her, tight yoga pants and all… One fucking look, and that was all it took for me to become fucking hard. Fuck, could she be any more fucking irresistible? I almost dropped my fucking jaw to the floor when I saw her.
But she’s my fucking stepmom. I can’t do it.
Welcome to my fucking head the last few days. Looking at her tight fucking ass as she bends over and getting fucking hard. Then realizing who she is and hitting myself. Watching her tits jiggle. Then realizing she’s married to my Dad and I don’t want to fuck with that shit.
It sounded like a fucking good idea: get to the basement, work myself to fucking exhaustion, and hopefully I’d have a clearer head afterward. Yeah, not a fucking chance in hell. By now my mind is already busy weaving the most fucking indecent kind of thoughts it can; I can already picture my fingers tracing her perfect curves, my hands on her ass as I fucking pull her into me… Fucking hell, I’d give an eye and a fucking arm to have her on her knees, my cock halfway in her mouth as she looks up at me. Now that’d be a fucking sight. Of course, if that happened… That’d only be the fucking start of it all. What, do you think I’d be able to fucking stop once she had her lips wrapped tight around my shaft?
Out of control as I am right now, I know I should stay fucking put, but I just need to see her again. I’m not thinking straight, but to be honest, I couldn’t give any less of a fuck about that.
I hurry up the stairs, but she’s nowhere to be seen. She has a fucking head start, but I figure I can catch up with her easily. There’s a breeze as I step outside, and my skin prickles as I feel the fucking cold air of New York’s morning. Rubbing my hands together, I start jogging down the fucking street, heading straight to the Park.
There, a few morning souls are already running around the lake; I ease my pace, looking around for Jocelyn, but she seems to have fucking vanished. Fuck, I hope she didn’t decide to go somewhere else. Maybe she thought I’d follow after, and if that was the case, she fucking nailed it, and decided against coming this way.
I’m almost ready to turn the fuck around and head back home when I catch a glimpse of a woman running in the fucking distance, following a trail that sneaks its way among rows of imposing field maples. I squint my eyes, taking in the distant shape of the runner; it’s her, no fucking doubt about that. Even though I’m too far away to see her face, I’d recognize that sweet ass anywhere. Fuck, just one look at her and my cock is already fucking twitching.
I pick up the fucking pace, running after her with a spring in my step. I don’t even know what I’ll fucking say to her once I catch up, but hey, what’s the harm in jogging with my stepmother? That’s not a fucking crime, last time I fucking checked. We’ll just bond as stepson and stepmother. Oh, fuck, who am I trying to fucking fool? I didn’t leave the house because I wanted to “bond,” whatever that fucking means. I did it because… Fuck, I have no idea why. After seeing her this morning, yoga pants hugging her slender legs, her sweet lips almost begging me to rest my cock between them... I just knew I had to come after her.
I’m already within shouting distance but I keep quiet, deciding to surprise her. And that’s when I fucking see him—a fucking guy in a black hoodie, a kerchief covering his face, fucking jumps out from behind the trunk of a maple tree and pushes Jocelyn to the fucking floor. She loses her balance and goes down fast; her knees hitting the ground as the man takes one wide stride toward her. He grabs her by the hair and pulls her into a hedgerow, making me lose them out of sight. Fuck, fuck!
My heart starts to fucking race, and for a moment, all I see is fucking red. There’s murder in my fucking veins right now. Whoever that fucking bastard is, he has no idea about the world of fucking pain he has just stepped into; he has just signed his fucking death sentence.
Running like a fucking train, I chase after the two of them. My feet hitting the floor at an anxious frantic pace, I cover the distance between me and the fucking hedgerow in just a few seconds. I stop, and looking around, notice movement between two fucking bushes. Moving like a fucking bullet—and as fucking murderous as one—I jump into the bushes, my hands turning into fists.
The fucking bastard has her pinned down on the ground, struggling to part her legs and rest his body on top of hers. The motherfucker is trying to fucking rape her! I feel rage coursing through my veins, my muscles tensing as I hurry toward the two of them.
Jocelyn is putting up a fucking fight, though. She has the flat palm of her hand on his face, trying to claw his fucking eyeballs out, but the man simply pushes her arms to the side. Then, he reaches behind his back, pulling a fucking knife out from his back pocket. Motherfucker.
“Hey, let her fucking go!” I shout as the man presses the blade against her neck. I lock eyes with Jocelyn, fear making her eyes wide as the man turns to look at me. His eyes bore into me like nails, suddenly realizing that he has a fucking problem on his hands. He has no idea how big of a fucking problem.
Right now, he has one fucking choice to make, and I can see the gears turning inside his head as he considers his options; he either lets her go and bolts, or tries to get rid of both of me and Jocelyn, eliminating all witnesses. As he gets up and turns to me, his fingers curled tight around the knife’s handle, the choice he made becomes clear as fucking crystal to me.
“You’re fucking dead, boy,” he hisses, lunging at me and trying to fucking slice me across the chest. Boy? Jesus fucking Christ, he’s already trying to fucking stab me, did he really have to call me boy? That just makes me want to fucking knock his lights out even more.
I take one step back, getting out of his reach, but he comes after me, the fucking sun reflecting on the blade as he moves it above his head and brings it down. Fuck, I can’t dodge him forever; if I simply keep getting out of reach, my luck is going to fucking run out and I’ll end up with that knife buried five fucking inches deep in my chest.
“Fuck,” I curse under my breath as my back hits the trunk of a large fucking tree. Death in his fucking eyes, the guy in the hoodie closes the distance between me and him and changes his grip on the knife, grabbing it underhandedly. He raises his arm and then brings it down again, aiming for my fucking heart. This is it; I can’t dodge him anymore.
Moving fast, I take one step toward him and raise my arm up in the air, trying to block him. His forearm hits mine as he presses down, the tip of the blade hanging two inches above my head.
“Who did you call a ‘boy’?” I ask him with a grin, gallons of fucking adrenaline raging through me. He wasn’t expecting me to be so fucking bold, so I take his moment’s confusion to ram my closed fist into his fucking face. There’s a nauseating crunching sound as my hand crashes against his nose, and the man tumbles back, letting go of the knife and bringing both hands to his ruined face. His kerchief is turning fucking red, soaking the blood from his broken nose.
“You’re fucking dead,” he hisses again, rage burning in his eyes. Like a fucking madman he throws himself at me, trying to grab me by the neck. I sidestep him easily and fucking punch him again, this
time my fist landing on the side of his face. He tumbles onto the ground, falling flat on his ass. I take the chance and jump on top of him, fucking pummeling him with my close fist. This motherfucker tried to fucking rape Jocelyn, and if I wasn’t around... Fuck.
“Lance, stop. He’s out,” I hear Jocelyn say. She’s sitting back against a tree, her voice weak and fearful. If it weren’t for her, I’d keep punching until there was nothing left, fury guiding me as I remember this fucking bastard’s intentions. Adrenaline still coursing in my veins, I get up, leaving the unconscious fucker sprawled on the ground, and walk toward Jocelyn.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, looking into her eyes. Her lips are dry, and there’s an expression of pure terror in her face, as if only now her close call started to sink in. “Did he hurt you?”
“I’m… I’m…” she starts, but the words get lost as a fucking violent sob takes over her. I reach for her, taking her in my arms as she starts to cry. I place one hand under the nape of her neck, gently caressing her.
“Hey, hey… It’s alright. I’m here now,” I whisper into her, and she hugs me tight, her head resting on my shoulder. I close my eyes, just holding her close and waiting for her to calm down.
Her tits are pressed against my chest, and I have to take a deep breath to focus on what’s happening. It’s not that easy, though—her warm skin, her breasts, the way she has her arms around my chest… That mental image from before, my cock deep in her mouth, hits me again, and I have to take a deep breath.
Fuck, I just want to lean in and kiss her. I feel warm blood surging toward my cock, and I start getting fucking hard. And, fuck, I’m only wearing basketball shorts. If I pop a fucking boner right now, there’s no fucking way I’ll be able to hide it from her.
Breathing deeply, somehow I manage to regain a fucking semblance of control. I should get a fucking medal for this: Zen Master of the Year.
“Let’s go,” I tell her. “I’ll take you home.” I stand up, pulling her up to her feet; with one arm over her shoulders, we head out from the bushes and into the trail. I almost want to leave the fucking bastard there, choking on his own blood; he sure as fuck deserves it, but saner thoughts prevail. Grabbing my cell phone, I call 911 and inform them of what just happened. The dispatcher asks me to remain here, waiting for the police, but there’s no fucking way I’m going to be hanging around this place with Jocelyn. I’m taking her home right fucking now. The NYPD can get our fucking statement there, as far as I’m concerned.
“Thank you, Lance…” she whispers, grabbing my arm tightly. There’s real gratitude there; I simply smile, not knowing what else to say. I’m just glad I was around, because if I wasn’t… Fuck, I don’t even want to think about what could have fucking happened.
“Let’s just get you home,” I say, hailing a cab the moment we leave Central Park. What a fucked up way to start the day.
Already sitting inside the cab, Jocelyn leaning against my shoulder, I breathe in deeply and try to settle my nerves. Fuck, the moment I saw her being attacked, I just fucking lost it. I never felt anything like it; I lost all fucking control… I could have killed that fucking bastard. And all because I can’t stop thinking about Jocelyn.
Fuck, I’m going insane.
97
Jocelyn
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Michael shouts, slamming his fist on the desk as he goes to his feet. “Going out by yourself… Don’t you have anything inside that head of yours?”
I should have been expecting this. Somehow, I naively thought my husband would have a comforting word for me after finding out that I almost got raped. Of course, I couldn’t be more mistaken about that.
“You’re supposed to be helping me with this goddamn campaign, not being a liability, you stupid bitch!” Michael yells.
I have the urge to take the glass vase and hit him over the head with it. The frustration is immense just being in the same room as this man. This isn’t a marriage. This is torture. Every day.
But whatever he has on my father - whatever could destroy a storied career and get him to come to me with fear in his eyes makes me stay. Because Michael scares me. Every day. With his cold demeanor. His calculating strategy.
Michael got home at the same time the NYPD officers were leaving; they got here an hour after the incident to get a statement, and he immediately asked me what was going on. We went to his office, and he listened to me without interrupting once, but I could see a vein pulsing in his temple, rage building up inside of him.
“It wasn’t my fault…” I try and tell him, but he won’t have any of it.
“It wasn’t your fault? You left the house without your security detail! You never take them anywhere! Of course it was your fault! Walking along in tight clothes…” he says, shaking his head. “Of course you’d be jumped on. You’re still a stupid little girl. We’re not in Kansas, anymore,” he sneers.
I can hardly believe that he’s laying all the blame at my feet. You’d think that a high-society man like Michael Anders would be more forward thinking, but no… Like many other men, he just prefers to blame women for everything. But unlike other men, he won’t ever touch me. How does he know my clothes are too tight and I’m flaunting myself if he feels nothing for me?
“What’s going on?” I turn on my heels as I hear Lance’s voice. He has opened the door to Michael’s office and has stepped inside, one eyebrow raised in curiosity.
“What’s going on is that you two are idiots, that’s what’s going on!” Michael continues, the tone of his voice growing more furious by the second. “It wasn’t enough that Jocelyn got attacked, you had to go and give a beating to the guy! Do you have any idea on how that might play out in the media?”
Lance simply looks at his father, an expression of bewilderment taking over his face.
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” he starts in a low tone. “Your wife almost got raped, and you’re wondering about how that will affect your election? Are you fucking kidding? What kind of man are you?”
“I’m the kind of man who has fought for everything that he has. This house, the job I got you at the White House… Everything came from my hard work. From my sacrifices. That’s the kind of man I am. Not that you can see it, Lance… You know nothing about hard work or sacrifice.”
“This is your wife, Dad,” Lance says with sarcasm in his voice. “You might want to take care of her.”
“Don’t tell me who to take care of,” Michael shoots back. “If I had any sense, I should have let the state keep you after your Mom died. You’re nothing but an embarrassment to me now. This campaign is your one chance to redeem yourself.”
I feel Lance tensing up, and as he opens up his mouth to speak, I grab his arm, stopping him. When he looks at me, I simply shake my head. Escalating this won’t help matters.
“I’m going back to my office,” Michael says curtly, walking between Lance and I without glancing at us. We stay there in silence, hearing the click of Michael’s shoes across the hallway, and then the door opening and slamming shut.
“That fucking bastard…” Lance whispers to no one in particular, heading out of the office as if he were in a trance. He’s seething; even though he won’t show it, I know that his father's words have gotten to him. I follow him to the living room, trying to forget Michael’s words as I get out of his office. They hurt, sure, but I’m used to his coldness by now.
Lance is sitting on the couch in the family room, staring blankly at the TV. There’s some old movie from the early 00s going, a romantic movie of sorts, but I doubt he’s actually seeing any of it.
After a few minutes I hear Michael walking down the hall and opening the front door. He slams the door and I hear his motorcade start up and drive away.
I have no idea what to say to Lance, but I sit down next to him all the same, placing one leg up on the couch as I turn to face him.
“Thank you,” I say, looking him in the eyes and trying to steer the conversation away from his
father. “I don’t know what would have happened if you didn’t show up when you did…” I shudder, the memories of what just happened flooding me again.
“Hey, don’t worry… It’s over, that’s all that matters.” His expression softens as he speaks, a smile dawning on his lips. God, I could kiss him right now… I could just lean in, take his hand in mine and press my mouth against his. It would be so easy. Too easy.
I turn to face the TV, my heart beating fast. Breathing in, I try to calm myself and watch the movie on TV, but much like Lance, all I can do is stare absently at the moving pictures, unable to focus on whatever’s happening.
We sit in silence for a long while, simply staring at the TV—there, a half-naked young Keanu Reeves is kissing Charlize Theron. Even though I’ve already watched it when I was younger, the name of the movie simply alludes. Then, suddenly remembering it, I squeal like a young girl, grabbing Lance’s arm.
“Oh, I love this movie… Sweet November!” I lay down on the couch, placing both my legs across Lance’s lap.
“Never saw it,” he responds, smiling as he sets his forearms across my legs. A shiver goes up my spine as I feel his skin on mine, but I try and push forbidden thoughts to the back of my mind, tucking them away. It’s harder than it seems, though.
“You should,” I respond, grabbing the remote and pulling the movie back to the beginning. “And you will,” I add with a grin. Oh, God, what am I doing?
“You’re really making me watch a romantic comedy?” he asks, raising one eyebrow playfully.
“Of course,” I tell him. “And it’s not a romantic comedy… It’s a drama, actually.” I’m speaking, but I can barely hear my own voice. All that I can think about is that I’m on the couch with Lance, and we have the house completely to ourselves.
