by KV Rose
He stiffens, anger replaced with something else. Just for the briefest moment. He moves his finger in and out of me, gripping my ass. I feel his hot cock against my thigh. “That doesn’t concern you.”
I grip the couch beneath my hands. Take a deep breath. Ignore the feel of him inside of me. “What’re we doing here? You just wanna rape me? Whip me? Beat me? Send me back to my trailer? That how you think girls from trailer parks should be treated, Mavy?”
I watch the corded muscles of his neck strain against his skin, like he wants to kill me. “I think that’s how you want me to treat you.”
And before I can respond, he grabs something from the couch, yanking himself out of me as the belt comes around my windpipe, spinning my head around, away from him. My fingers instinctively move toward it, trying to pull it off, trying to give me room to breathe.
This is still a game.
“Don’t fight me,” he whispers in my ear, his chest against my back. “Don’t fight me, or I’ll make it worse.”
My entire body is coiled with tension, and I think about the glass on the floor. I think about the fact that I can feel his hard cock against my back. I think about the fact that I can’t breathe.
I stop fighting, my fingers still at the belt, but no longer trying to pull it off.
“Hold onto the couch,” he instructs me.
If I do as he asks, he won’t do what I don’t want him to do. He won’t make this worse. So, I do as he said, slowly, panic lighting through my limbs at the belt around my throat. I wonder how long it will take me to pass out.
But then, mercifully, he loosens his grip, giving the belt some slack.
A second later and he’s back to pressing the tip of his cock against me there.
Panic engulfs me and I twist my head around to look at him. He’s staring right at me. “You thought this would be fun for you?” he asks me with a manic grin.
I shake my head. My body breaks out in a cold sweat. Like New Year’s Eve? I could do New Year’s Eve. I wanted like New Year’s Eve, and every time after. We could fuck this out.
But this…
I can’t speak.
His fingers slide underneath me, up my wet slit and I shudder. “Here?” he teases me, the pads of his fingers circling my swollen clit.
I grip the couch tighter and nod my head.
“No one else has been here have they, Ella?” he asks me, grazing my entrance with his pinky as he keeps circling my clit. “Since I was?”
I shake my head. Don’t speak.
“But I don’t want to be there.” He takes his fingers away, presses his dick against my ass. “I want to be here.”
I bite my lip, tears springing into my eyes. The last time I did that…my eyes fall closed. I remember the blood. The way my stomach convulsed. It had been more than rough. It had been…torturous.
It had been the first and last time.
I never let myself become a victim, not with my mother. Not with my exes. But there was one night…one time. We were both drunk and Shane…
I think I’ve underestimated Maverick. I think this isn’t a game anymore. I think I’m an idiot for going to a man’s house I don’t know, that I met in the woods and let hit me. I think I’ve tried to find an escape from the life I deserve. The shitty trailer and the shitty mom and no food. That’s my life.
But this… Maybe I deserve this, too.
He presses further against me, the belt tightening around my throat, making my head spin back around. I grip the couch tighter, bury my face against it, tears hot behind my eyes.
He’s not going to stop.
I don’t know why I thought he might. I don’t know why I taunted him. I don’t know why I didn’t recognize a monster when I first looked into his eyes at Liber. I’d told him I’d seen the devil. I’d told him I saw that same devil in myself.
And I did. After that night I fucked up. After that night I poured myself one beer after another for the carbs, for something to put in my mouth. For...the forgetting. After the night my mom left to get her fix and her boyfriend stayed.
After the night he came to my room.
If I could’ve just been brave. If I could’ve said something worth saying. If I could’ve suffered through the hunger. Forgotten the beer. If I could’ve not been starved for something more than food.
Maverick leans over me, his chest to my back, his lips against my ear. He’s not inside me, but his cock is so hard, so hot, I know he’s not going to wait much longer. I’ve been here before.
His fingers are at the back of my neck, he’s holding the belt so tight around my throat. I can’t breathe.
“Ella,” he whispers in my ear. “Be a good girl.” His breath is soft against my skin, soft and warm. “I’ll take care of you if you’re good, you know that, don’t you?”
This isn’t a game.
Is this a game?
“If you’re not,” he continues, stroking his fingers down the side of my wet face, “if you’re not good for me…” he trails off, and I wonder if he’s going to say anything at all. But then he finishes his sentence. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
Am I really scared? Is this really fear? He doesn’t mean it. But I think about what he said on New Year’s Eve. About beating a woman to death with a hammer.
No…
For some reason, jarring me from my thoughts, he loosens his hold on the belt and I gulp down air.
“Tell me why I should stop,” he says softly.
My head is spinning with his words, my chest tightening, my mind racing.
“Talk to me, Ella.” His words are more urgent, almost begging. Pleading. “Tell me your secrets.”
“I-I don’t want it,” I force myself to say. “Not there.”
He laughs against my cheek. “Never been fucked in the ass before?”
I swallow, my throat sore. “I have,” I confess. I feel his body tense at my back. “I just…” I don’t know what else to say. He might be god, and I might fall at his feet, but this way? Don’t gods want willing submission? They don’t want to force their subjects to their knees…do they? Isn’t that why we have free will?
Do I have free will here with him? I’m not so sure anymore.
He’s quiet, only the sound of our breathing in the room. And then he groans against my neck, his teeth scraping my skin so I can feel the sound in his throat, like it’s coming from his soul.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his brow pressed against my shoulder. “FUCK!”
Tears pour down my face even as I squeeze my eyes shut tight, trying to hold them back, fisting my hands on the back of the couch.
What happened to him to bring him to me?
Is it like what happened to me?
Are devils made? Was I born empty? Was he?
As if he’s reading my mind he says against my shirt, “What happened to you, Ella? Why do you let me treat you like that?”
I don’t pick my head up from the couch.
He reaches under me, clamps his hand over my mouth and jerks my head back. “You’re gonna have to start talking soon, baby.”
Baby.
“I can’t take this silence. It makes me want to hurt you more.”
Chapter Twelve
I wake to the sound of laughter.
At first, I roll over and clamp a pillow over my head, thinking it’s my mom and the moaning is about to start. But then I realize this bed is way bigger than mine.
I throw off the pillow and bolt upright, straining my ears.
Another person laughs.
And there’s something in the air...
I inhale deeply, my heart kicking into overdrive. Marijuana.
I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It’s three in the morning. Thursday. I think about the fight last night, just a few hours ago. The glass on the floor Maverick cleaned up in silence after I pulled my clothes back on.
He left me in here, threw me one of his shirts to wear, and went downstairs. We didn’t speak after that fight. A
fter he almost…
I close my eyes shut and hear someone laugh again. I think about staying here in the dark, about trying to go back to sleep. But I want to talk to him. And I want to know who’s here.
In the past three weeks, I’ve spent more nights here in his house than in my own. And I know it’s stupid and childish, but I can’t help but imagining this house being…my house too.
My face burns as I think that, and I would never say it out loud to him, but still. I want to know who he’s letting invade our little bubble.
I take a deep breath, steel my spine, and walk out of the double doors of his bedroom. I hear a few voices, none of them Maverick’s, and it suddenly occurs to me that maybe he’s not down there at all. Maybe he has friends over, and he went to sleep in a guest room or maybe…
Then I hear his laugh. It’s a barking laugh, almost carefree. So unlike the boy I know. Even still, despite our fight, it makes me feel better to hear him. To know he’s here.
I head down the stairs, not being overly quiet, so he’ll know I’m coming. I round the staircase, head down the long hallway to the living room.
And when I stand in the doorway, I freeze, thinking this was a terrible idea.
Immediately, my eyes lock on the boy straight across from me, sitting on the couch beside Maverick. He has dark blue eyes, black curly hair. I’ve never seen him before, but he’s just as beautiful as Maverick is and I can’t look away from him as I cross my arms self-consciously over my chest.
Music is playing from somewhere, MoodSwings by Kamaara, and it gives this entire room, with its dim lights and the bottles of alcohol on the table, a cloud of marijuana hanging around the place, an uncomfortable feeling. Like it’s in my best interest not to be here.
“Well, well, well,” the boy with curly hair says, a glass of something clear in his long, pale fingers. “I’m not surprised you hid her away, Mav, but you know sharing is,” he glances over at Maverick, whose eyes are narrowed on me, “a good fucking thing to do.”
I wrap my arms tighter around my body, forcing myself to look at Maverick. Beside him, a guy that looks vaguely familiar is knocking back a shot. He winces, sets it on the coffee table alongside a bottle of vodka.
He smiles at me, gesturing toward Maverick as he folds his arms. “This the girl from New Year’s Eve?” His voice is deep, and I see dimples flashing in his brown skin.
They’re all wearing black, and I realize I’m in Maverick’s white t-shirt and my leggings. My face flushes from all of their eyes on me.
Maverick is slouched on the couch, feet flat on the floor, hands on his knees. I see the vape on the table, and I knows he’s high.
Especially as he crooks his finger at me, doesn’t bother to introduce me to his friends and instead says, “Come here.”
My mouth goes dry and I shake my head, a lock of hair falling over my face. “I’m just gonna go back to bed—”
“Ella.”
I hear the boy with deep blue eyes give a soft laugh.
My spine tingles at the way Maverick says my name, but the way we left things last night—just a few hours ago—and all the glass on the floor, the way he didn’t come back to bed...
They’ve all obviously been drinking or smoking, and I don’t know anything about the other two. I’ve seen one before but don’t remember his name, and the boy with devil eyes I’ve never seen in my life. He seems like trouble.
“Let her go,” the guy with the deep voice says casually. “I’m sure you’ve worn her out.”
I stiffen but make to turn back toward the stairs.
“Ella,” Maverick says again, his tone hard. “I said come here.”
I hate how I want to do as he says. I hate that I want to throw myself into his lap, let him drown me in his kisses, his hands, right here in front of everyone.
I hate that he’s making me fall again, to that place I said I’d never go back to. And he’s not my mom’s boyfriend. He’s not someone she’ll hate me over, which means I’m free to do it. Do this.
Because he’s someone that’ll stand up to her. Someone that already has. Someone who could take me away from all the bullshit. And it makes me weak to want just that. To want to let him use me how he sees fit, as long as he doesn’t leave me.
But I remind myself that I’m using him, too.
I swallow down the lump in my throat and take a tentative step into the living room. The boy with blue eyes drains the rest of his glass and leans over, setting it on the coffee table. He doesn’t take his eyes off of me the entire time, and I can feel the weight of his gaze but I keep walking toward Maverick.
I get to the table and realize I’ll have to walk past the curly-haired boy to get to Maverick. The way the coffee table is pulled up close to them, I’ll end up brushing against his legs.
I swallow, glancing down at the floor.
“Don’t worry,” the blue-eyed boy says in his raspy voice, “I don’t bite.”
I doubt that.
But I edge by him anyway, dropping my hands by my sides as I angle my body and try not to let any part of me touch any part of him. He doesn’t make it easy for me, and my leg brushes against his shins, but I keep moving toward Maverick, whose hands are still on his thighs, his knees parted.
I stand in front of him, looking down at him as I bite my lip.
“Sit with me,” he commands.
No one else says a word. I dart a glance toward the boy who took the shot, and he’s staring at me just like the other boy is.
My entire body feels hot and despite the awkwardness of this entire situation, I feel my nipples harden under Maverick’s shirt.
Wanting to bury myself against his chest and disappear, I do as he asks, leaning down to sit in his lap.
But he shakes his head and I stop.
“Turn around.”
What? I meet his gaze, see if he’s serious. If I can plead my way out of this. But he arches a brow in a silent demand, and slowly, I turn, my ass in his face.
He pulls me down onto his lap, and I can feel his erection against my ass as he wraps one arm against my waist. He brushes my hair over one shoulder with the other hand and presses a kiss to my neck.
My eyes flutter closed, and I try not to think about his friends beside us. What is he doing?
The boy with the raspy voice laughs. “You gonna open her up in front of us? That’s not very nice, Mav. I’m married, remember?”
I stiffen. What? My eyes fly open and I try to squirm out of Maverick’s grip but he only tightens his hold on me. He threads his fingers through my hair and yanks my head back, against his shoulder.
“Then you should leave,” he says softly, his lips against my skin even though I know he’s not talking to me. He scrapes his teeth against my neck, and I close my eyes tight, pressing back against him despite myself. “You want them to watch, Ella?” he asks me, fingers tightening in my hair. “You want my friends to see how bad you let me treat you?”
I open my mouth to answer him but nothing comes out.
I don’t know. I still have my eyes closed, and I’m throbbing between my legs, dying for him to touch me there.
“Lift up your hips, Ella,” he commands me, burying his head back in my neck. I hesitate, and his grip tightens painfully in my hair, making my eyes water.
I do as he asks, awkwardly lifting up my hips by pressing my feet against his shins.
Someone’s hand comes to my waist, tugging on my leggings. I know it isn’t Maverick’s hand, because he’s still got one in my hair and one around my waist. I stiffen, wanting to squirm away again.
“Shh,” Maverick whispers against my ear, “that’s Ezra. Be a good girl, baby. He’s just going to pull them down. He won’t touch you. Not unless I tell him to.”
I’m holding my breath as I let Ezra pull down my leggings. From the direction he’s moving from, I know he’s not the married guy, which only makes me feel a little better when he pulls the thin material completely off of me and I’m sitting in Maverick
’s lap in my panties.
Maverick’s hand around my waist slides to the front of my stomach, and then down, underneath the cotton fabric of my underwear.
I gasp as his fingers find my clit. He jerks my head back harder against him. “You’re so wet, baby.” He dips his finger down further, teasing my entrance as I buck my hips.
“Spread your legs wider,” he instructs me. “I want to feel all of you.”
I don’t hesitate. I shift my legs so they’re angled, dangling off of Maverick’s knees, and I feel my thighs touch against some part of his friends, still beside him on the couch. The contact jostles me, but I keep my eyes closed, focus on Maverick’s fingers circling my swollen clit.
“Maverick.” The boy with the raspy voice. It sounds…strained. “I can smell her.”
My face flushes and I bite my lip. Force myself to keep my eyes closed.
“Go home,” Maverick says dismissively, lips grazing my neck as I lean further against his hard chest, feel his dick pressing against me.
“Maverick.” I didn’t mean to say his name, and I feel my face warm but I keep my eyes closed.
He bites me, hard. I yelp, and then his fingers leave my hair and clamp down over my mouth as he shoves his fingers into me, finally, moving roughly in and out. “Who are you wet for?” he taunts me. “Is it my brothers, Ella? You want them both to fuck you?” He pushes harder, faster, two fingers inside of me. “But you don’t want it in the ass, Ella, so, what?” He bites me again, pressing his hand harder over my mouth so I can’t answer him. “You want both of them in here?” He pushes another finger into me to emphasize his point. He laughs against my throat. “I don’t think they’ll fit, baby. But if you want them to try…”
I shake my head against him. “No.” The word comes out muffled from beneath his fingers. “No, I-I just…” I’m lost in pleasure, in his fingers moving deftly in and out of me, pushing me toward the edge. “I just…” I try again as his hand moves from my mouth to my throat.
“You just what, baby? Spit it out.”
I open my mouth and a moan comes out instead.
He laughs against me. “You’re so fucking cute when you’re moaning for me.”
