Chapter 18
18
Aviva
M y bed had magically become more comfortable overnight. Instead of a stiff, thin Ikea mattress, supportive memory foam cradled my body. A pillow, softer and cooler than I’d maybe ever felt in my life, was under my head. And I was warm. Too warm.
What’s more I felt safe, protected, cared for. Maybe it was because of the strong pair of familiar arms wrapped around me, one holding my belly, the other cupping my breast.
My bare breast. I could feel fingers directly on skin…and touching my scar.
Jack.
I was in his bed.
He’d fucked me last night in front of his entire team while I was high on Vixen, and taken off my shirt and bra, and I’d let him. Everyone had seen my bare chest, everyone had seen my scar .
He’d humiliated me, stolen my privacy, was witness to my tears, and then the asshole didn’t even let me leave. And now he was cuddling me in sleep?!
I slapped at his hands. They squeezed my stomach and breast tight, and I gasped despite myself.
“Good morning, princess,” he crooned in a sleepy voice. “Do you like to play rough in the mornings? If so, I’m game.”
He pushed his hips against me, and I could tell he was growing hard, could feel it between my ass cheeks. An unwelcome tingle crept over my skin.
“I also brought you hot chocolate last night. I thought the sugar might…help the crash, but I didn’t want to wake you. I can get you more,” he said, nuzzling me.
It was almost cute that he thought that would win him brownie points. Almost.
“Since when do you make hot cocoa for your cumdumpster ?” I spat. I needed to get the hell out of here. I wasn’t safe here, my sleeping brain had tricked me. This was the quiet before the storm. Jack was either:
Fucking with my head by being sweet so that it would hurt more when he was cruel again later.
Completely unaware or uncaring of my feelings, and liked having a human pillow in his bed with him; an emotional support woman post heartrending fuck.
Or both. Both was accurate.
“You are my cumdumpster. You’re also my princess. My little liar, my little spy, my little thief. You’re all those things. But you know the common thread here?” This time, he pinched my nipple—hard—and didn’t release it. I cried out, surprised by the action, the sharp pain, and the resulting pleasure.
“Mine,” he finished, releasing my nipple. An ache started in the tortured bud, spreading to my whole body. “You’re all those things, but mostly, you’re mine.”
“You keep saying that,” I countered, doing my best to ignore the desire he’d stirred up. “But it doesn’t mean what you think it means,” I quoted.
“ The Princess Bride ?” he laughed into my ear. “Fitting, I guess.”
“How do you know The Princess Bride ?” I asked, curious despite myself. It was super old, after all.
His voice sounded…sad. “It was my mom’s favorite movie.”
Oh, shit. “Was?”
He sighed. “Could still be, for all I know. I haven’t spoken to her since I left for college over four years ago.” He changed the topic. “How do you know the movie?”
“It was my great-aunt’s favorite.”
“Was?” he mirrored.
“Was. She died my freshman year. Left us the house, at least, but not much else because there wasn’t much else.”
“Poor princess,” he said, sounding genuine, nuzzling me again. His empathy scared me more than his cruelty.
“Alright, story time is over,” I said. “I only belong to myself. And if I ever do belong to someone else, they’ll treat me a hell of a lot better than you do.”
He froze behind me. “I deserve that.”
I froze, too. “Does that mean the bullying and torture will stop?”
“What will you give me, if it does?”
“What do you want? ”
“The story of how you got that scar, for one thing. For another, you promise to stop trying to destroy Coach’s life and the team’s chances at winning the Frozen Four this year.”
I would’ve shaken my head if it wasn’t still pressed against the pillow. Instead, I laughed. My laugh was bitter. “You don’t deserve to fucking know. And he doesn’t deserve leniency.”
Jack stroked my hair, and I shivered at his touch. “This is always going to come between us, isn’t it? I hurt you last night, and I’m?—”
“What, sorry?” I spat.
“Tell me about the scar, princess.”
“Don’t call me princess!” Something in me broke, like the shock from the night before had worn off and the hazy nightmare of last night was coming clear. “Just fuck me, Jack. That’s what you want me for, isn’t it? That’s all I am to you, right? Stop with this pillow talk half-assed apology bullshit and fucking fuck me already.”
His hand on my hair stilled.
Then:
“As you wish,” he said, and something about his quoting Princess Bride in such a dark moment made me want to cry.
Until he rolled me over onto my stomach, pressing his entire body on top of me. “Is that what you need, little thief? To be fucked? Will that make you feel better, to be used that way?”
Jack forced my thighs apart and my hands above my head. I felt him moving behind me, the sound of fabric sliding off, and then he was tying my wrists together with his boxers. He shoved his hips against me again, and this time I felt his bare skin, cock hard and hot again and wet with precome. Like I’d fantasized about, masturbated to .
Oh, god, what had I done? What was I doing? Did I want this?
Shock , my inner psychologist supplied. I was in shock. Last night had been too much, and so my brain was protecting me by keeping the worst of the emotions at bay until I could process them. It was using sex as a distraction. That was all this was.
“Jack, no ,” I said, even though I didn’t believe it.
“Aviva, yes ,” he said, just as firmly. “You need this, even if you don’t want to admit it, little liar. Need me to be the villain, so I’ll be the villain. Your villain.”.
And then he was pushing my thighs apart and his cock was at my entrance and the tip was entering me and?—
“Jack! Put on a condom. God knows who else you’ve fucked.”
“I get tested regularly, I have no STIs. I’ve never been with anyone bare. And you’ve only ever been with me.”
“But I’m not on birth control—” I started to protest.
He cut me off, pushing my head against the pillow as he slowly shoved his cock inside me. Even though I was already wet, it still hurt. He felt thicker this way, longer, bigger—and that feeling only increased when he shoved my legs back together with his thighs.
He sighed as he bottomed out, kissing my neck. “Perfect.”
I hated it, hated him, hated my own body, hated myself. Because in that moment, it was perfect. I felt so full, surrounded by all sides, and the shame I’d felt before was gone. This wasn’t my fault, none of it. I had no control, so I couldn’t be blamed. And if my body liked it, well, I couldn’t be blamed for that, either. That was only biology.
Maybe he was right, maybe I did need to be fucked.
As if he’d heard my thoughts, Jack began to croon his approval in my ear. “Such a good girl, accepting you don’t have any control. Such a good, sweet little cunt, accepting the cock it was made for. It’s okay, princess, let yourself feel. You’re not doing this, I am. You aren’t at fault, the big bad hockey player is. And doesn’t it feel good, letting someone else be in charge?”
Oh god, it did. It did . I clenched around him, and he growled.
“Fuck, that’s it, yes. I can feel you drenching my cock. You’re going to come like this, just from the sound of my voice. I’m not going to move at all. In fact, I might not move ever again. Would you like that, little thief? Being trapped here forever, forced to take my cock every single second until we both die?”
Oh, fuck. I clenched again, everything in my body going tight from his words and the picture he drew.
He growled again, lower, harsher. “I think I will keep you here. Tie you spread eagled to my bed, keep the door locked. Feed you whenever you need, fuck you whenever I want. Make you completely reliant on me. Your entire existence will be to serve my cock with all three of your holes. I’ll come in you, over and over, until you don’t know what it feels like to not be wet with it inside you, until you crave me every second I’m not inside you…my perfect, beautiful, brilliant little whore.” He bit my ear, lowering his voice, his breath tickling my neck. “You drenched my cock again. That vision appeals to you doesn’t it? Aviva Feldman, Jack Feldman’s little fucktoy…”
It was the slip up, him giving me his own last name in this godforsaken fantasy, that did it. I cried against the pillow as a soft but powerful explosion went off in my body, my pussy clenching and pulsing around him as incredible pleasure took over .
“That’s it. You come on my fucking cock,” he groaned, and then wet heat spilled into my pussy as he came, too, his cock pulsing inside of me. I trembled, overwrought and overworked from his words. I came again from the feel of him, the knowledge that he was bare, filling me up, and there was nothing I could do about it.
The second orgasm was better and worse than the first one—bigger, sharper, cutting me deep so all of my pent up emotions came out: The lust and the loathing and the incredible relief , not only from the physical release, but from knowing I didn’t have to do anything right now, have to make decisions, that all I had to do was feel.
Finally, he relaxed, letting me feel his entire weight. I expected him to pull out, but he stayed where he was, even as he softened inside of me. Come spilled out, on his balls, between my thighs, all over the bed.
“I really wish we could stay like this forever,” he sighed. “But you should go pee so you don’t get a UTI.” Muttering to himself he said, “See, I know aftercare.”
I snorted. Making sure I peed wasn’t aftercare; cuddling me last night almost was. But I wasn’t about to correct him and risk a repeat—or worse.
He untied my wrists, before taking each in his hands, rubbing them to bring life and circulation back to my hands. And completely disconcerting me when he dropped a gentle kiss on each of my pulse points. With that, he climbed off of me, releasing me.
“Where are my clothes?”
“You don’t need your clothes,” he said calmly.
My thighs clenched. “What, you want to fuck me again?”
He sighed. “I always want to fuck you, Aviva. But no, right now I’m going to hold you and we’re going to talk and then I’m going to feed you breakfast. ”
Breakfast. Like we were boyfriend and girlfriend, not bully and…
…victim.
I’d become a victim. His victim. But I wasn’t a victim. Refused to be. He’d tried to break me, almost succeeded, but I was stronger than that. I wouldn’t give up, wouldn’t give in. I didn’t care how hot it was, how good sex felt with him.
“You took things too far, Jack. When you made me drug myself and took off my shirt in front of your entire goddamned team. ”
Anger felt good. Anger felt strong. Anger felt healthy.
“Where are my clothes?” I asked again.
Silently, he stood up off the bed and went to the closet, coming back with my clothes, carefully folded.
I sat on the edge of the bed, pulling my pants and top back on, twisting my knotted hair into some semblance of a bun. I’d never done a walk of shame before, and the fact that I’d have to, in broad daylight on a Saturday morning, pissed me off. Knowing my scar was visible in the daylight pissed me off. Everything about this, about him, pissed me off. Moments from last night played in my mind: the way I’d lost myself while everyone had watched, Dave Lawson noticing my scar and announcing it to the room, Jack carrying me up the stairs as I fought him. It had been degrading and devastating, and I needed to be done. I’d said that before, told myself that before, but Jack had a crossed a line last night that neither of us could come back from. If I continued with him, if I let this continue , then I would become someone I didn’t recognize.
Had I already become that person? I didn’t want to be a stranger to myself.
No. This was it .
I.
Was.
Done.
I’d apologize to Asher when Jack destroyed our lives. I’d find another way to get him justice and take Joshua Jensen down. But I couldn’t take any more.
Jack watched me as I dressed. I refused to turn away, to lower my gaze, to give him any satisfaction in my submissiveness or fear. No, I stared him straight in the eyes, like I had last night while I’d cried. I wouldn’t cower in front of him.
No more.
I wouldn’t let him hurt me again.
We stayed like that, me seated on the bed, him by the closet, staring at each other. Neither of us spoke, but the silence spoke for us. There was so much ugliness between us, anger on my side, something—could that be fear?—on his. But I couldn’t fall into the trap of trying to figure out what he was feeling. And the stabbing in my chest that felt like sadness, like regret? It had to be a hangover from the Vixen.
“Jack?” I asked, injecting sweetness into my voice.
“What’s up? You want to stay? I make a mean pancake.” He grinned at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
“I wish I’d never met you. No amount of justice is worth the hell you’re putting me through. I never, ever, want to fucking see you again.”
His face turned to stone.
“As you wish, princess,” he said.
With that, he pressed a button on the door. The locks beeped as they disengaged, and he stood to the side, arm held out to guide me out the door .
Slipping my feet into my frayed sneakers, I ducked out of the way of his arm, determinedly walked out of his door—and hopefully, out of his life.
Just as I reached the hallway, he stopped me with four chilling words:
“See you in class.”