Chapter Twenty Four
Chapter Twenty-Four
I ’ ve been here before. A long, long time ago, but I remember the drill. You go to your happy place. You picture puppies and kittens, rainbows and unicorns, whatever can take you out of your body, out of the external world. I learned to do this as a child when my parents would fight. I would escape, play hide and seek with myself, count as high as I could, until eventually, someone would find me and bring me back.
But I ’ m rusty. I am so damn rusty that all I can hear, smell, feel, and think is this creep is touching me, and it ’ s only going to get worse.
I ’ m shoved into a dark room, the smells so intense and overwhelming I can ’ t pinpoint any of them. The door clicking and locking behind me shoots fear up from my toes to settle against my spine. It ’ s heavy and sharp and makes me want to curl in on myself. Giving myself an internal slap, I remind myself who I am. I never cower; that has never been me. I stand taller instead.
“ You smell so fucking good. I ’ m already hard.”
He punctuates his statement by gripping my jaw with a bruising, vise-like intensity, shoving his face and nose into my hair and along my neck. His tongue darts out and licks the side of my face from the end of my chin to the top of my hairline. It takes everything I have not to shudder, not to show how repulsed I am and vomit all over him.
“ And how do I taste?” I purr, gagging on the inside.
“ Like I am going to enjoy destroying your body.”
He shoves me in the chest, and I fall back on something bed-like, hard. I bounce a few times before he practically jumps on top of me, clapping his hands to illuminate the room with enough of a glow that I can make out his sleazy face. I want to clap and turn it off.
With a knee on either side of my hips, he leers down at me, then rips the bodice of my dress open. The fastenings go flying and ping off the floor. My eyes close without permission, and a vision of Max ’ s distressed face flashes behind my closed lids. I bite the insides of my cheeks and force my eyes back open.
I ’ ve known types like this before—they ’ re a dime a dozen—and if they see how much they get to you, it only makes them do it more, only eggs them on further.
He squeezes a breast so hard a squeak slips through my teeth.
“ You like that, huh? You dirty, dirty little slut.”
“ I believe the correct term is whore, but whatever.”
Slap.
Before I can blink, my cheek and lip are stinging, and my head is ringing with the sound of his palm cracking across my face. I can ’ t hide the rage blossoming in my eyes as the blood blooms in my face when I look back at him. The desire that ignites on his face is sickening and disturbing. I want to spit the blood pooling in my mouth in his eyes.
But I have to keep my head. I can ’ t lose my shit, or I could end up losing a lot more.
Douche lunges forward, and my entire body spasms in response. His mouth latches on to my left breast, and he bites hard enough through the thin silk bra that he draws blood. A watered-down moan is all I can offer in return, and he repeats the action on the right, blessedly with less force.
My head is spinning, thinking in a million different directions on how best to play this, how best to get out of it, but I ’ m so damn rusty.
My instinct is to steal control, to roll him over and take the lead, speed this up, and get the fuck out of here, but I know in my gut he won ’ t take it.
Women to him are disposable, cheap, to be used, abused, and discarded.
He ’ s going to do whatever the fuck he wants with me , whether I fight back or not.
So I lay limp and take it while I scream inside.
“ Get naked.”
He gets off me and stands, the tent in his pants repugnant and very unimpressive. I guess that ’ s a blessing for once. I get to my knees, not fast enough for him, and he pulls me forward by the gaping fabric of my bodice. I wobble but regain my composure and remove the ruined top first.
“ Is that all you ’ ve got?” he huffs. “ High-class escort, my ass. I ’ ve picked up better on the streets. Put on a fucking show.”
“ Shall I dance as well?” Like a little fucking monkey…
“ Do you even know how to?”
Lie …lie… “ No. ”
“ Just take it off.”
Item by item, with a little more speed than I usually sport, I fling each one at his feet, wearing as flirty a smile as I can manage. I ’ m down to my thong when he stops me.
Pulling me forward by the band so I stumble off the bed, he pulls it so tight, so hard, trying to rip the fabric off my body, torturing me in the process. He fails miserably, pushes me back onto the bed, and wrenches them down my legs in a white rage.
“ Your turn.” I plaster on a saucy grin, desperate to hide behind it.
My stomach rolls as he strips . The unpleasant act of inspecting the lack of goods before me is almost enough to have me ralphing on his now bare feet. Though, I realize I should count my blessings that he looks clean, at least. I can ’ t imagine him taking no for an answer at this stage in the game. I doubt it would have been an option.
With my poker face firmly set, I fall back to the bed and start counting.
One fat cat.
Two fat cats.
Three…
He flings my legs apart, his uneven nails cutting into my skin as he does. Licking his lips as he takes in the sight of me.
Think happy, sexy thoughts…
Five fat cats.
Happy, sexy thoughts—
A finger is shoved deep, and I wince as it catches on the sides.
On autopilot, following an unwritten script, I bite my lip and tilt my head, but I can feel my eyes slipping further and further away from the brief .
It ’ s too hard to tell if he ’ s satisfied, turned on, or disappointed with my display and what he finds. I ’ m too far gone to care.
Seven fat cats.
The sound of a drawer opening fills the room .
Nine fat cats.
A wrapper tears.
Eleven fat cats.
White-hot beaches and sun-kissed skin…
Nineteen fat cats.
Endless cocktails served on mirrored trays…
Twenty-four fat cats.
My face stings again, and I dig deeper.
Twenty-nine fat cats.
A deep, sexy laugh. Dirty Chinese and Scrubs reruns …
Thirty-seven fat cats.
Text messages and flirty banter. Sunday runs…
Forty-eight fat cats.
I lose count as I ’ m ripped out of my head by thick, reeking hands wrapping tightly around my neck. A gargled sound is squeezed out of me, and I claw uselessly at the bare arms as spots take over my vision. My throat is raging, my pulse hammering against his fingers, and my ears ring so loudly I fear they might burst at any minute. With burning lungs, I try fruitlessly to get this asshole off me, thrashing and bucking, but it ’ s pointless. He ’ s pinning me to the fucking bed with his still pistoning hips.
I ’ m about to suffocate with this fucking low-life piece of shit inside of me. The last thing that flashes in front of my eyes is Jeremy and his boyish, smiling face before everything goes black, and I ’ m nowhere again.