Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
OPHELIA
It takes a minute before Damien releases my hands and steps back. His gaze fixes on my face, waiting, and I wait too. For revulsion, for fear. But his offer…?
It shocks me, but the thought of sharing those final moments also feels warm.
Instead of the desperation of last time, the loneliness, there’d be comfort, arms rocking me into a final sleep. A guide making sure I won’t wake into the same devastating failure.
The temptation is so great, I lean towards him.
Then another version abruptly fills my head. Damien staring at me like some kind of disaster tourist. Dissecting me with his blank eyes. I flinch away, crossing my arms.
“No.” I speak firmly, loudly, but the wind snatches my refusal from mid-air, leaving only a tremulous whisper in its place.
“Too late for no.” His hand engulfs my cheek, skin cool against my flushed face. “You already agreed. A month of me taking whatever I want from you, and—”
“I don’t need the fucking glasses if I’m dead, do I?”
His palm remains pressed against my cheek, thumb stroking my jawline. “No, you don’t, but those were the terms.”
“And you think I’ll do it on your timetable just because you tell me?”
“It’s the option you chose. If you don’t want it any longer…” He leaves just enough of a gap to drive his point home. “See? We both know you’ll do whatever I ask.”
My stomach clenches at the certainty in his voice.
“The night of our senior dance seems good timing. What do you think?”
A week ago, I had my own plans for the senior dance. Spraying Chelsea when she arrived at the hired hall, ruining her final parade. My version even ended with the same conclusion.
But the pepper spray’s already been wasted on Damien.
Now he’s stealing my suicide too.
He hums under his breath and I shove him, a fruitless effort against the solidity of his chest.
“Don’t be like that. You fascinate me.” His voice calms into a silky whisper. “According to the posts you scroll through late at night, seems I fascinate you, too. This needn’t be a hardship.”
The implication makes me recoil. “You’re reading a lot into an accidental ‘like.’ Frame it however you want, we both know what this is, and hardship is the least of it.”
Except I’m not sure he does know what this is. His blankness suggests his grasp of right and wrong is far worse than my first impression. And my first impression was him wrecking my glasses simply because he could.
My throat tightens another notch.
“You’re so pretty when you’re stomping around, all angry. Are your cheeks the only parts of you that get flushed?” His gaze slowly travels down my body.
I open my mouth to scream, but all that emerges is a pathetic whistle of air.
Damien studies my face, head tilting. “Ophelia… tell the truth now. Is this your first time?”
“No.” I shake my head. Not a virgin, but… “First time being blackmailed, y—”
His mouth closes over mine, swallowing my words. stealing the breath from my lungs until waves of dizziness sweep over me, and my knees buckle.
“Hm,” he murmurs, straightening while I tremble. He runs his tongue over his lips. “Sure tastes like chemistry to me.”
My fingers are icy cold, skin burning hot. “You’re a monster.”
“Yes, though it hasn’t bothered you much before.” His breath tickles the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine. “You were kissing me back.”
“No, I was—”
He grabs my arse, dragging me hard against him. The stiff jut of his erection nudges my upper hip, my hands reflexively landing on his firm chest. “Don’t lie, Ophelia. I know you want this as much as me. Just let yourself have it.”
His hand delves between us, metal clinking as he unbuckles his belt, my vision throbbing in and out in waves.
Worse, my body reacts, falling in line with his words while my mind screams in protest. When his knuckles brush against me, my core aches, wanting more.
“No.” I say it as much to myself as to him. “No, we can’t—”
“Of course we can. Just give in and embrace it.”
“The cameras—”
“Can’t see us in this corner.”
We stand in a momentary impasse, then he opens the rear door, pushes me flat on the back seat and immediately climbs on top. The weight of his muscle and bone presses into every soft part of me, trapping me against the seat.
The metallic rasp of his zipper sounds a moment before his hand slides up my thigh, kilt bunching along his wrist. His fingertips graze against my tender skin as he pushes between my legs, demanding access.
“Relax, Snowflake. With all this tension, you’ll wind up hurting yourself.”
My thighs squeeze together, trapping him, a burst of friction making my centre throb, and even as I fight, a traitorous voice issues reminders in my head. The banter beside my locker. My attraction after the support group, when only thoughts of Chelsea acted as a brake.
It’s coercion. He wants you to believe it’s your fault.
“You can’t,” I choke out. Grasping for my last excuse. “Not today. I’m on my period.”
Damien laughs, and the sound reverberates against my neck as he nuzzles closer. “Do you think the prospect of my cock coated in blood like I’m taking your virginity worries me?” A groan of satisfaction buzzes my ear. “That sounds fucking perfect.”
His mouth latches onto the tender curve between my neck and shoulder, first sucking, then applying pressure, his teeth sinking into my skin. Hard enough to bruise. Hard enough to make me whimper.
“No.” I shove against him, feet scrambling for purchase on the leather seat. “I’m wearing a cup. You can’t—”
His hand clamps over my mouth. Panic squeezes my lungs while his fingers slip inside my panties and caress along my seam, each stroke sliding deeper until I’m shamefully wet, then pushing fully inside me.
His probing fingers pinch the base of the menstrual cup until the seal breaks. He drags it free, spilling its contents onto the grimy concrete before tossing it over the Perspex barrier. “Bombs away.”
I cry out, humiliation burning hotter than his violation. My senses overload with the leather smell of the seats, his cologne, the metallic scent of blood.
“Look at that perfect little cunt,” he growls. “One day soon, I’m going to suck that gorgeous pussy until you’re screaming my name, but right now, I can’t wait a moment longer.”
He guides his huge cock to my entrance and pushes inside, stretching until I’m full, then filling me more.
“Fuck, Snowflake. You feel so good, it’s obscene.” He shifts his weight, bracing against the seat as he withdraws, then thrusts his full length back inside me. Swallowing my screams as his mouth again devours mine.
When his lips tear away, his eyes fix where his cock pumps inside me. He spreads my thighs wider, fingertips sinking into soft flesh as his stroke grows faster, harder, his pace growing relentless.
Pressure builds with each thrust, his ragged breathing and whispered obscenities hot against my ear, twisting through my brain and heightening every sensation.
His fingers work at my blouse, and the buttons fall open. Cool air hits my skin, and he drags my bra strap to the side, his mouth fixing to the tender skin beneath until he flips down the cups, capturing my nipple, igniting a matching pull deep in my belly.
Urgent. Hungry.
A traitorous heat fills my core and won’t stop spreading. No, not this. Not for him. But my body doesn’t care, growing heavy and warm until I’m throbbing in all the wrong places, my nails carving stripes into his back.
“Such pretty little tits,” he says in wonder and the words snake inside me, wriggling and squirming, leaving a searing trail wherever they go.
My world turns to friction and sweat and the rough slap of his flesh against mine. Helpless as he slams into me, again, again, again, fighting the pleasure that builds in my core.
Then he thrusts deeper, holding the position while his cock twitches, pulses of his release shooting high inside me. He collapses onto me, momentarily boneless, smothering me in his muscled flesh. The scent of musk and cologne are overwhelming until he rolls aside with a satisfied groan.
I feel like I’ve taken a battering ram. Blouse half undone, bra twisted, strands of hair hanging lank around my face.
Damien props himself on his elbow, running a finger down my cheek, and he doesn’t show any disappointment at my disarray, just the hint of a smile.
His gaze drops lower, where thick liquid spills onto my inner thighs. My face twists at the sensation, and he laughs, dropping into the footwell, stroking his fingers against my wet thighs, then bending to plant a kiss.
I try to sit up, and he pushes me flat again.
“You’re mine, remember? If I want to watch my cum dripping out of my pussy, then I will.”
“You didn’t use protection.”
Damien chuckles, his hot breath blowing against my centre, making me ache. “There’s a lot we can do this month, but having a baby isn’t one of them, and I’m clean.” His laughter deepens, vibrating against my skin. “Guess I’ll find out later if you are too.”
Something catches in the back of my throat and I close my eyes, waiting for him to tire of the view.
The gentle pressure of his combing fingers tickle… then morphs, making me clench, horrified by another betrayal.
And perhaps he senses it, asking, “Did you enjoy yourself?”
A brittle laugh escapes. Enjoy. “You’re serious?” My voice is hollow. “Either way, the answer’s no.”
He shifts beside me, a thick finger tapping my brow. “You’re meant to say yes. Everyone else I’ve slept with has.” Tongue clicking, he hugs me, sleepily brushing my arm in long strokes like I’m a cat. “Is it anhedonia?”
The normalcy of his conversation jars against everything that’s happened. Another pocket of strangeness I don’t have maps for.
“I don’t know what that is.”
His thumb rasps against my cheekbone, hair fluttering in his breath as he rests his head level to mine. “A depression thing. Where you don’t get any pleasure from things you used to enjoy.”