Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lola
I swallow my nerves and smooth my dress down over my bump.
A little foot nudges my hand, possibly sensing my anxiety.
“Mama’s being silly, huh? Why does it even matter what they think?”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” Hannibal agrees, walking into the room and making me jump.
He steps up behind me, his hands sliding around my bump as he kisses my neck.
My son kicks Hannibal, making him laugh.
“Gotta learn to share, Bubba.” Another kick tells Hannibal exactly what he thinks about that.
“You look beautiful, doll.”
“You sure? Because I feel?—”
He spins me around and lets his eyes move over my body, which feels more like a caress than a look.
Unlike my usual biker chick attire, I’ve opted for a long cream maxi dress in gauzy material that’s soft against my skin.
It’s fitted at the bust, with one shoulder strap.
The rest flows gently over my growing bump and skates my ankles, showing a pair of simple gold ballet pumps.
I’ve left my hair down in loose waves but added a gold hair band that matches the shoes, keeping all but a few tendrils of hair from my face.
Makeup-wise, I’ve gone far lighter than I’m used to.
For once, I don’t have to worry about hiding bruises.
I stick to the basics, adding a little warmth with some bronzer and a shimmer of sparkle up my exposed arms and upper chest with a glitter moisturizer.
A touch of gold on my eyelids, a coat of mascara, and a slick of clear gloss on my lips finish off the look.
I’ll admit, I feel pretty, even given my ever-expanding belly.
I’m just not sure I feel like me.
Heck, I’m not sure what that even means anymore.
In high school, I followed the then-current trends, and then I came here and tried to copy what the other women looked like.
Every time Havoc paid particular attention to me, I made a note of the clothing I was wearing and gravitated toward similar items when I went shopping.
Driller took that to the extreme.
Everything had to be slutty.
If I wasn’t showing off my body, he would take it as a personal offense.
He wanted people to see me as eye candy.
Nothing more, but he wanted people to covet me and him, like he once did Havoc.
Now, I picked things I felt pretty in when I tried them on, but I can’t help but worry.
I’ll just give all the assholes one more thing to tear me down for.
“You look like a fucking goddess. The only thing that would make it even better would be if you were wearing my cum.”
A burst of laughter escapes me, startling us both before Hannibal smiles smugly at me.
“In fact, I think that’s a great idea.”
“Hannibal—”
I’m cut off when he reaches for the shoulder strap and slides it down my arm.
Slowly, he inches the dress down over my breasts and stomach before getting to his knees and offering me a hand.
“Step out.”
I do as he asks, gripping his hand tightly as I step out of the material.
Picking up the dress, he lays it across the bed before grabbing a pillow and placing it on the floor in front of me.
I feel my eyes widen as he removes my strapless bra and tosses that on the bed, too, before he reaches for the thin lace of my thong and tears it from my body as if it were made of paper.
Shoving the lace into his jeans pocket, he offers me his hand again.
“Kneel for me, doll.”
I look from him to the pillow before slipping my hand into his.
Using him to balance, I kneel on the pillow and look up at him.
I’m naked and on my knees, and yet the look of heat in his eyes blisters my skin and makes me feel like the most powerful person in this room.
With his eyes locked on mine, he pulls his cock free from his jeans and begins stroking it up and down.
I lick my lips at the carnal view in front of me and hear him groan as he tightens his grip.
Neither of us speaks, the only sound in the room is our ragged breathing and the rhythmic strokes of his cock.
It’s like a spell has been cast over us.
Nothing outside of this room matters.
There’s only him and me and us together, our combined arousal weaving a web around us.
He steps closer, and I open my mouth in response.
But he doesn’t take advantage, even though I’d like nothing more than to feel him hot and heavy against my tongue.
Instead, he traces the shape of my mouth with the tip of his cock, hissing when I swipe over the pearl of pre-cum dotting the head.
He starts fucking his fist harder, faster.
My breathing picks up with his sense of urgency, and I feel myself slicken with need.
If I reach down and touch myself, I know my fingers would be soaked in minutes.
I don’t, though. This is just for him.
I have no idea why that’s important, but it is.
I want to be able to give something to him with no expectations in return.
I have so little to offer, but that doesn’t mean I have nothing.
With a grunt and a curse, Hannibal pulls back and comes, the first and second shots landing across my chest, the third and fourth across my stomach.
The rest coats his hand.
If I wasn’t already on my knees, the look in his eyes would turn my legs to jelly.
As it is, when he offers me his hand, I have to grasp it tightly and give myself a second to find my balance once I get to my feet before I release him.
Stepping closer, he takes his cum-coated hand and slides it between my legs, stroking my clit with his wet digit.
“Fuck!” I curse when my legs begin to shake.
“Later. For now, I want you to come all over my hand.”
I grab his shoulders with both hands and hold on tight as he works me with a skill even I don’t possess, and it’s my damn body.
By the time I come, whimpering his name, I can barely hold myself up.
With his wet hand, he smears our combined essence across my sex and between my thighs before his hands move up my body, rubbing his cum into my stomach and chest like its fucking lotion.
More like an aphrodisiac.
I might have just come, but the knowledge of what his intentions are makes my already heated body flush with arousal again.
He leans closer, biting my ear lobe, making me shiver.
“Tonight, I’m going to fuck you so hard, you’ll feel me inside you for days.”
Pulling back, he tucks himself away before walking over to the bed.
Picking up my dress, he walks back in front of me before sliding the dress over my head.
The material glides over my skin as he tugs it back into place.
“You want me naked underneath this?” I tug at the dress.
“You’re not naked. You’re wearing me.”
I shiver, wondering if it’s possible to spontaneously orgasm from words alone.
“No matter what happens tonight, you’re mine and I’m yours. You get me?”
“I get you.” I hope so.
I’m trying to rein in the way those words make me feel, but it’s hard.
He might be playing a role, but for me, the reality of our situation is blurring with what I’m beginning to feel for a man I have no business feeling anything for.
The problem is that telling myself not to fall in love with Hannibal feels a lot like boarding the Titanic and not being able to swim.
But even knowing I’m getting caught up and pulled under, it’s impossible for me to change the course of my feelings.
Outwardly, I hope I’m projecting an air of calm indifference, even if inwardly, I’m a nervous wreck.
Hannibal can feel my nerves just from how hard I’m sweating his hand, and I hate that I feel weak next to him.
People greet him with nervous excitement.
Sure, I can feel a thread of unease and a certain amount of resentment in the room, but for the most part, people are adapting to having Hannibal as their new president.
Their views on me, though, don’t seem to have changed much.
So far, most people have ignored me, which suits me fine, but I know I won’t get through the night unscathed.
After breaking away from Hannibal to use the restroom, I find myself facing the leader of the I Hate Lola Committee as Razzle lingers outside the door.
Always one to embrace the club girl vibe, Razzle has a risqué fashion sense.
Whether it be short shorts or tiny skirts, blinged-out tanks, or sparkly tiny boob tubes that just about keep the girls contained, Razzle has always embraced her role.
But looking at her right now, I can’t help but notice she’s taking things to the extreme.
She’s wearing a pair of black leather shorts, which honestly look more like panties with laces up the sides that match the band of leather wrapped around her chest, masquerading as a top.
The same laces on the side of the shorts run between her breasts, exposing more than they cover.
In fact, from this angle, I’m pretty sure I can see her nipple.
She teamed the outfit she could only have purchased at Strippers R Us with a pair of black high heels and a studded choker around the neck.
Her blonde hair has been teased and sprayed to give it that just-fucked look.
Of course, it really could be that she’s just been fucked.
With Razzle, anything is possible.
“You want something Razzle?”
“You think you’re so fucking special, don’t you,” she spits, stalking closer.
Her hands fist at her sides as if she’s fighting for control.
I stare at her for a beat before I shake my head.
What the fuck am I doing?
I don’t need to stand here and listen to the shit coming out of her mouth anymore.
Say what you want about Hannibal, but there's no way he will stand by and let Razzle shit all over me like Khan and Driller did. Even Havoc, to an extent. In the beginning, I’d give as good as I got, but after being told to just let shit go or that my attitude was reflecting on my old man, I eventually stopped fighting back. I stopped reacting, full stop. Instead of getting the fuck over herself and moving on, Razzle continued to be a two-faced, confrontational bitch, and nobody said shit to her. Hell, when everything went down with Havoc, and everyone joined the I Hate Lola Fan Club, they let Razzle spew her venom at me freely.
But Khan and Driller aren’t here anymore. They can’t force me to endure any more of Razzle’s shit.
“Fuck this.” I step to walk around her, but she grabs my arm and stops me.
“Hannibal might have fallen for your shit, but none of us have forgotten what you’re really like. When he wises up, he’ll be done with you. And then I’ll be the one warming his sheets.”
“Let go of my arm or I’ll rip your hair out of your head.” I pitch my voice low and hard.
She freezes for a moment, shocked that I actually said anything before she snorts with laughter. I pull my arm from her grip and start walking away once again when I feel her hand in my hair. Before she can yank it, I spin and throw a punch, hitting her throat. She lets go of my hair as she yelps, struggling to suck in a breath.
“Your days of bullying me are over,” I warn her as I shake out my fist. Motherfucker, that hurt more than I thought it would.
She gets her breathing under control before standing to her full height. “I’ll kill you,” she hisses, lunging for me. Her fist swings out, aiming for my stomach.
I cover my belly with my hands automatically as I twist away from her, but her fist never connects. At the sound of Razzle’s scream, I turn back and see her being yanked back by Elmo, who has a handful of her hair.
“Tell me I didn’t just see what I saw,” he snarls.
“She hit me!” Razzle yells, struggling to free her hair.
I wait for him to turn on me, telling me I caused this. But he says nothing as his eyes rove over me, his gaze pausing on my stomach for a moment before they move up to my face.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, um, thank you.”
His eyes move to Razzle, who is still straining against him.
“I think we should go find Hannibal. He’s probably wondering what’s taking you so long.”
His words are meant for me, but his gaze never leaves Razzle.
“Let me go. You’re hurting me.”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s me you need to worry about.”
Razzle whimpers as Elmo drags her over to me.
“Let’s go find Hannibal, Lola. I think he’ll be real interested to hear what happened to his old lady in his own fucking clubhouse.”
Oh shit.