6. Penelope
Idon’t know when I fall asleep, but when I wake up, my body feels sticky with a mix of dried sweat and the remnants of me losing my virginity. I had sex with Hawthorn Benedict. Hot, strange, painful, wonderful, world-ending sex.
I’ve known for years that I wasn’t going to get to have the casual sexual relationships normal people my age have. Despite the romanticized fantasy I’d dreamed about, I’d known it was unlikely that I’d be in love with the first person I shared my body with. I’d assumed it would be awful, that I’d be nervous and emotionally distanced from the act, that it would just be one more thing I’d endure to abide by the rules of my inheritance.
But what just happened with Hawthorn was nothing at all like I’d imagined. Unlike most people my age, I’ve never allowed myself the opportunity to really explore my own body or discover what made me feel good. Before today, I’ve never touched my own vagina in any way except to wash. Since the age of fourteen, I’ve been consumed with fear that I’d do something and accidentally break my hymen. I’ve never used a tampon or ridden a horse or a bicycle. I don’t do strenuous exercise or anything that anyone has ever even hinted could cause my body to rupture that all-important piece of skin, because if it broke before I had a wedding ring on my finger, everything would be ruined.
And now it’s gone.
Today I didn’t just lose my virginity, I gave away all of my firsts. First kiss, first orgasm, first time being touched in any way outside of a doctor’s or aesthetician’s office. And I gave them all to Hawthorn. To a boy that I don’t like, who doesn’t like me. And despite how clinical it could have been, it wasn’t. He made me orgasm so hard my entire body shook, and he didn’t just do it once, he made me come four times. He took the time to touch me, to tease me, and make sure that I took pleasure from an unpleasurable experience.
The actual sex part hurt, at least at the start, but by the end it was amazing, so unlike anything I could ever have imagined, and now my body feels sore and relaxed all at the same time. Inhaling slowly, I breathe in the scent of his skin beneath my cheek. I shouldn’t be cuddling with him, but when he pulled me to him, I couldn’t resist taking the comfort he was offering.
I’m his enemy, but here, naked, cuddled into his chest, all I feel is an overwhelming sense of warmth and security and peace. But soon this will all be over. My virginity is gone, and no matter how much I’m enjoying this moment with him, I can’t allow myself to forget that this was just about breaking the will, no matter how close to him I feel right now.
For years, I thought I’d be able to compartmentalize sex into just another rule to be followed, just one more item to be ticked off on my great-grandfather’s will, but I was so incredibly wrong. What Hawthorn and I just did is something I’ll never forget. I had no idea that I could feel so consumed, so…owned. He told me he wanted to own me until this was over, but I’m not sure he intended to claim me quite as deeply as he did. Because even though I barely know him, I’m not sure I’ll ever get over never feeling this way again.
Closing my eyes, I bask in the way it feels to be enclosed in his arms, then I promise myself that in five more seconds, I’ll move. As much as I wish I could stay here like this forever, I can’t. So, in four seconds, I’ll get up, take a shower, and wash my body clean of him, then I’ll leave. For three more seconds, I luxuriate in the warmth he’s surrounded me in, keeping my breathing steady and even, desperately trying not to wake him. For two more seconds, I get to pretend that he doesn’t hate me, that he doesn’t know how terrible a person I am. And for one, excruciating second, I get to pretend that we had sex, that I gave him my virginity because we care about each other and not because I literally didn’t have anyone else I could ask.
When my time is up, I don’t allow myself any more. I’m the villain of the story, and the bad guy doesn’t get to live in a fairy tale with a happily ever after. They get their comeuppance. They suffer and have to face the consequences of their actions. There’s no point pretending this is real, even if I wish it was.
Carefully, I peel my naked body from his, holding my breath until I’m free of his arms. My body aches, and my limbs are slow to act as I slide off the edge of the bed, wincing at the burning soreness between my legs. I know I shouldn’t, but I allow myself a single look at Hawthorn. Instead of his peaceful, sleeping form, I’m surprised to find his eyes open and watching me. Neither of us speaks, and our gazes stay locked while I collect my discarded clothes from the floor. I feel his eyes on me, right until I break the connection, closing the bathroom door between us.
Turning on the shower, I lean up against the door while I wait for it to warm. Stepping beneath the torrent, I close my eyes and let the hot water wash away the blood and dried semen from my inner thighs. Squeezing soap into my hand, I coat my skin, cringing at how beat up I feel considering all I did was lie on my back and let him do all the work. An embarrassed blush fills my cheeks as I remember the things he said and did to me. I’m used to money hungry boys who all look at me as nothing more than the key to a billion-dollar fortune. None of them care about me. None of them are interested in seducing me or romancing me. I’m simply an asset in a business deal, just part of the negotiation.
But Hawthorn didn’t treat me that way. I asked him to take my virginity. He could have just fucked me, but he didn’t. He told me he wanted to be in charge, and I eagerly agreed because the thought of leading an act that I’m entirely clueless about would have been mortifying. But he didn’t make me feel stupid or na?ve. He taught me what I liked, he showed me how to feel good, and despite how messed up everything else is, I’ll never forget that.
“I’m going to own you, Princess. Until this is over, I want your soul to belong to me. I don’t want you to even think unless I’ve told you to do it. I want you mindless, boneless, and consumed. I want to hear my name fall from your lips and have it be the only thing you know how to say, because the only thing that exists to you is me.”His voice drifts into my head, and I have to swallow past the lump in my throat and the surge of arousal that pulses through my sore pussy.
He told me exactly what he wanted from me, and he did exactly what he said he would. He owned me, even if it was only for a short while. The scary thing is that I think a small part of me will always be his now, that when he took my virginity, he took a tiny part of me with it, and I’m not sure I’ll ever get it back, or if I even want to.
Turning off the water, I search for a towel, eventually finding a pile of clean, black, fluffy ones in a closet and wrapping one around myself. I allow myself a moment to panic over everything else I still need to do before the day is done. Then I dry myself off, redress in the clothes Hawthorn and I bought this morning—minus the panties that he boldly put in his pocket—and walk out of the bathroom, faking a bravado that I don’t feel.
The bedroom is empty when I enter it. I don’t know why I expected to find Hawthorn in bed waiting for me. Maybe I just hoped he’d still be there, that he’d tell me he wanted more, that he wanted me. But that was a foolish dream. Scanning the space, I search for any trace of him, but all I find is the tripod still positioned at the end of the bed. The empty tripod. My heart starts to thud in my chest as I search for the camera, but it’s not here.
For a moment, I worry that he’s taken the camera, but he wouldn’t do that. He wants me to break the will for my sister, he wouldn’t take the only proof I have that I’m no longer a virgin. Opening the bedroom door, I walk into the living room, and the breath I’d pretended I hadn’t been holding bursts from me in a relieved huff as I spot him sitting shirtless on the couch, the video camera in his hands.
His body is unbelievable, I was so consumed by him that I barely noticed it earlier when he took his shirt off. But now that I have a chance to observe him, it’s impossible to miss his rich tan skin and muscled chest. In this quiet moment, he’s almost impossibly beautiful, his defined jaw clenched, his short, deep auburn hair so dark I’d thought it was brown until he was above me, his face only inches from mine while our bodies were joined together.
He doesn’t look like an eighteen-year-old boy, he looks like a man, and I have to swallow down the desire that’s sparking back to life just from looking at him.
I felt the smattering of hair on his chest, but I didn’t take the time to look when my face was pillowing on his pecs, but I can see it now, along with a tattoo over his heart. I’ve always assumed I didn’t like tattoos—not that I’ve ever seen one in real life. But as I try to decipher what his is, I realize I don’t hate it. I’ve spent years listening to my mother’s disgust at them, and until this moment, I didn’t realize that her influence had tempered my opinion.
If I knew him better, or at all, I’d cross the room to him and ask to look at it properly, but our moment of intimacy has ended, and now we’re just two strangers who aren’t quite as defined enemies as we were a few hours ago.
He hasn’t noticed me yet; his eyes are on the camera in his hands. His lips are parted slightly, and I swallow thickly, squeezing my legs together when he drags his teeth over his full bottom lip as he watches.
When I hear the sound of my own voice, I realize he’s watching the tape of us. Horrified, my feet move without thought, and I rush across the room, snatching the camera from his hands and clutching it to my chest while I fumble to turn the video off.
“What are you doing?” I shriek.
His smile is slow and languorous. “You know what I’m doing, Princess. Why don’t you sit down? We can watch it together.”
“No,” I gasp, mortified by the idea of watching a video of us having sex. “It’s bad enough that it even exists. That it even happened. I never want to watch it!” I shout, my voice becoming cold and angry and so much like my mother’s that I internally cringe at the sound.
“Wow. Would you look at that? It took less than an hour for all that sweet, sexy innocence to wear off,” he drawls bitterly, leaning back on the sofa, his body language mockingly relaxed, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “For a minute, I thought a good fuck might have rattled that stick up your ass loose and had you becoming an almost decent person, obviously, I was wrong.”
His barb hits, and I inhale sharply, hurt stabbing at my chest. I don’t know why I care. Nothing’s changed between us just because we’ve now seen each other naked. We’re not friends or lovers, and this was just sex. An act between two consenting adults, a means to an end. “We both know I’m not a decent person, Hawthorn. A few orgasms were never going to change that,” I barb back, hating how I sound, but needing the familiar mask of spoiled superiority to hide behind.
Crossing to the furthest seat away from him, I perch on the edge of the couch and look at the video camera. My hands shake as I check that the video is still there, playing it for a second to make sure it works before turning it off and placing it in my lap. I can feel his eyes on me, but I don’t look at him.
I can’t stay here. I need to get away—away from him and all these feelings that are swirling around inside of me.
Pulling my cell out, I turn it on, ignoring the barrage of missed calls and text notifications that appear. Clicking into the Uber app, I order myself a cab, relieved when it says that the driver will be here in less than five minutes.
Rising gracefully from the couch, I lift my chin and ignore Hawthorn’s probing gaze as I make my way back to the bedroom. I don’t know why I came back here. The smell of sex and sweat fills my nose, and I have to blink back the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes as memories of Hawthorn and me together consume my thoughts. Inhaling sharply, I check the app and see the car icon slowly moving closer to the marina. Glancing around the room, I check to see if I left anything, but instead, my eyes land on the bloodstain on the bedsheets. I hadn’t noticed it when I came out of the bathroom earlier, but now it’s all I can see. The bright red stain is impossible to ignore against the white sheets. My eyes widen as I fixate on it. I’m not a virgin anymore. Despite knowing that it happened, feeling it in my body, and having a video to prove it, until this moment, as I stare at the evidence on the sheets, I hadn’t really processed that I had sex.
My chest tightens as panic swells inside of me, and before I even realize what I’m doing, I’m ripping the sheets from the bed and balling them up as small as I can get them. Shoving the camera into my purse, I hook it over my wrist, holding the sheets to my chest as I run from the bedroom.
“I’m going to find a trash can,” I announce, rushing past Hawthorn, darting through the door and onto the deck of the boat. Spotting my shoes, I shove my feet into them, then descend the slim gangway that leads down onto the marina.
Trying to maintain what little dignity I have left, I stride over to the huge dumpsters on the other side of the parking lot, open the lid, and throw the sheets inside before slamming it closed again.
With my eyes tightly shut, I suck in a sharp gasp. I need to leave, to get away from here and everything that’s happened inside that boat. My cell beeps, and I glance down at the screen, almost crying with gratitude when I see a text telling me my Uber driver has arrived.
Glancing back at Hawthorn’s boat, I find him standing on the deck watching me, his arms crossed over his bare chest, his expression hard and shuttered. Lifting my hand in the biggest asshole move ever, I wave at him. “Thank you for the help!” I shout, then I turn and exit the marina, climbing straight into the waiting cab without looking back.