Chapter 12
TWELVE
Elliana
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Mom tries to keep her voice low on the way home, putting a hand on Paul’s leg in the front seat. “Everything is fine. He probably just wasn’t feeling very well.”
Something in the way Paul grunts tells me he doesn’t buy it—and he’s right, obviously. For some reason, Mom refuses to acknowledge the way Carter feels about her, about this entire arrangement. But that’s not really a surprise. I’ve known her all my life, and I know how good she is at ignoring the things she doesn’t want to acknowledge.
Like me, for instance, who she has successfully ignored for most of my life. I exist, sure, but I’m almost like a chore she can’t avoid. Like washing dishes or mopping the floor. A necessary evil. That’s all I am.
And what is she to me? Right now, a source of massive embarrassment. She’s not only an expert at closing her eyes to the truth, she’s also massively unaware of how obnoxious she can be. To sit there and practically brag about all the money she’s spending? I wanted to die of shame. But she doesn’t see anything wrong with it. She thinks it’s totally normal to talk to her husband like he’s nothing more than a walking credit card. I honestly don’t know how she does it. I don’t think I would be able to live with myself.
“I hope you were still able to enjoy your dinner.” It takes me a second to realize Paul is talking to me. When I look at the rearview mirror, I find him offering a slight grin. “That was some pretty good chicken parm, wasn’t it?”
“It was,” I agree, making the effort to speak because I feel sorry for him. He’s in a bad position. For some reason, he loves Mom—I can’t figure that one out. But Carter’s not making it easy for him. At least I know I’m not the only one he tends to make miserable. Right now, watching frustration play out over Paul’s face in the mirror, I don’t find any comfort.
“Now remember,” Mom teases—at least, she tries to make it sound like she’s teasing as we roll up the driveway. “We need to be careful what we eat for the next couple of weeks until the wedding rolls around. We can’t afford to gain a pound.”
“I won’t forget,” I murmur, gazing out the window toward the second floor of the house. Carter’s room overlooks the side of the house where Paul pulls in. Does he know we’re here? The lights are out up there. He hasn’t gone to sleep yet, has he? I can’t imagine why he would. It’s not even nine o’clock.
Maybe he really does feel sick. I can’t believe I care either way as we walk around to the front of the house with Paul teasing Mom over something or other—I’ve completely tuned them out, all of my thoughts focused on what’s waiting for me once I’m inside.
Please, don’t let him be in a bad mood. If he’s in a bad mood, there’s not a doubt in my mind who he’s going to take it out on. I would like just one peaceful night. Is that too much to ask? It’s bad enough I had to sit there and listen to Mom make an endless fool of herself throughout dinner while wishing the whole time that I could crawl under the table and not come back out.
I hate the thought of anybody knowing she’s my mother. Every loud, bawdy laugh, every time she squealed over something, I shrank a little further in my seat. Does she get off on being so embarrassing? No, because she thinks she’s being charming. Completely deluded.
All I know is, I can’t afford for Carter to be in a bad mood. Those photos on his phone are never far from my mind. What if he decides he’s so pissed at Mom, he’ll use them to get back at her somehow? Not that I would ever tell her. Even if I believed she would be remotely sympathetic. I would rather have my tongue run over by a truck than breathe a word of it to her. What could she do about it, anyway?
No, I get the feeling it would be enough for him to know he defiled her daughter. That would satisfy him, at least for a little while. At least until he got bored with it and decided to up the ante again.
“Less than three weeks.” Mom can’t stop gushing about the wedding as we walk into the house, where she winds her arms around Paul’s neck as soon as the door is closed. “And the whole town will be with us to celebrate. I hope I do you proud.”
“Of course you will. There’s not a doubt in my mind.” And the thing is, it sounds like he means it. He is really not a bad guy at all. I hope she’s careful with him, for his sake. All I know about his past is that his first wife left a long time ago. Mom never gave me any reason—maybe Paul didn’t tell her. Maybe Carter’s mom never gave him a reason in the first place.
If I gave birth to the antichrist, I would want to get far away from him, too.
I’m not sure how much of this lovey-dovey stuff I can handle, so I quietly excuse myself after thanking Paul for dinner, then slowly make my way up the stairs. Every step I climb makes my heart a little heavier. Where is he? And what kind of mood is he in? Please, don’t let him take it out on me. At this rate, I’m pretty sure that’s a pointless prayer. I’m pretty sure he looks for reasons to be mad at me.
His bedroom door is closed, the light is still out. There’s no sound coming from under the door.
And there’s a simple reason for that, one which I discover as soon as I’ve opened my bedroom door.
“Took you long enough to get home,” he murmurs, sitting on my bed with his back against the headboard, shoes off, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Like he belongs here.
Which he definitely does not. “Please, I’m not in the mood for this,” I whisper, remembering where I left our parents. “And they are right downstairs, so you might want to be quiet.”
“Thanks for the advice, but I think I can handle myself.” We have very different opinions on that. I’m smart enough to hold my tongue.
Once I’ve closed the door and flipped on a light besides the one on the nightstand, I take off my trainers. “Why did you leave when you did?”
“You honestly have to ask that question? Come on,” he groans, shaking his head while wearing a knowing smirk. “You know why. Don’t make me say it out loud.”
“No, please. Now I’m interested.”
“Because your mother is an embarrassment.” He flashes a grin. “There. Happy?”
“If you think that’s going to hurt my feelings, you’ve wasted your breath.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think that’ll hurt your feelings at all. I see the way you react to her. Somebody needs to set her straight.” I have to force myself to look at him, and when I do, it’s in time to watch his jaw go tight.
“Don’t go thinking it has to be you,” I warn. “Yes, she’s embarrassing, but she’s my mom and she’s your dad’s wife,” I add. There’s something too satisfying about the way he shudders. What a baby.
“I know you’re not giving me advice right now. I know that’s not what’s happening.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and I can tell I’m in trouble. When am I going to learn to just keep my mouth shut in front of him? I can think anything I want, but I can’t say it out loud. Wasn’t I just thinking about keeping him in a good mood, or at least not pushing him into a bad one? Yet there I go, running my mouth—and for what? To defend Mom?
“Now that you mention it,” he continues, looking me up and down. “I did miss dinner, and I am hungry.”
“You should’ve made something when you got home. You had plenty of time.” Something inside tells me he’s not really thinking about food. Not when there’s a wicked light in his eyes.
“I would rather eat you, Elliana.” He drags out each syllable, letting them roll over his tongue. “What do you think about that?”
What do I think? I think I should run screaming from the room. I think he needs to have his head examined.
I think he’s going to do it whether I want him to or not.
“Why do you have to do this?” I ask anyway, because I have to at least try to get through to him.
“Because I want to,” he replies, lifting a shoulder. Like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “And because you don’t have a choice unless you want the whole school to see your bare tits. Among other things.” He chuckles at the way my face goes hot with humiliation.
“Listen,” he grunts, his chuckles dying all at once. “You might be the only living, breathing woman to get offended at somebody wanting to eat them out. I like the way you smell. I like the way you tasted on my fingers.”
Despite my horror, his simple statement sets fire to my pussy. I go blazing hot down there, hotter than the flush covering my face, hotter than anything has ever made me feel.
“Now get on the bed,” he concludes, staring me down while my skin crawls and my pulse picks up speed. “And take off your jeans. Let’s see how quiet you can be once I get to work. There’s no party to drown you out this time.”
When I don’t move fast enough, he’s off the bed, taking me by the arm and dragging me over before shoving me backward hard enough to make me bounce. “Quit wasting time,” he grunts, unbuttoning my jeans.
How is it always like this? How does he manage to get the upper hand every time? I don’t have a prayer of winning. I shouldn’t bother trying.
If I let him do what he wants, he’ll go away. I lift my hips so he can pull my jeans down until they fall past my feet onto the floor. “There it is,” he whispers, sounding almost reverential as he lowers himself to his knees in front of me. “There’s that pussy. Take off your panties,” he demands, already breathing harder than before. Is this all it takes? I can’t understand it.
My hands shake, but I manage to tug the waistband down over my hips and my butt before slowly pulling them down. I could die of shame, I really could, knowing I’m on full display for him. Of all people.
The worst part? I don’t have a choice. He’ll go through with his threats. I know he will. I have to do this, no matter how it makes me want to die.
“Oh, fuck.” When I dare look down at him, what I find shocks me. He’s staring at me, his mouth hanging open a little so every short breath can make warm air fan across my bare skin. “So pretty. So pink and already so wet. Have you ever felt a tongue on your pussy?”
He must already know the answer, but I shake my head, anyway. There’s a look of triumph in his eyes, satisfaction. That was the answer he wanted.
“Don’t make a sound,” he warns, spreading my thighs wider, placing my feet on his shoulders. Oh, my god, is this really happening? I don’t know what to think, how to feel. I hate him, yes, but there’s also a fire burning low in my belly, something hotter than anything I’ve ever felt or knew possible. Before he’s ever touched me, my fists twist the duvet under me, while the sensation of cool air against my hot flesh leaves me shivering in anticipation of what’s to come.
And now it’s his breath I feel against my lips. The sensation is unreal—my teeth sink into my tongue as I lift my hips to silently beg for more. Like my body has a mind of its own. I don’t even have to think about it, and it happens.
“Greedy,” he whispers, laughing softly before the most heavenly sensation starts at my slit and makes my toes curl. His tongue, moving slowly up and down through my wetness.
I had no idea! How could I? It’s one thing to guess something will feel good, but to actually feel it? “Fuck, so sweet,” he growls before pressing his face tight against my flesh and wiggling his tongue around.
Fireworks explode behind my eyelids, and I have to bite on my fist to hold back the cries that are stirring in my chest. I don’t think I can take it. It’s too much. He’s tormenting me, barely touching his tongue to my most sensitive parts, laughing against my swollen folds while I writhe and moan as softly as I can.
I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t like it, but it’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt. All I want is to take him by the back of the head and pull him in close, to grind against his face. It’s the most insane impulse—I have no idea where it comes from. I only know I will die if he stops.
His greedy, animal grunts fill my ears and send vibrations running through my pussy. His tongue is magic, working my clit before circling my entrance. My nerves are singing, my body on fire, but it’s the way he grunts so happily through all of it that drives me wild. He likes it. He likes this. And that only makes it better somehow.
“My god,” I whimper, my hips rolling in circles, the pressure building, growing, filling me like air in a balloon. Pretty soon I’m going to pop.
And he knows it, chuckling darkly, holding my hips still so he can ravage me with his mouth. I’m totally lost, clawing at the blanket, at his hands, and finally at the back of his head until he moans against me. The vibrations make my back arch and my toes curl, and oh, my god, I’m going to come. He’s going to make me come on his tongue. I feel it. I want it.
And when it hits, I grit my teeth hard, my body straining, my heart pounding like a bass drum in my ears. It’s the sweetest release, blissful, rolling over me in one wave after another until all that’s left is peace. I’m completely wiped out by the time my legs fall open on either side of his head, and he stands, grunting, panting heavily as he stares down at me.
Without a word, he opens his belt, then unbuttons his shorts and lets them drop to the floor. He shoves a hand down his boxer briefs and pulls out his straining, dripping erection. For one heart-stopping second, I’m afraid he’s going to make me suck it again. I’m not sure I have that in me now.
Instead, he runs his fist up and down, his eyes never leaving my twitching, pulsing core. I can only watch, both shocked and fascinated, while he touches himself, chest heaving, fist flying up and down, up and down.
And then he grunts and aims himself at my pussy before his cum shoots from the tip and hits my skin. I don’t know what to feel, how to think. I knew this was something people did, but I never imagined it happening to me, never imagined feeling a man’s cum running down my skin. I’m filled with surprise and more than a little bit of shame—which I think is exactly how he wants me to feel. That’s why I can’t show it. I can’t let him see.
It’s a good thing I’m so good at shutting down.
He doesn’t say anything as he finishes and pulls himself together. What could he say? What would I even want to hear from him?
“Tell me you’re not going to remember that and wish I would do it again.” With a smirk, he backs away, snickering. While all I can do is wait for him to leave so I can get up on shaky legs and go to the bathroom to clean myself up.
He’s right. Now that I know how that feels, I’ll have a hard time not craving it. And he knows it.
That’s not the worst part. It’s not enough that he knows it. He takes pride in it. And he’s not going to let me live it down.