10. Maddison
Maddison
Ash: You were perfect the other night, my angel.
Ash: When you stop pretending that you’re not a sinful, needy girl, come to the club tonight. I have a little surprise for you.
Imight need a therapist because those words make my bruised pussy throb. Last night was… last night was something else entirely. The fear, adrenaline, pain, and pleasure mixed into one big cocktail of craziness that no sane person should ever want to taste again.
Driving home afterwards with sticky thighs, my knees aching and my hair matted and drying cum on my face was the most conflicting rush of emotions I’ve ever experienced.
I was raw, physically and mentally...so full of shame and embarrassment, disgust in myself for letting it happen, for wanting it to happen.
And yet, I can’t deny it. I’ve never felt more alive, more awake than I did in those moments.
I remember gripping the steering wheel with white knuckles, the city lights streaking past, my sobs echoing in the quiet car.
And when the tears began to fall, my sobs turned into laughter...
Not happy laughter; manic, unhinged, as if my body was trying to release something it couldn’t name.
The cold night air whipped through my open window, cooling the fever that was still running under my skin, carrying away the faint scent of him that clung to me.
But it didn’t matter. The scent, the feel, and the memory were seared into me.
All day I’ve been distracted. Sitting in my office trying to get work done before the weekend proved useless.
Every time I shifted on my chair, I could still feel him.
Every time I stretched my aching muscles, I was back on the ground, with a gun placed against my head as he ordered me to suck his cock.
A cock like I’ve never seen. I’m grateful that none of the clients my father arranges dinner with aren’t as well endowed, because I don’t think I’d ever recover.
I don’t think I’ll ever recover from Ash.
His intensity is like nothing I’ve ever seen, and his willingness to just take from me without care or permission.
It shouldn’t make me feel the way I do. But my body betrayed me.
It betrayed me in a way I’m not sure I can come back from.
My body loved every bit of pain he gave me, loved the way the fear laced my bloodstream and feeling of control being stripped from my grip...
Even when my mind and lips screamed stop.
So even though my first instinct is fighting these feelings when the texts rolled in, I didn’t delete them.
I didn’t throw my phone across the room.
I let myself feel it. Just once more. The excitement.
The sharp tug in my stomach that leads to my core.
I let the smile creep over my lips before I could stop it.
Nervousness and fear, anticipation and want, each fighting for first place in my chest.
I tell myself I’m not going. That I’ll stay home.
That last night was wrong, a line that shouldn’t have been crossed.
But I still stand in front of the mirror.
I still straighten my hair, making sure it’s perfect.
I still choose the silky black top that clings to my curves, a tight skirt that always draws people’s eyes and the heels that make my legs look a mile long.
My hands shake as I slide the lipstick across my mouth.
And I tell myself, just once more. Once more will I indulge in this reckless behaviour and let myself enjoy it.
In the morning, I’ll find a way to end this once and for all.
Looking at myself in the mirror, I barely recognise myself. I’m always done up for work, but this feels different. There’s a spark of excitement in my eyes.
But inside, the other voice is still there.
The rational one. The one that says this isn’t who I am, that this path only leads to one ending, and it’s not a good one.
It tells me that men like Ash aren’t ones you can use for a momentary lapse in judgement.
That he’ll break me down and I’ll thank him for it. That I already have.
But I promise myself this will be the last time I willingly set foot into that club.
I grab my keys. My reflection stares back at me, half stranger, half myself. The sound of my heels clicking on the hallway tiles is too loud in the quiet of my apartment. By the time I’m in the car, the rational voice is quieter. Not gone, just muffled under the weight of something darker.
The city feels different tonight. The streetlights are halos in the mist; the roads slick and reflecting the neon signs like smeared paint.
My hands tighten around the wheel as my stomach twists with each turn that brings me closer.
I tell myself I could still back out. I could take the next street, turn toward safety, lock my door, and forget him.
But I don’t.
With every kilometre, the club draws me in like a black hole, swallowing every reasonable thought.
My heart pounds in my chest, matching the beat of some song I can’t hear yet but feel all the same.
The thought of seeing him again terrifies me.
Real terror that has a buzz tingling in my spine.
I can barely breathe properly, my chest feeling so heavy.
When the glowing red sign of the club finally cuts through the fog ahead, I feel a shiver crawl up my spine. I know this isn’t the right thing to do. But my foot stays on the gas.
For once, maybe I’m done doing the right thing.
The reflection from my visor is almost unrecognisable. I don’t look like me. I don’t feel like me. Something changed last night. Snapped. Irreparable. And I don’t know if I’m okay with it.
The car park is littered with bikes of all different sizes and colours, much busier than it was the night that I found myself here.
It has panic spiking through me. I can hear the rowdy voices of men drifting from inside; an obvious party is happening inside.
The yellow glow from the windows beckoning me. Or warning me. I’m unsure of which.
I don’t know how I make it from my car to the front door. I feel like I left my body for a second, coming back into it when my palm rests on the splintered wood. Just one push and I’ll be inside. I barely escaped the last time.
Air falls out of my clenched teeth as I make a decision and push. The hinges creak as I take the last step inside, letting it fall shut behind me.
Conversations quiet as the men notice me in their space, their attention pressing in on me from all angles. It’s busier than last time, much busier. Around 40 men nurse drinks on wooden tables or against the bar.
Panic blazes through me, but I lift my chin, faking all the confidence that I don’t have. I feel like if I show a whisper of fear, these sharks will eat me alive.
I feel him in here before I see him, his presence a stifling, living thing.
Slowly, I turn my head in his direction; the silence deafening.
The way he is reclined on a bar stool next to a game of pool, he looks like a king.
A God. Muscular body covered in cargo pants and a dark shirt with his leather vest. Any skin uncovered has swirls of ink dancing over it.
Dark hair hangs down his forehead, curling slightly at the ends.
He watches me with a smug smirk, as if he knew I would come all along, nursing a drink in inked fingers.
Ocean blue eyes gleaming with a manic, feverish light as he takes me in.
There is something about the way his smile stretches, sharp and predatory, that doesn’t match the heaviness in his eyes.
Dark smudges stain his under-eyes. His gaze doesn’t just land on me, it pins me, restless and hungry, sliding down my body and back up slowly.
I stiffen under his gaze, my body frozen, and the corner of his mouth twitches, satisfaction curling there.
When he unfolds himself from the stool, he looks even more intimidating, his leather vest rustling as he stalks towards me. So tall and big, he eats up the space between us in just a few strides, while I feel everyone else watching in silence.
“Matty, make my angel a drink, please,” he demands quietly, his attention locked on me. “Boys… Our celebration is here.”
I gasp as his warm hand lands on the small of my back and leads me over to the bar where the man from before stands. The older one with kind eyes and a handsomely rugged face. Grey hairs pepper his temples and wrinkles line his eyes in a way that just weirdly adds to his looks.
My fingers are trembling when I reach for the drink he slides towards me, a wine, and he watches me silently, eyes flicking between me and Ash.
Ash’s eyes are on me, waiting for me to sip it with an eager expression on his face, so I do.
It’s the same, great-tasting wine from before, and I hum softly, taking a big sip to hopefully dull some of these nerves.
I take another and another. In a place like this, I don’t think there is a limit someone should drink.
Ash leans in, whispering into my ear, “Is my angel’s pussy still sore?”
My face heats as I choke on my drink, spluttering and trying to get air.
My eyes shoot to the bartender who simply looks back with curiosity in his eyes.
When I turn back to the man standing next to me, sipping his own dark-coloured drink, he eyes me with pure hunger, his tongue digging into the point of his canine tooth.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckles, winking before taking another sip. I follow him, sipping my own. “Drink up, baby. It’s going to be a long night.”
Those ominous words have my eyes falling shut. What am I doing here? This is certifiably crazy.
Peeking over my shoulder, I see men in leather vests and jackets, tattoos and scars, watching us carefully. I see the two twins staring eerily. The tension grows too thick, forcing me to look back at the older man, deciding that he is the least harmless.