7. Chapter 7
Chapter 7
Iwoke to another day in hell, screaming and my new heart pounding as I clawed my way out of a nightmare. A whispering touch skated over my cheek before gentle hands—one below my head and the other under my shoulder, currently being assaulted by the hard floor—lifted me.
I scratched at my skin, violently trying to get to an internal itch I could never reach.
It had been two weeks since I carved symmetrical lines on my chest, or so I assumed. We counted our sleepless nights together, talking and learning so much about each other until exhaustion pulled us away.
We learned a lot, keeping only our painful parts private. But we knew all of each other’s intricate details. Our likes and dislikes. It was like we had been friends for years, and I was one of those friends yearning for more.
We hadn’t known each other long, but it felt so much longer in here, where we only had each other. Days felt like months, weeks like years. Emotions grew quickly. It was like we were on one of those reality TV shows where you flew to an exotic island in the hopes of finding love with someone there. But without the island and the option of another suiter.
It didn’t matter. I would always choose Mercer. He’d become my person. A torch. A light in the dark, who, even with his energy dimming, still showed light. I would fight anyone for him, even this creep watching us.
The robotic voice hadn’t made his demands today, and yesterday, we had been punished for refusing to cause the other physical pain with the blade that continuously made its way into this room.
Our commode, the gift for my carving, had been taken away. I was over the shame of Mercer having to hold me to pee. Over the shame of not being able to flush. I missed the luxury of not having to hold my bladder and the fact that I’d grown accustomed to the luxury of the portable potty. When it was taken away, life felt heavier.
The heart surgery scar cut straight through the middle of my healing design as it became a crispy scar. My fingers caressed both, trying to soothe my racing heartbeat. I hated it when it raced, fearing it would stop any second. Fearing the pain of a heart attack.
Mercer read me, his hand replacing mine.
Cashmere pants soothed the abrasions on my back as my dirty shirt rose up, all caused by the violent thrashing from my restless sleep. The shirt no longer smelled like Mercer. It smelled like sweat and ruin…like me.
Mercer’s fingers moved to my hair, combing through the short length to rid the tangles my nightmare had encouraged. He mollified the twang of pain when his fingers got caught in the length.
A sticky note told me he was sorry. I accepted his apology and note, sticking the latter to the dull wall. There were no colorful notes on this side, but the far wall was almost completely decorated in tiny sheets of green and orange—all messages to me. Mood lifters, he called them, because every time he gave me one, my face lit up a little. I had tried to argue it was the reflection of the bright colors, but his sinful smile always disagreed.
“Where’s your girlfriend?” I quizzed, finally asking the one question I had avoided every time we talked, out of fear that he would tell me, at home, with our kids. My fingers twirled around an individual strand of frizzy hair.
He didn’t say that. He didn’t say anything.
“Does he have her, too?”
I hated to admit that I hoped this creep didn’t have her. That she was nowhere near us because if she came barreling through that door, I would no longer have my comforter.
No. We aren’t together anymore, an orange note answered.
Wish granted.
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
Mercer didn’t write me another message to say I shouldn’t be. Maybe it was fresh and still painful. I asked no more questions about her, my fingers pulling out a frizzy hair.
I played with the root, the slimy bulb moving over my lips before Mercer tugged the hair from my fingers and shook it from his own. The little hair tried to stick to him but finally fell to the floor, landing upon a small mountain of other hairs I had pulled out while he slept earlier.
That’s bad for you.
You’re hurting yourself.
I stuck the orange note to the wall after squinting to read it. The red crayon, peeled of its paper wrapping and wearing down, didn’t show up as well on this color paper.
“I had a nightmare. They cause stress. Pulling hair soothes my stress levels,” I told him, eager to change the subject.
The way he held me a little tighter than before told me it was my decision if I wanted to talk about the bad dream.
I pushed myself to face away from him, deciding not to traumatize him with the details. Bile rose up my throat over the mere idea of telling him I dreamed of violence and sexual assaults against me...when I, myself, had sexually assaulted him.
Before I knew it, I was being pulled closer to him. His tattooed chest against my ear, the gentle melody of his beating heart, soothed me in place of pulling hair.
My fingers traced the shaded designs. I didn’t ask about their story, our Post-it sheets were running low, and I needed them. Needed them to bring me back to life, with his bad drawings and sweet encouragements, every time my mood slipped. Every time anxiety chipped away at each and every nerve.
It would be so easy to break...if I didn’t have Mercer.
He handed me a little drawing of a fox whose mouth was far too wide, making the poor animal appear far more creepy than cute as it smiled up at me.
“That is terrifying.” I laughed, almost refusing to take it.
His face—jaw dropped and mouth wide—screamed of his offense. He blinked at his work, shaking his head over my opinion and dismissing it entirely.
The freaky portrait made it onto the wall, a centerpiece I couldn’t look at without laughing, despite my surroundings.
I’m offended.
“Me, too. My eyes feel insulted that you showed them that thing!”
He’s cute.
“He is not.” I laughed again, holding his muscled arms and my own ribs, hurting from laughing so hard.
He shook his head again, his naturally dark hair shining in the light.
I’m an art dealer. I know my stuff.
“You could have fooled me.”
His lips curled upward, then down, as the sound of another voice filled the room.
“Good evening, Feebee and Mercer.”
In each other’s arms, we stilled, our bodies tensing with trepidation creeping over every nerve.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been getting closer. It’s been...amusing to watch. It might help with what today’s task entails.”
I swallowed down my questions, always being too eager to delay talking to the voice. Mercer’s fingers brushed through my hair and distracted me.
His jaw ticked, and the silence in the room allowed me to hear his perfect teeth grinding.
“For today’s task, you’ll need to lose your dirty clothes.”
Mercer’s mouth opened and closed with the words he couldn’t say. His chest rose and fell, hard and heavy. His deep breaths pushed me away, then pulled me back in.
“What...what do you want us to do?” I pushed forward, staring up at the red dot until it burned my eyes. I blinked away the ache, closing and opening my sore eyes three times, twisting my gaze to Mercer and his soft, sympathetic stare.
“We have to sleep together?” It was my voice saying those words. My new heart was pounding for multiple reasons. Beating for him...racing for him.
“Your task…is to have sex, and if you can find a way to get off, Mercer, with a partner who will have challenges in the way of pleasing you, she can live. If she serves you no purpose, she won’t.”
My eyes widened, already seeing my future failings. Mercer’s did the opposite, eyes narrowing on the glaring light, his silent argument honoring and defending me, but it didn’t help.
The heavy door opened, and the shadow of a human neared, his dark clothes and squeaky boots making noises that had my stomach rolling as he closed in on us.
I gripped Mercer, my nails pressing into his golden tan, and he gripped me, too, holding me tightly as the man dropped to his haunches, his wide knees clicking.
His face was painted again. Green today, like the vomit I was trying to keep down.
Mercer soothed me, his fingers stroking through my hair.
The paint cracked as the man smiled, revealing his crooked teeth. His hand opened before us, revealing a pink metallic square in the center of his palm. A condom that Mercer reached for. And with that, the man left without a word.
The pink packet threatened me with what was to come. The vision of it became blurred, and I couldn’t make out the brand or the words it said about protection. I blinked to see better, and a tear fell.
Mercer’s fingers closed around the pink square, one of them catching the tear from my face, a corner of the packet poking me as I flattened his hand to my cheek. I couldn’t let his hand go.
“I guess this is goodbye.”
His pretty eyes squinted. His body moved awkwardly to collect the pad and crayon from where he had left them on the floor.
He wrote me a quick message. His scribbles, hard to understand, especially with the tears.
It’s not the end.
The disagreement from my face brought a million emotions to his. And I saw them all.
“I won’t be able to please you. I can’t move my hips. I won’t be good.”
I’ll help you, another note told me. I won’t let it end this way.
“It won’t work. He sets time limits. We won’t have enough time.” I angled my head to the red light, waiting for him to remind us of what I'd done on day one, but I beat him to it. “I had one when I sucked you,” I meekly admitted, my eyes low with shame, ironically aimed close to his crotch.
Two of his fingers lifted my chin, making the robotic voice that talked at that exact moment seep deeper into my ears.
“Your time will begin shortly. You’ll have no more than fifteen minutes.” There was an odd sounding click through the speaker, then more words. “Don’t feel put off by your audience.”
I didn’t. The creep watched everything anyway. Mercer felt differently. His tense body was hot and cold, the drawings on his chest glistening with a cold sweat. His questioning expression brought forth new lines on his face. He put me on edge. Not the man who forced us to do these things, him, because of his reaction.
My tongue moved in my mouth, trying to push away the instant dryness. “Wha...” I choked, trying to ask what was bothering him.
I never finished that question, the heavy door opening and interrupting me. Footsteps moved in the room, and the door closed. One painted face looked to the other. Their true expressions were hidden by cracking green paint.
I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat painful...and still there when the saliva passed, not allowing my words and fear to come out.
I shook my head, praying Mercer would see my silent worries.
I can’t do this.
His eyes moved to the men. They stood on either side of us. The one facing me looked far more menacing as his pink tongue licked his green lips like some kind of scaled reptile.
He stared me down, causing me to melt into Mercer’s lap, and in that very moment, I knew the center of this room would become the place where I would hand over my virginity...because what choice did I have?
They were in here.
Fucking creeps.
They shouldn’t be in here, watching us, this, all that was about to happen.
I couldn’t wipe the irritation from my face, and I'd tried to for the brief seconds where my hands left Feebee’s trembling body. She was scared. Each and every tear spoke of her fear. A graphic story no one would want to read
I rubbed her arms, not taking in the words that left her mouth in a splintered sentence. My fingers weaved through her hair, and she leaned into me.
“Please,” she silently begged. For what, I didn’t know. Her head shook when I didn’t answer, her stare still pleading as her mouth opened to breathe.
“We can do this,” I mouthed.
Mercer twisted us around, his body descending over mine as he set me on the ground and settled between my open legs. My fingertips massaged him with gratitude for facing my naughty bits away from the direct view of the hungry pervert, who had now sucked the paint from his thin lips.
My head still shook, and Mercer’s hand was still smoothing out the knots and frizz that I had caused. I invaded his space, my fingers clutching at random hairs as my stress levels rose uncomfortably.
Again, Mercer stopped me. Gentle fingers wrapped around my wrists, taking them to my sides.
He kissed just next to my lips, making me cold all over. My hands gripped his face, my nerves needing another kiss to settle.
But it didn’t work.
My wild eyes moved from side to side, examining the men. One looked like he had so many better places to be. With the bulge growing in his pants, the other looked like he wanted to push Mercer out of the way and show him how it was done.
I couldn’t let that happen.
My hands started wandering over Mercer’s chest, then down to the waistband of his pants. My nervous fingers struggled with the button until he helped me, popping it free. I licked my lips, giving him an invitation to kiss me that he accepted.
My nerves tasted ugly in his mouth.
His lips and gaze left me, moving to the horny creep.
I wrapped a sweaty hand around his, stealing his attention for a few seconds. Heavy breaths escaped me, filling the air with all the tension I felt. I waited for the walls to crack with it, breathing a little harder when they fucking didn’t.
Mercer’s arm waved, shooing the creeps away. The green creep with the rock-hard bulge waved back, laughing over Mercer’s attempt to get rid of him.
Blue on blue, our eyes met again for a second. A second before he looked away because he felt like he had failed me.
He didn’t.
I pulled his face back to mine, staring into his eyes as I whispered words I didn’t believe, “We can do this. Together.” I nodded, tears still leaking from my eyes and coating his lips as he kissed them away.
It did something to me. Made me feel closer to him. Made me crave him. But fear still hung over us like a blanket, so heavy, it made us both sweat.
He unzipped himself, pulling himself free of his pants. His hand wrapped around his length, his fingers barely touching. All my fears came back.
I couldn’t pull my eyes away. They widened in horror at the size of him. It would feel different down there. Different from my mouth, where I had control. I wouldn’t even be able to move if he hurt me, and that giant thing would fucking hurt me.
I would just have to lie here, unable to move until it was over, hiding the pain on my face because if I did something to lessen his potential enjoyment, I wouldn’t live.
The condom stretched over his length, his hand rolling it down to his balls.
A quick glance asked if I was ready.
No.
I nodded, lying.
Leaning over me, he popped the buttons on my shirt through their tiny holes. My nipples hardened under the material as he moved it away, exposing me to the men in the room.
One—with something almost decent still living inside him—looked away. The other, fucking salivated.
“You good?” Mercer mouthed soundlessly.
I nodded, and he leaned in to kiss me. His hand guided his thick cock between my pussy lips, and he rubbed, getting me wet.
The pervert moved for a better view, and I did all I could to focus on anything but him.
“Don’t worry about getting her wet. She can’t fucking feel anything anyway.” The robotic voice blared, reminding us we were wasting time.
Mercer ignored it, questioning the poor assumption as his touch sparked a reaction. My pussy grew wetter for him each time his cock nudged my clit.
He leaned over me, seconds away from pushing inside me.
“That’s not true. You know I’m responsive. You can feel it. And I’ll feel it. It’s just my legs that don’t work. I’ll feel this, and if you’re not gentle, it’ll hurt me, and it’s my first time.” All the words rushed out in one breath.
I couldn’t help my lip wobbling as he looked at me with shock and just a hint of compassion, and I couldn’t stop it until he kissed me.
That was when his penis stopped moving, positioning itself at my entrance. I tensed, and he felt that, too...unwelcome. His kiss deepened, his tongue moving over mine.
All of a sudden, he became the only one in the room. The only thing in my world. Lust flickered in our eyes as they closed in harmony.
His arm slid under the small of my back, pressing our skin together. I touched him. His face. His shoulders. His back. Everywhere.
His hand drifted lower, lifting my ass up to press me against him...angling me perfectly to make it less painful.
I blushed, emotions for him taking over. He cared about me enough to be gentle and loving despite the circumstances and the desire to race and get this over with.
He broke off the kiss, his heated stare appreciating my flushed cheeks. He twitched at my hole, his cock wanting to be deep inside.
His eyes asked one last time, do I have your permission? Say yes.
I nodded, holding my breath as he reared back. His eyes darted from my pussy to my face, back and forth as he fed me the first inch. His thumb worked my clit, remembering the response I gave when he touched there earlier.
I relaxed a little. Then another inch had me burning as my hymen tore.
I shivered, clenching my fists as my arms wrapped around my chest. Hugging myself as I held my breath again.
The fingers on my clit moved higher, flattening as they reached my pubic region. Dark hairs pivoted under the touch moving up my body, gently rubbing near my wound, careful not to touch it as he encouraged my first breath.
“Good girl,” he mouthed.
I bit my lip to keep in the ungodly moan those silent words coaxed, my teeth threatening to draw blood. Mercer’s warm mouth touched mine again, his tongue sliding in, distracting me as he pushed in another inch. I gasped while struggling with the fullness. I held on to his face. I sucked on his tongue like it was my source of air.
Another inch had me wishing I could writhe away. He stilled inside me, his mouth leaving mine pulled tears to my eyes, and their reason for being changed when his mouth landed on my neck. Kisses pressed onto my skin, starting below my ear and shadowing down to my clavicle.
His hand moved back to my clit, pinching it, rubbing it, making me wet. His teeth punctured my skin, creating a whole new burn to focus on. He sucked, loving the taste of me.
A low hum seeped through him and into me, all the way to my core. I vibrated for him, pulling him deeper inside me. My chest rose, my hard nipples grazing against his skin.
A gasp fell from my lips, this one not from pain, even as he edged deeper and deeper. His wet tongue lapped at my nipple, his eyes on me as he squeezed my breast and sucked it into his mouth.
Shamelessly, I moaned. My breaths turned shallow, his fingers, tongue, and cock all working harder on my body.
His hips drifted back, pulling out a little, then pushed back in, but not all the way. He repeated the action, only this time, filling me completely, and I moaned for multiple reasons.
Burning, splintering pain.
Searing, heated lust.
With a slow rhythm, he invaded me with tender thrusts. One of those shallow breaths crept out each time he pulled out of me, and a low moan escaped each time he pushed back in.
It wasn’t hurting now. The pain had been dispelled under the power of desire.
I expected it to hurt for longer. All things prior hurt for longer. But it felt like we were molded for each other.
He felt too good inside me. My nails raked through his hair, my back arching as he teased my nipple. I threw my head back when he moaned, too. He moved his fingers so his pelvis could grind against mine. It felt even fucking better, and he thought so, too, his hands locking my legs up over his hips.
His pace picked up a little, our sweaty bodies so close. His mouth moved back to mine, promising to devour me with the first touch of his lips. I wanted that. Wanted him. I kissed him hard, and he kissed me back with the same passion, the same need, and then everything felt funny...I tingled in strange places. In my lower stomach and my pussy. Through my whole body.
My fingers clawed at Mercer’s back, desperately pulling him closer.
Our kiss became messy, our mouths too hungry for a taste of one another. We ravaged at each other’s faces, throats, any-fucking-thing. We left trails of saliva and a path of lust that would lead our mouths back together.
I whispered against his lips, “I feel like...I don’t know. I feel like I’m gonna...”
He just smiled, looking so devilishly handsome and the perfect thing to see when my eyes rolled.
I no longer thought of anything but the look on her face as she came apart for me. Mission accomplished. She looked fucking beautiful, and she felt incredible gushing all over my balls and squeezing my cock until it surely bruised.
She almost dragged me over the edge, but stupidly, I held on. I wanted more of this feeling. Of my balls wet and nothing else mattering.
Her warm breath caressed my lips. I didn’t kiss her again, not while she was coming down and overtaken with emotion. But I couldn’t resist thrusting faster, harder.
I lowered us to the floor, the pants around my thighs proving to be a hindrance the closer we got. I spread her legs wide, knowing she was wet enough to take the brutality of what I needed right now.
“It still feels good for me,” she murmured, and it drove me fucking wild when she gushed again.
I thrusted with fury and passion, with anger and desire. Rage over the situation drove me on, that, and an unexplainable lust for this woman.
Her fingers pulled at my hips, almond nails scratching at me, burning grazes around the lines of my tattoos.
I roared into the air before gripping strands of her hair and yanking her head back for her mouth to take my tongue as deep as she could while I slammed into her tight cunt as fast as I could, rutting in a frenzy.
I couldn’t hold back this time. My load shot from me, filling the condom at the entrance of her womb.
Ol’ pink lips in the corner—the creep with drool dripping from his chin—clapped, then left, ushered out by the other one who had no fucking desire to be in this room.
The dying waves of pleasure shifted from tidal to steady, and I collapsed on top of Feebee, my mind going numb to all the trauma, all the pain, feeling nothing but her hand brushing my back and her heart humming against my ear. A fast, steady beat...just for me.