Lucy
Panic surges through me at his command.
My heart thuds in my chest.
I can’t believe what I just heard.
“Derek, what are you—?”
His grip on my hair tightens. “I know you’re not the brightest of Kara’s friends, but surely even you can understand directions as simple as that.”
Swallowing, I try to stand my ground, but I’m so thrown. Is he really coming on to me right now? This doesn’t even feel like coming on to me. It feels like something else.
“Let me go,” I say, my voice giving out toward the end.
He leans forward, and the hand in my hair drags my head back so I have to look up at him. His other hand clamps around my jaw, thumb digging into my cheek. “Last chance to listen, little angel. Get on your knees, or I’ll put you there myself.”
The words are quiet, level despite their innate depravity. Like it’s already decided. Like there’s no question about what happens next.
I meet his gaze, certain he sees the fear in mine, but he isn’t moved by it.
He’s crazy. This is crazy.
My stomach aches as I drop to my knees.
The wood is hard and cold, my boots scuffing against the floor as I adjust.
Part of me is hoping it’s some kind of power play, just a mean humiliation ritual to prove I’d do it. Now that I’m on the floor, that’s as far as it will go. He can leave all smug, knowing he could’ve taken advantage if he’d wanted to.
But surely he won’t, right? I’m an insane choice of girl to try to cheat with. I’m literally friends with his girlfriend.
He doesn’t let go and walk away, though.
My hands brace against his thighs—the denim rough under my palms—and his grip in my hair tightens as he eases forward, tilting my head back, forcing me to look up at him. From this angle, he’s cast in shadow, looking as wicked as I’m convinced he is.
“Good girl,” he says. His free hand reaches down and works the button of his jeans.
The zipper comes down with a metallic rasp that seems too loud in the quiet house.
He pushes the waistband of his boxer briefs down, and his cock is already half-hard, thick and heavy, the head flushed a dark pink.
He holds it in one hand, strokes it once, twice, and it stiffens further under his grip.
“Now, open that slutty little mouth.”
“Derek, please.” I look up at him, making one last appeal to his decency. Surely he has some buried deep in there somewhere. “Please don’t make me hurt Kara like this.”
“Don’t lie, Lucy. We both know you’ve been thinking about this.
” He presses his thumb against my lower lip, hard enough that my mouth opens.
“Wanting it. All those times you looked at me across the room when Kara wasn’t watching.
Hell, you got so pissy watching us make out tonight, you left the party. ”
His words are like a slap. “That’s not true.”
He shrugs. “I’ll be the bad guy if that’s what you want.”
The tip of his cock runs along my lips, smearing something wet and salty. Instinctively, my tongue darts out to lick it away.
Derek smirks down at me. “There we go, angel. Take it in your mouth.”
Shame trickles through me, my skin heating as I obey.
His cock is thick, the head smooth as it grazes my tongue. He pushes deeper, and tears leak from the corners of my eyes. The alcohol in my veins might be contributing to it, but I feel a little dizzy and have to grab his thigh to steady myself.
His cock fills my mouth and pushes into my throat. I gag around him, but his grip on my hair only tightens and he pushes my face forward, making me take more of his cock.
He fucks my mouth slow at first, then rougher. His breathing changes, gets harsh and needy. My mascara is already smearing, my hair tangled in his fist. I can’t make a sound around him; all I can do is choke and sputter, my tongue flattened as he uses me.
“That’s it. Suck Kara’s boyfriend’s cock like a good little slut.”
Tears leak down my cheeks, but he doesn’t ease up on me.
“You like this, don’t you? You like being used. Being a dirty little secret.”
My gag reflex kicks, but he forces his cock deeper down my throat, giving me no time to adjust. My grip on him tightens, and I struggle to keep myself calm so I can keep breathing.
Then, without warning, he pulls me off his cock.
I look up at him, knowing my makeup must be a mess. I probably look like exactly what I feel like right now—a used little slut.
His lips curve up faintly as he looks me over, admiring his handiwork. I know my lips must be swollen and messy.
“Perfect,” he says. “Get up.”
I expect he’ll give me a second to get my bearings.
Instead, he gets impatient when I don’t instantly spring up off the floor. He grabs my arm and hauls me to my feet.
My platform boots wobble beneath me, and I barely catch my balance before he’s pushing me backward.
My wings scrape against the armrest as he pushes me down on the couch cushions. The breath knocks out of me in a startled gasp.
He’s on me before I can sit up. One knee wedged between my thighs, his hands pinning my wrists above my head against the armrest, my wings crushed beneath my back.
His weight on top of me feels obscene. The lamp in the kitchen throws half his face into shadow, and in the dim light, I can see the hard set of his mouth, the tension in his neck.
“Derek, stop. Kara—”
“Kara doesn’t get to decide what I do,” he says. His voice is low. Controlled. “And neither do you.”
He releases my wrists only to grab the hem of his hoodie.
One rough yank and it’s over his head, tossed somewhere behind him.
Underneath, his chest is broad and cut—the athletic definition of someone blessed with good genes, who also spends hours at the gym.
The shadows carve lines between his pecs, down the center of his toned stomach, along the V of muscle that disappears below his waistband.
His jeans are still unbuttoned from before, hanging low on his hips. His cock juts forward, fully hard and ready, curved slightly upward.
“Derek, please think about what you’re doing. Kara will never forgive either of us.”
He widens his knees, spreading me wider until the dress stretches tight over my hips. He runs his hand up my inner thigh, then outward, pushing the skirt up until it’s bunched around my waist.
“Does it feel like I give a fuck?” he asks, pushing two fingers beneath the thin white cotton covering my pussy.
“Please,” I whisper, my tummy muscles going taut because I know it’s almost too late—if it isn’t already.
He pushes the thong aside, cold air hitting me where it shouldn’t, then his finger grazes my slit and I shudder, my hips squirming away from him.
He strokes, testing, as if to see if I’m as wet as he’s convinced himself I should be.
I’m not, but the humiliation of being touched like this, of being forced open for him, sends heat rushing all through me anyway.
He sinks a finger inside me, and I gasp at the stretch, my body stiffening. To my horror, when he presses deep enough, he finds the wetness he was looking for.
I turn my face away in shame as he spreads it, preparing me to take his cock.
I can’t believe this is happening.
My heartbeat roars in my ears. I can’t stop shaking, not from cold but from terror and a sick, shivery sort of anticipation I wish I could pretend I don’t feel at all.
Kara always said I was a slut in goody-two-shoes’ clothing, which isn’t fair, but isn’t exactly false either.
Even now, when I’m scared shitless, something inside me responds to being violated like this.
Once I’m wet enough, he grabs his cock and guides it between my forced-apart legs. I squeeze my eyes shut so I don’t have to look, but I can feel him dragging the head against me, slow, almost taunting. “This pussy better be good.”
And then he’s pushing into me.
My breath hitches. My hands find his broad, muscled shoulders, fingers pressing into the hard muscle, and I don’t know if I’m pushing him away or holding on.
It hurts when he shoves too far, too fast. I grip him, a sound of struggle slipping out of me. “Wait. Please. You’re big. I need a minute.”
He ignores my request, shoving deeper into me. “Fuck,” he grinds out through clenched teeth. His forehead drops to mine, and I can feel his breath, hot and uneven. “You’re tight.”
His cock throbs inside me, and I cry out as he pulls back and thrusts in again. He doesn’t slow down. I twist in his grip, but he’s immovable, intent on destroying me.
The couch creaks beneath us, the cheap frame groaning with every brutal thrust. My angel wings are smashed against the upholstery, feathers bent and crumpled. I want to close my eyes and disappear, but his other hand catches my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“You look at me while I’m fucking you,” he demands, voice low, almost a growl. “I want you to remember who did this to you. I want you to remember how this felt when you can’t sleep at night.”
He’s so cruel.
He pounds into me, harder now, like he’s trying to hurt me.
I feel my body yielding, and I hate myself for it, but my body doesn’t want it to hurt. It wants to make it easier for him. My legs spread wider, hips involuntarily tipping to take all of him as I wrap my legs around his body.
“That’s better,” he mutters, letting go of my wrists so he can yank down the neckline of the angel dress.
The cheap satin rips, and my tits spill free.
“Christ, look at these.” As he reclaims my wrists, pinning them back over my head, he leans down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make me gasp.
“You’ve got the best tits I’ve ever seen. ”
I try to swallow past the shame, but it only grows as his mouth and his dark gaze linger on my tits, bouncing as he fucks me.