15. Lola #2
“I didn’t ask you for a commentary on my outfit.”
He shrugs, but his eyes are devouring me. “You dress to be seen. You always did. I just didn’t realize you liked an audience so much, Bambi.”
I tense up. “Don’t call me that.”
He leans closer. “What, you want ‘good girl’? Or do you only answer to whore now that you’re a model?”
The slap comes before I think about it. My palm cracks against his cheek. He doesn’t flinch. Just blinks, like it amused him. His hand closes around my wrist before I can move it back. Tight enough to hurt, tight enough that I gasp. Before I can react, he yanks me onto his lap.
He brings my hand to his mouth, presses my knuckles to his lips, then lowers it onto his thigh, keeping it there. His grip doesn’t loosen.
He murmurs, “You can hate me all you want. You still want it just as bad.”
I could scream. I could claw his eyes out. Instead, I hold perfectly still and stare him down. “You don’t know anything about me anymore, Brody.”
He tilts his head, gaze flicking from my mouth to my chest to my eyes again. “Liar.”
I can’t breathe.
He leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re lying about something. I know you are. You’ve got that look. Same as you always did when you were hiding something from me. You want me to dig it out of you?”
I jerk my hand free. “I want you to fuck off.”
His hand is on my thigh again, this time closer to the edge of my panties. I feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of my skirt.
He looks at me, really looks. His lips brush my ear. “If I got you under me right now, you’d beg for it. You’d scream my name so loud the whole block would know you’re still mine. I’d make you cum so fucking hard, then I’d leave you like you left me.”
He’s hard. I can see the outline pressing against his zipper. I’m wet, I hate that I’m wet, but I am. Despite how cruel his words are, I’m still wet. He slides his hand up, cups my tit, thumb hard over my nipple through the lace of my bra. I gasp.
“You want to be fucked like a slut, Bambi? Or do you want to pretend you’re still better than that?” He squeezes, hard enough to leave marks.
I rock my hips against his lap, desperate and furious. “I hate you,” I hiss.
He laughs, deep in his chest. “Liar,” he repeats. His mouth crushes to mine. It’s not a kiss, more like a claim. I bite his lip. I grind down. He slaps my ass. “Ride me, Bambi. Show me how much you missed it.”
I do, fuck, I do. My skirt rides up, his hands bruising on my thighs, fingers kneading my tits until I’m dizzy.
I rub myself against him, my panties soaked through.
One of his hands slips under my top, rips the bra down, and my tits spill into his palms. He sucks a nipple, bites it, sucks it.
His tongue rolls around the nipple, then bites again.
Pleasure spikes, and the motion of his mouth sends electricity towards my cunt.
I moan, a high-pitched sound.
“Just like that. That’s what I fucking missed. Not your mouth, not your lies, this. Your pussy soaking through for me. That’s all I ever wanted, Lola.”
Brody grinds up into me. I’m so close to falling apart.
I hate him, I hate him more than anyone, and I want him like I’m dying.
I hold his head to my tits and roll my hips, putting as much pressure as I can onto him.
I want to cum. I need to cum. I haven’t cum from actual pleasure in so long.
Anytime I cum, it’s always forced from Marcus.
Cum, you fucking whore, or I’ll hit you again. I want to see you cum on my cock.
Please, Marcus! I can’t, my body hurts.
I said you need to fucking cum!
A slap from his hand. Fingers rubbing. Eyes closing. Dissociating to a place where it is Brody fucking me and fingering me, not Marcus.
Good girl, I knew you could do it.
Headlights flood the car and another car swings into the lot, engine idling. We freeze. He looks at me, cocky and wild, and my tit still in his hand.
I slap him again. “Don’t touch me.”
He lets go; I scramble off his lap, yanking my skirt down, fingers shaking. I fix my bra, and shove my hair back. The spell wears off, and now I’m a dirty whore again. I side-eye Brody out of the corner of my eye.
Is that all you wanted?
The tow truck is here. NorthLine. The guy climbs out, doesn’t even look at me. Brody rolls down his window, barking orders. His voice is steel now, professional. The real Brody, the one who never cracks.
The car is hitched up, ready to go. Brody tells the guy to deliver it to some shop.
I don’t listen. My ears are still ringing from what just happened.
When it’s over, Brody turns back to me, watching every move I make.
He drives me to my place. The silence is heavy, explosive.
I stare out the window, tears threatening but never falling.
As we pull up, he locks the doors. His hand snaps out and grabs my chin. He glares at me.
“You’re hiding something from me. I’ll find out what it is, Lola. Even if I have to tear it out of you.”
“You don’t get to threaten me anymore.”
He stares for a second longer, then he lets me go. I stagger out of the car, almost trip over my heels, running for the door. He watches, eyes hot and vengeful, promising this is far from over.
Inside, I crumble to the floor. My fingers are bruised, my tits sting, and between my legs I ache for more.
I hate him. I hate how much I want him. I know he’ll come for me again.
Brody Voss doesn’t know how to let go.