17. Lola
LOLA
It’s after midnight. The house is silent, but I can’t breathe. Marcus’s voice still echoes in my bones. My mother is useless when it comes to Marcus. She doesn’t know what kind of sick monster he is.
My mind flashes back to earlier this night.
Steam curls around me in the bathroom. I let the hot water burn my skin, hoping it’ll wash off the night. Eyes closed, I can almost forget where I am.
The door creaks open. I freeze.
Marcus steps in without knocking. He doesn’t say a word. Just stands there, eyes dragging over me through the foggy glass. Too long. Too close.
My hands shake. I wish I could disappear into the tile. “Can you go?” My voice is small, brittle.
He smirks. “Hurry up, Lola. You’re hogging the hot water.” But he doesn’t leave right away.
When he finally does, my chest aches. I rush to get out.
Wrapped in a towel, I find my mom in her bedroom. She’s folding laundry, humming like nothing’s wrong.
“Mom,” I say, voice shaking, “Marcus came in while I was showering. He stared at me while I was naked. It was weird.”
She sighs;.doesn’t even look at me. “You’re being dramatic, Lola. I’m sure you’re imagining him looking at you, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation. Stop trying to get attention.”
I want to scream. I close my eyes and press my lips together until the sting fades. She never believes me. Not about anything.
I curl on top of the covers. My phone is a cold weight in my palm. I text Brody:
You awake?
Seconds pass. The clock blinks 2:17 a.m. My hands shake.
His reply is instant:
I am now. Come over. Door’s unlocked.
Relief cracks through the panic. I grab my phone. Quiet as a ghost, I step past my mother’s room. Outside, the grass is cold. I run next door, where his porch light is off. I find the back door, push it open.
Brody waits in the dark kitchen, arms crossed, eyes hungry but soften when he sees me. With no words, he leads me upstairs. His room is warm, safe. He sits on the bed and pulls back the blanket. I crawl in beside him, and he wraps an arm around me.
My eyes sting, but Brody doesn’t ask why. He doesn’t have to.
For now, I’m safe. For now, I’m home. Marcus can’t reach me when I am with Brody. Brody will never let anyone else touch me. I know it.
I curl tighter against him. His chest is bare, warm under my cheek. He smells like sleep and salty skin, like the nape of a neck just after a fight. I breathe him in slowly, like maybe I can keep the monster away if I just drown in the scent of Brody Voss.
“You okay?” His hand weighs heavy on my ribs. Possessive. It roots me in place—I don’t want to move, not ever.
I nod, but the truth aches hot behind my eyes.
I am so fucking tired of being scared. Of walking on eggshells. Of Marcus’s shadow in every room. Of never having a moment that’s actually mine.
I push closer, threading my arm across Brody’s waist. He tangles our legs under the blanket and I shiver.
Not from cold, but from the way his thigh cages me in, the way he always makes me feel little, safe, contained.
I want to tell him everything. All the things Marcus does.
All the ways he watches me. All the times I want to scream but nobody listens.
Brody’s fingers slip under the edge of my shirt. Just barely. He drags his nails in lazy lines over my stomach. I tense, then melt.
My voice shakes. “You ever wish you could just…disappear? Like, poof. Gone. Nobody can find you?”
He grunts and squeezes my waist. “Sometimes. But then I remember you’re next door. I can always find you, Lola. I’d hunt you down if you ever tried to run.”
It should scare me, but it feels like a blanket. Heavy, soft, wrapped around all my dark edges. I swallow the lump in my throat. “Sometimes I wish you’d just steal me. I wish you’d just take me and never bring me back.”
He turns. I feel his eyes on me, even in the dark. That wolf look, like he sees right through every lie I ever told.
“Nobody’s ever gonna take you but me.” His voice is molten, low. “You know that, right?”
My breath skips. I want to cry or laugh or scream. Instead, I roll up and straddle his thigh. My hips grind down slow, shaky, desperate. I don’t care. I want him to see.
His hands grip my hips. “What are you doing, Bambi?”
I smirk, even though my hands are trembling. “Shutting you up. You think too much.”
I kiss him. It’s not polite. Not sweet. It’s a crash of mouth to mouth; I want to eat him, bruise him, lose myself for a second. He moans, deep in his chest, and fuck, I feel it everywhere.
I don’t stop. I don’t pull away. I kiss him like he’s air and I’m drowning.
He gives in. He always does. His kiss is hard and hungry. I let him take it. I want him to take it. His hands are all over; big, rough, moving fast, moving everywhere. I climb onto his lap and fully straddle him.
Brody yanks my shirt up. He watches the way my tits bounce free, his eyes feral. Greedy. He palms my tits, both hands, squeezing like he’s never going to get enough. My nipples harden under his touch, tight and stinging. It’s all I can do not to whimper out loud.
“You sure?” Brody murmurs, just a flicker of sound against my ear.
His thumb circles my nipple, not gentle, not waiting for permission.
I grind down on his lap. His cock is rock hard under his boxers, thick and pressed up against me.
Every time I move, I feel the whole length of him. All I want is to get closer.
He tilts his head, watches my eyes, like he’s reading every secret I try to swallow down. “Does it feel good, Bambi?”
I nod. I can’t talk. The words are melting. I lean forward and kiss him, begging him to keep going. I want him to ruin me. I want him to break me open and leave marks all over my skin.
His hands slip down, grab my ass, fingers digging in so hard it hurts. "Keep grinding," he whispers. I rock my hips against his cock. I love the way he loses control when I do it. I love the growl at the back of his throat, the way he shudders underneath me.
Brody pushes my sleep shorts down to my knees. My panties are soaked. He stares at the wet spot, then at me, smirking. “You’re filthy, you know that?”
He slides two fingers along the crotch of my panties, rubs the fabric right against my clit. I bite my fist to keep from screaming. My body goes wild. Legs shaking, hips jerking, cunt pulsing for more.
“Take ‘em off,” he says, his voice barely human.
I do it. I kick the shorts and panties away. Now I’m straddling him bare. The head of his cock is pressed up against my pussy, and I grab it and rub it along myself, slow. Just the friction. I almost lose it, right there.
He groans. “Fuck. You feel that, Bambi? That’s how much I want to be inside you.”
I want him, too. So bad I’m going to die from it. I open my legs wider, roll my hips on his cock, tip to base, over and over. My tits bounce with every movement. He latches onto one, sucks hard. It hurts and I love it. I’m shaking so much I can barely think.
Every time I move, every roll of my hips, the skin of his cock drags over me. It hits just right, right where I want it, right where I ache the most.
His hands close around my tits, hard, greedy, not gentle at all. I whimper and arch my chest into his grip. I want him to be rough, want him to leave marks, want to feel the aftershocks every time I look in a mirror.
“Good girl,” he growls.
He moves me faster, like a doll, like something he owns.
I let him. I want to be owned. I want to be seen this way, desperate, ruined, grinding my pussy wet and open on his cock like I need it more than air.
My thighs burn from the effort. I don’t care.
I want to be good for him. I want to impress him.
I want him to want me more than anyone else in the fucking world.
“You look so fucking pretty, Bambi,” he says, eyes gleaming in the blue dark of the room. Hands tight on my waist, he holds me exactly where he wants. “Nobody gets to see you like this. Just me.”
I nod, head fuzzy, mouth open. I can’t talk. It’s too much. I am losing myself. It should embarrass me, but it doesn’t. I want him to know exactly how wet he makes me.
His cock rubs against my clit. Over and over. It’s torture, sweet and endless. I claw at his chest. He likes it, I can tell. It makes him shove his hips up, grinding harder, making me ride him like a filthy little slut.
He jerks my hair with his other hand, yanks my head back so I have to look at him. His mouth wears a dark smirk, eyes black with want. “Look at you,” he growls. “So fucking desperate. My filthy girl.”
He brings my nipple to his mouth and bites it. The shock of pain makes me gasp. My cunt convulses, sending sparks white-hot behind my eyes.
“Brody—” I choke, legs shaking. “I’m gonna, I can’t, I’m gonna—”
He doesn’t stop. He rocks me on his cock, grinding up so I ride the thick head. His fingers flick my clit faster. I come so hard my vision goes black.
Collapsing on top of him, he holds me there.
He doesn’t let go. Not even as I twitch and grind on him, wringing every last drop of pleasure until it’s almost pain.
He strokes my back, kissing away the hot tears on my cheek.
His hands never stop moving, never stop hunting.
His cock jerks under me, so huge, so hard, leaking all over his stomach.
He grabs my jaw, forces my head up. He wants me to see the mess I made. “You want it?” I nod like a fucking maniac. My whole body screams for him. But he waits. He makes me writhe. He makes me beg. “Say it,” he snaps.
“I want you to fuck me.”
He turns me onto my back, spreading my legs, pressing his mouth between my thighs.