Chapter 4
CHAPTER
FOUR
NOLA
“It’s perfectly normal, sweetie. Every girl does it. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” I love my mom, I really do. She’s one of the kindest, most loving people I’ve ever had the privilege to know.
But I’d really wish she would stop talking right now. Or maybe talk about anything other than this subject. And in front of my dad, no less! He’s the last person I’d want to know anything that involves me and sex.
But my mom just keeps talking like this is an acceptable dinner conversation topic on a Sunday night. Mom, Dad, and I are seated around the kitchen table, eating roast, which is one of my favorite meals. If it wasn’t for the elephant in the room, it would have been a perfect dinner.
The thing is, I haven’t seen my mom since she walked into my room, literally catching me with my hands down my pants.
While we’re a pretty open family, there is no teenage girl on the face of this earth that wants to talk about their sexual activities with their parents. We’re close, but not that close.
“If you have any questions, you know you can always come to me, right?” she asks, reaching out to place her hand over mine, giving it a little squeeze.
I can feel my cheeks heating up as I cast a quick glance at my father. He’s acting as if he’s not paying attention, his eyes glued to his book: The Shining by Stephen King. It’s his favorite book to reread, but I know damn well that he’s listening.
Where do you think I get my eavesdropping skills from? He’s just as nosy as I am.
“Thanks, Mom. I’m okay, but I promise everything is good. So, can we please—I beg of you— just. Let. This. Go. Okay?” I’d really like to talk about anything but this.
Grabbing my cup of water, I take a sip.
“Okay, sweetie.” She gives my hand a pat, then hesitates for a moment. “Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to the doctor? Maybe it’s time you get on some type of birth control. Do you have condoms, just in case?”
Of course, she says this just as I’m swallowing. The water goes down wrong, and I choke over the words that are coming out of this woman's mouth.
“Okay. What the hell is going on?” My father chooses now to dip into the conversation. “Birth control? Condoms?” he growls and shoots me an angry scowl. “Do you have a boyfriend that we don’t know about? Does he go to your school?”
“What?” I croak, my voice raspy from coughing.
“No, I don’t have a boyfriend. And you know that there's no way in hell I’d ever date someone from school.
” I shudder. “I’d rather cut off my left tit than date one of those pretentious, self-absorbed assholes.
” The thought of any of them touching me sends a shiver of revulsion down my spine.
“Language,” my mom says in a soft scolding tone.
“Sorry, Mom,” I mutter.
“Then if you’re not dating anyone, why would you need birth control? Or condoms?” He grumbles the last part, not able to look me in the eyes. Same, my dude, same.
“I don’t,” I insist.
“Why even mention it then?” he asks my mother.
With my eyes, I plead to her not to tell him, to brush it off, but the poor woman is oblivious.
“Well, the other evening I happened to walk in on Nola in the middle of… alone time.” She gives me a soft smile.
Dear god, take pity on me now and let the world swallow me whole. “If she’s sexually active, I want her to be safe. That's all.”
“Oh,” he replies with understanding. My father is a big man, a scary man to anyone who doesn’t know him. And even though I do know him, I’ve never seen this man blush with embarrassment in my entire life. I’d find it adorable and kind of funny if it wasn’t at the expense of my dignity.
“Just because someone has… alone time,” I start, dying a little more inside. “Doesn’t mean they’re sexually active. Which, I’m not.” I need to make sure and drive that point home.
“If you can’t say the word, should you be doing it?” Mom asks. “It’s called masturbation. And it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I do it, your father does it. It’s normal.”
“Okay, I’m done here.” I shoot up from my chair, mortified, as my dad starts to sputter.
“Thanks for the amazing dinner as always.” I walk around the table and kiss my mom on the top of the head, avoiding eye contact with my dad as if my life depends on it.
“I’m heading to bed now. School tomorrow. Love you both. Bye.”
Grabbing my plate, I head into the kitchen, scrape what little food is left on it into the trash, and put it in the sink before rushing upstairs.
For the next few hours, I get lost in a book, refusing to think about the awkward as hell dinner situation.
But I finish it sooner than I expected, leaving me with nothing to do.
I could go to sleep, but honestly, I don’t feel an ounce of tiredness. I’m too wound up from everything that's happened in the past few days.
Biting my lower lip, I look at my bedside table and wonder if I should take the edge off. Maybe it would help me relax and get some sleep.
But knowing that my parents are downstairs, and after the horrifying conversation at dinner, I don’t think that's the best idea. I need at least a few weeks to get over it and put the whole situation behind me.
I have no plans on stopping my ‘alone time’, as my mother calls it, but I sure as hell am going to make sure the door is locked from now on, even if I know for a fact I’m home alone. I won’t be making that mistake again.
Would she think what I was doing was so natural and normal, as she put it, if she knew what I was touching myself to?
Would she think of me differently if the sight of three men killing another human, in my honor, had me cumming so hard I’d probably have passed out if she didn’t crash into my room like the Kool-Aid Man and ruin my high?
Okay, so I still don’t know if they killed Mr. Robinson because of me, but based on the way they were talking in the parking lot a few hours prior to the event, that's what I’ve chosen to believe.
Either way, it was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen. Every time they take a life, it’s an erotic sight.
Skittles left around an hour ago, so I grab my laptop to see what he’s up to. I put the harness and camera on him earlier, knowing there was a party in the Lafayette Cemetery and that there's a very good chance the guys are going to be there. Of course, I’ll use any chance I can to watch them.
Wanna know what's not an erotic sight? The live video footage on my computer screen right now.
I stare down at the screen, jaw clenched as liquid fury runs through my veins, seeing that Sylas, Jasper, and Wesley are half-naked.
It’s not them being half-naked that has me mad, no, that I very much enjoy. It’s the girl who’s tied up, looking like a fucking roasting pig ready to be strung up and cooked over an open fire.
She’s being stuffed like a pig, alright, with three fucking eggplants.
My teeth grind together as my stomach twists.
Who fucks out in the open like this? They’re in the middle of the cemetery. Sure, there's a party full of drunk-and-out-of-their-mind idiots nearby, but what if someone sees them?
Do they even care?
I don’t want to fucking see them touching someone else, screwing another girl, and making her scream in pleasure. It should be me in her place, in place of all the girls they’ve chosen to take this way.
Yet, right now, I can’t look away. The way they wrap their hands around her neck and hips, squeezing hard enough to bruise, and the look of fear in her eyes is fucking hot.
It’s not the same kind of fear I have when I’m near them.
No, she looks terrified. Like she regrets agreeing to do this with them.
Being with these three is an honor on its own. They’re picky with who they fuck, even making the lucky participant sign a contract. While I’m not certain, I have heard the whispers over the years.
No one seems to know what the exact terms are. And the ones who might aren’t allowed to talk about it.
Every girl they’ve taken like this seems to change in some kind of way. Could be their personality, financially, sometimes even both.
Bringing myself back to the present. The brutality of their thrusts, the tight grip on her throat as they choke her, the ropes that bind her together.
I’m starting to understand why they would have a contract for this.
It’s depravity at its finest. And the most fucked up part is that the whole time I’m watching them ruin this girl, I’m wishing it were me instead.
I want their hands around my neck with their cocks in my body. I want to be the one tied up and at their mercy, not knowing what’s going to come next, if I’m even going to be able to make it out alive.
I’m trying not to pay attention to the girl herself, but what they’re doing to her. Every second that ticks by makes me more and more restless.
Jasper wraps a hand around a chunk of the girl's hair, yanking her head backward. She screams, but he just stares down at her like he couldn’t care less, his cock is buried inside her.
He’s still mostly dressed, they all are. But she’s naked and vulnerable with blood dripping from the tiny cuts caused by their hands, covering her whole body.
When Skittles moves from his perch on a tombstone, I start to freak out that he’s leaving before the show is done, only for him to end up landing on another tomb closer, ultimately giving me an even better visual advantage.
Oh. Well, thanks.
“Look at you,” he spits. “So fucking pitiful, gagging for our cocks. Dirty little whore, letting us do whatever we want to you.”
His degradation makes a flush of heat rush through me, right down to my clit.
I pretend his dirty words are directed at me, and that his cock is buried painfully deep inside my pussy.
When he speaks again, his words shock the hell out of me.
“Isn't our Nola so fucking perfect? Letting us use her body for our pleasure, to do whatever we please?” he growls.
Hold the fuck up! Maybe I heard wrong, maybe I’m fucking hallucinating, but did he just say my name?
No, I have to have heard him wrong. There's no way he said just my name.