Wanderlust (5 page)

"Why did you let him, your boyfriend?
Surely you worried about being caught? I bet he didn't even give
you an orgasm out back behind the school. Were you that desperate
for a skinny eighth-grader?"

His words knocked the breath from me.
“No, I just... He wanted to, that's all. I figured it didn't hurt
anything just to let him.”

"That's right," he said approvingly,
soothingly. "It doesn't hurt anything to just let him."

With a flick of his fingers, the towel
slipped off my nipples, gaping open around my waist. I sucked in a
breath and shut my eyes.

"Just let it happen," he murmured. "I
want to do this. You let that little kid paw at you, so why not
me?"

His warm hand closed around one
breast. It was lifted, hefted into his palm before he rolled the
nipple between callused fingers. It didn't hurt anymore. He was
right about that. It felt good, the slight abrasiveness, the
pressure.

Sparks set off low in my belly. He
played with my breasts with a proficiency that made my breath
catch. Clearly he was experienced. He knew just where to touch me
and how to do it. But he seemed to be learning me as well,
exploring every dip, every milky expanse of skin and the pink tips
that pebbled under his manipulation. My hands were tense by my
sides, my eyes shut tightly until he pinched my nipple. I
gasped.

"Did he do that?"

"No, I—"

"What else did you let him do? Where
else did you let him put his skinny little fingers?"

He made it sound so dirty,
when it had just been innocent exploration between two teenage
kids, hadn't it? That was normal.
This
was the fucked-up
thing.

He twisted my nipple when I didn't
answer.

I sucked in a breath at
the pain. "I don't know—
oh
God
."

"Your cunt? Did he touch you
there?"

His coarse words made my face heat. I
couldn’t remember ever hearing that word aloud but I knew what it
meant. Maybe it was just a universal sound or the tone he used,
derisive and eager in one note.

"No,” I said. “Sometimes his hands
would slip under my jeans, but only in the back."

"He touched your ass. That's it?
That's all he got to do to you?"

Cheeks burning, I nodded.

"No wonder that didn't last. What
about the next boyfriend? Did you put out for him?"

My voice fell to a whisper. “There
wasn’t…He wasn’t…”

"Tell me about the big day. Were there
rose petals and candles?"

The pain washed over me afresh.
Romance? Not likely. I cursed my mother all over again for not
seeing through him, for not seeing how much I was hurting in those
weeks before she discovered us.

“
He wasn’t my
boyfriend.”

"Ah, now that is interesting. Where
were you the first time, in his car?"

"In my room.”

“
What did he have you
do?”

“
He said to... I was on my
hands and knees."

He whistled. "He came at you from
behind for your first time. That's harsh. I don't think I would've
even done it that way. Did you come like that, with your face
hugging the sheets?"

I shook my head quickly.

It had hurt so bad. He'd stabbed deep
inside, and I hadn't known how to control the depth at all, had
been too afraid and cowed to fight back. I hadn't been able to,
with his hands on my hips, holding me steady for his thrusts. The
floral fabric of the comforter turned damp beneath my cheeks as I
cried in pain, but he told me to quiet down.

The first always
hurts,
he’d whispered.

That was in the past. The horrible
memory wasn't relevant to me anymore. Except this man pulled me
down to the fraying floral bedspread. The towel remained in a limp
heap where I had sat, leaving my body completely exposed. I shut my
eyes tightly, but I could see the scene as clearly as if we were in
broad daylight. My body awkwardly splayed across the bed, tense and
vulnerable. He still fully clothed, wearing jeans and a blue
button-down.

I felt my hands pulled above my
head.

"I wouldn't treat you that way," he
said. "The first time is something special."

The sleek sound of leather whipped
through the air. I cringed, anticipating the blow.

He soothed me with a stroke of my
thigh, as if I were an animal. Gentle hands wrapped the smooth
leather around my wrists and secured them to the headboard with an
ease that scared me.

"You can get out of that," he said,
nodding toward my tethered hands. "If something were to happen, you
could wriggle and yank them out. It's safe."

Safe? Was that really a consideration
here? This whole thing was unsafe. That was too mild a word. It was
devastating.

A tear slipped down my cheek.
"Why?"

His face darkened. "We aren't back to
that again, are we?"

"Please," I babbled. "I won't tell
anyone. Just don't hurt me, please."

He pulled a knife from his pocket. My
eyes widened and I squirmed. Instead of using it on me, he cut a
strip of the damp towel and slanted it over my mouth, tying it
behind my head.

At my pleading look, he shook his head
sadly. "We had an agreement. You can't just change your mind.
There's a word for girls who do that."

A low, mournful sound left my
throat.

"Is that really what you want, girl?
To make me angry? To leave me with this?" He gestured jerkily to
his crotch, at the bulge in the denim.

I shook my head—no, no. I didn’t want
him to be angry.

"That's right. It will be okay. You
let boyfriend number one touch your tits. You let non-boyfriend
number two fuck your cunt. Now you're going to let the dangerous
stranger you met on a road trip tie you up and fuck you. It's a
fantasy, sunshine. Just a dream."

Though it seemed very real when he
stood and took off his clothes. I couldn't see very clearly in the
dark, just angled shadows and sleek lines. A light dusting of hair
on dusky skin. My vision was blurry, but I felt his presence,
touched by the hawk-like gaze on my body and battered by his
arousal pulsing in the air.

I couldn't move my hands. I couldn't
talk. So I tried not to think either. I wanted to become a purely
physical being, one who could feel and be felt but didn't have to
analyze any of it. Why had I ever agreed to this? How much of this
was my fault and how much his? But if I were just a body, then it
didn't matter. If I were just a warm tumble of limbs and curves
tacked against the bed, an unholy amenity in this godforsaken
motel, then it couldn't be my fault. I could just let it
happen.

He touched his palm to the inside of
my thigh, and I let it fall open. The idea of refusal was ludicrous
now, with all of my power taken from me, all willingly forfeited in
a game I'd been destined to lose. But he didn't enter me with that
dark, thick erection that jutted from between his legs. He leaned
down and breathed in deep. A soft tingle ran up my core. He lapped
at me with a tenderness that hurt worse than violence. The first
time a man had ever done this to me, and it was against my will.
But how could this be against my will, when I wanted it so very
badly? It felt so good, so right, like huddling up to a campfire on
a winter's night.

I panted into the towel cutting across
my mouth. My breasts heaved obscenely, the small twin mounds
obscuring the sight of him below, leaving only a half-circle of
dark hair between my thighs. He pushed a finger inside me, the
intrusion so stark that I grunted.

"Ah fuck," he said. "I meant to make
you come this way, but you're so tight. I need to be inside
you."

He reached for his pants and grabbed a
small packet—a condom, something I felt thankful for at least. I
was aroused from the illicitness of the situation and from his
tongue on my cunt, but not so far gone that I lost my sense of
self. I wanted to get out of this safely. That had to be my
goal.

When he leaned back over me, his cock
sheathed and breathing labored, I cringed back.

"No, pretty girl." He rained kisses
over my forehead, on my nose. "You want this, don't you? You want
this cock inside you. You’re all the same."

I bit down on the towel, unable to
answer. I was almost thankful for the gag in that moment, because
what could I say? I may have gone along with this, but I hadn't
really wanted it. This wasn't something I had chosen.

"Please," he said.

It was a role reversal, him begging
instead of me. He wanted me to do more than allow his use of me, he
wanted me to want this too. I couldn't though, and it wouldn't
matter anyway. If I said no, what then? He was unpredictable even
when I cooperated. I didn't want to make him angry.

I nodded quickly.

Unappeased, he pulled the towel down
from my mouth. "Say it."

"I want your cock inside me," I said
in a deadened voice. It didn't even sound like me. I had gotten my
wish. I was purely physical—a machine with no emotions. Skin with
no heart.

His face twisted into a sneer. "I
don't believe you."

"Please put your cock inside me. I
want you to fuck me."

He sat back on his heels, his cock
rising between us. "Fuck. You're not even a good liar."

Letting my eyes fall shut, I finally
spoke the truth. "Make me come. Please. Show me what it could be
like if a man could make me come."

The bed rocked gently as he leaned
back over me, though I couldn't look at him. I couldn't see the
smugness again, the triumph. A blunt head fitted to my opening. I
gasped and writhed on the bed. It felt too large. It had been so
long.

In a sudden stroke, he entered me,
stretching my walls wide and far. I cried out, helpless to quiet
the pain that wrenched me in half. He didn't give me time to
adjust, just pulled out and slammed back in. Tears ran in rivulets
down my face. Stunned, I realized it wasn't the pain that made me
cry, or the violation, but the betrayal. He'd said he wouldn't be
like before, but this was the same. It was hard and painful and
fast.

"So fucking tight," he said, panting.
"You're going to come for me."

I shook my head. Just another
betrayal, that empty promise. I would spread my legs for him, but I
wouldn't fake it.

He wouldn't even notice if I did.
Despite his words, he was far away, his gaze focused on the horizon
of his own pleasure. The look on his face was pure ecstasy, his
movement jerky and desperate. It stirred me, his need, enough that
I felt myself twinge around his cock.

At the contraction, his breath caught.
There was a pause, a heartbeat of tortured stillness. Like a dammed
force unleashed, he sped up, thrusting wildly. A long, pained sound
escaped him, punctuated by his grunts as he forced himself deeper
and faster.

His mouth sought out my skin as if it
were sustenance, as if it were air. He drew open-mouthed kisses
along my collarbone, my neck, breathing me in. I could feel the
secret muscles tightening and convulsing. In a sort of feedback
loop, his harsh plunder forced them to quiver. The vibrations sent
him even higher, spurred him ever faster. It turned the tables too.
I was bound and spread open but he was helpless to the squeeze of
my sex, to the lure of my skin.

He rammed into me, pulling me down
onto his body as if I were a toy, a tool, something to be used well
and then put away.

His eyes glazed over. "Oh
God."

He reared up over me, so that all I
saw was a blur of hard-packed shoulders. His whole body was racked
by the force of each entry, as if he were a ship battered up
against rocks. I feared for him then, maybe more than myself. It
was almost inhuman, the rage with which he fucked me, the tempest
of his lust, and yet wholly vulnerable. Fierce and thick and
uncontrollable—neither of us were master now.

My pain became his, twisting his face
into a mask of helpless agony. Every jolt of my inner muscles,
every slap of flesh against flesh was reflected in his eyes. He
stared at me, some of the intensity slipping, reflecting back fear.
What was he afraid of?

Tears streamed down my face. Didn't he
like it? Wasn't this what he wanted?

"It's okay," I whispered.

He spoke with grunts. "Shut
up."

"Let it happen." The words were a
mockery, but they were the truth.

He barely paused in his wild thrusts,
as he reached up to slap my face. I blinked against the sting. My
head jerked against the pillow, and he held it there, stretching
away from my body as if he could separate it, as if he could split
my mind from my body, and God, if he could have, it would have been
a mercy. I didn't want to think or feel—but I did. It was
inevitable, and I knew what he needed with the bone-deep certainty.
There were so few things we knew for sure, and mercy was one of
them.