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I roared into the air before gripping strands of her hair and yanking her head back for her mouth to take my tongue as deep as she could while I slammed into her tight cunt as fast as I could, rutting in a frenzy.
I couldn’t hold back this time. My load shot from me, filling the condom at the entrance of her womb.
Ol’ pink lips in the corner—the creep with drool dripping from his chin—clapped, then left, ushered out by the other one who had no fucking desire to be in this room.
The dying waves of pleasure shifted from tidal to steady, and I collapsed on top of Feebee, my mind going numb to all the trauma, all the pain, feeling nothing but her hand brushing my back and her heart humming against my ear. A fast, steady beat...just for me.
Chapter 8
Feebee
Mercer filled the room with dirty intentions and romantic promises. Color kept our moods high. The scent of us—the dirty, hot sex we had—kept our souls high.
I laughed as another poor drawing made it onto the wall. The tiny crayon left behind on the concrete floor neared the end of its life without contributing to a masterpiece. Tomorrow, I would change that. I would draw for him because I no longer needed the little notes Mercer wrote to make me happy.
As long as I had him, I would be okay.
I didn’t care about the loss of my virginity or my new heart, because, it had again, been given to someone who wasn’t born with it. Clearly, now belonging to him, along with every smile on my lips and butterfly that fluttered around in my empty stomach.
I couldn’t say what sex did to young romantics, but it heightened all my feelings for him. Brought out apple-cheeked smiles and real hope that lit up the misery down here. I hadn’t pulled a hair for hours, and the desire to do so wasn’t there. It was still on Mercer, watching as his body stretched to place another sticky note on the wall across the room.
He returned to me, a pink note in hand, a message already scribbled.
“Am I supposed to be able to read that when I’m this tired?”
He shrugged, muscular shoulders rising and falling. He stuck the note to my chest, nowhere near my injury, and sat at my side, the wall granting support. My shirt, only buttoned midway, was his doing. He had bitten his full lower lip as he buttoned me up, his eyes still sparkling with lust. They still sparkled now, watching as I read his note.
I wish I could use words to tell you what you mean to me.
Desire deflated inside me, the need to soothe him taking over.
“You don’t need words. I feel you. Us. It’s special. It’s everything to live for.”
He smiled, about to snatch the note and scrunch it, deeming it not good enough for the wall, another that he would flick for amusement, but it was my favorite.
Twisting around, I made room for it, shifting two others an inch to the left and right.
I hadn’t turned around yet when he scooped me into his arms. He cradled my head as he lay us on the ground, using his body and the wall to barricade a little heat for when I would grow cold during the night.
“Mercer, I love you.” And I’m glad it was you for my first time. I would have said that, too, but his mouth was on mine, stealing all the perfect words and feeding them back to me in the most amazing kiss.
His dirty, calloused hands were on me, big fingers pulling at my legs. I couldn’t feel it on the outside, but my new heart cracked with each touch. My hands pushed him away, but I was weak, too weak to fight as I sat, propped up by lots of pillows on my bed. The happy memories and smiling faces filling the frames in my pink room mocked me.
A lucky strike hit my assailant on his bulbous nose, and blood ran down his left nostril, dripping onto and staining his already dirty tank top. The surprise pushed him back, the pain dragged his hands to his nose, and they muffled the curses he called me as they flew through his chapped lips.
I wrapped the bedsheets around me, tucking them under my legs. “Get out,” I shouted, or tried to, holding the blanket in place. The words hurt me. One hand moved to my bandaged chest. A crimson stain was making its way through the layers. I froze, my fingertips brushing the gauze as a laugh echoed in the room. It had only been three days since my surgery, and this monster—a man who should love and protect me—abused me on each one.
He dipped his fingers under the bandage and yanked me forward until I landed on him. My hands flew out for safety, and one of them landed on his hard cock, his baggy shorts already damp with sweat and precum. I vomited all over him, green adding to the many colors on his disgusting tank.
He grabbed me by my hair, forcing me to look at him. He licked his lips, his mouth moving close to mine. I wheezed, a weak attempt at a scream that my aching chest warned against.
Determined hands landed on his chest, splashing my own sick back at me as I fell to the carpeted floor. Desperately, I clutched the short fibers, trying pointlessly to get away.
Feet neared, heavily stomping the few steps between us. A giant foot landed on my back, the dirty toenails scraping at my gauze.
Tears hung from my eyelashes as my fingers let go of the carpet. The same carpet that burned me as I was dragged back by the man in the room.
The mirror opposite was angled perfectly for me to watch my nightmare play out. He pulled my dirty panties from my body. Filthy, with yesterday’s blood. And he loomed over me, using his forceful hands to open my legs, his body between them now. He pulled out his cock, and my eyes closed. I couldn’t watch as he forced it inside my rear...I tensed, waiting for the pain, and then it came.
