Page 90 of Worse Than Wicked
I try to ignore his words, but I can’t help but remember hearing that rumor. When I went back for my senior year, I was hooked. They’d made me fall for them, and I was so naïve that when they ghosted me, and I was devastated. I wanted them back. I wanted more.
But it was Colt they targeted first. They didn’t hide it like my family would have. They had no shame, would go around yelling out that they were going to take him back to the basement, that he looked good on his knees. He was the only one who was shamed for it at school. Laughed at and taunted and ostracized even more than he had been the year before.
And still, I wanted them, sick as it all was. I felt like I’d die if I couldn’t impress them, if I couldn’t show them that that I was more than nothing, that I wasn’t some trash they could use and discard. That I wasn’t an unlovable freak.
I almost did die proving it.
They won’t forget it again.
They won’t, and my grandfather won’t, and Mr. Harris won’t.
Their father won’t, either. He’s gone too. I only wish I’d gotten to be there when he went, that I’d gotten to order his execution.
He might have violated me, but I could have kept it secret, and no one would have known, if not for Dixie. She was so infuriated that Colt wouldn’t turn his back on me, even when I was too entangled with the Dolces to get out. My brother stood up for me, and they burned his arm while I screamed for them to let him go.
Not until I agreed to be their slave, they said.
He said no. He told me not to agree to that. So they tortured him with a blowtorch until his eyes went glassy with pain, until he went into shock. Until I screamed for them to doanything they wanted to me, until I agreed to it, if they would please just let him go.
Dixie was furious. They had scarred her pretty boyfriend.
So when they did what they wanted, when they took turns with me and left me tied to the bed, when they went off laughing to have a smoke break, it wasn’t enough for her. When their father found me there, and I screamed for them to help me, and they didn’t come back, and he did what he wanted too, it wasn’t enough. When they recorded it to humiliate or blackmail me, because that family loves their cameras, it still wasn’t enough. She had to post the video on her blog, so everyone at school knew my shame too. So they loathed me with the loathing reserved for the kind of woman who lets men use her one after another, but never for the men who do the using.
“Get on my dick,” Duke says, shoving my hips down.
I slide down the bed and position his slick tip at my entrance, then sink onto him. Ripples of pleasure shiver through me, and I try to ignore them, but I can’t anymore. Not when he lifts his hips and pushes all the way in, so deep it hurts. That always snaps me back into my body, where I can’t escape.
“Ride me,” he commands.
Placing my hands on his knees for balance, I lift up, then sink back down on his shaft. It stretches me, fills me. He grips my hips, massaging my flesh, spreading me so he can see everything. He fucks up into me, and I whimper helplessly. Pain and pleasure twist together, undistinguishable from each other and equally unwelcome.
“Turn around,” he says. “I want to watch your face while I make you cum.”
I start to climb off, but he stops me. “Spin on it, baby.”
I slowly turn my body, clambering awkwardly around his legs, his body, until I’m straddling him. The sensation of his cock pressing against each wall as I turn distracts me from being self-conscious about my clumsiness, my unsexy body, my scars. Then I’m facing him.
“Duchess,” he says, smiling up at me.
“Duke.”
“Maybe.”
I swallow hard. “You’re not Duke?”
“I could be Duke.”
“You could be Baron.”
“Does it matter?”
I hesitate a long moment, then shake my head. “No. I guess not.”
“Do you love me?”
“Yes.”
“More than you ever loved your grandpa?”
