Page 296 of Tis the Season to be Bullied

Air rattles in my throat as the hand squeezes even tighter. But before I can protest, fingers scrape over my pussy.

I’m stark fucking naked but I remember the sound my shoes made just moments ago. What happened to them?

Shame battles lust which battles utter, desperate confusion. Addy’s grin turns ferocious, and she bites at her bottom lip as if trying to be coquettish without really wanting to be.

Blood pools and trickles down her chin.

Give me a B!

Her pom-poms flash up, and she jiggles them until the glittery strands infuse the air with scattered reflections.

Fingers delve inside me. There’s a hard cock pressing against my ass, sliding up and down. Inching closer to my pussy.

Give me an R!

I groan as I try to move. I have no idea if it’s to get away, or to get closer. The tip of his cock presses against my entrance.

This is the furthest I’ve ever gone with anyone. The guy who was going to take my virginity at that party last week was too drunk to get more than a semi. But this doesn’t feel anything like that. This feels raw, and wrong, and horrible and I don’t know why because I know Iwantto fuck Briar. I know it like I know my own name. Like I know my mother’s death was my fault.

Give me an I!

The entire crowd screams out the vowel. My knees go soft, but the hand around my throat tightens and drags me up again.

Give me an A!

Something’s wrong. It’s not just the blood dripping down Addy’s chin, splashing onto her trippy cheerleading outfit. It’s not just the fact that I’m about to get fucked in front of the entire school without a say in the matter.

Give me an R!

R!

My ears are ringing. I feel wet and tight and so fucking horny I could die. But there are tears running down my face. The hand around my throat tightens. Tightens.

I gasp, struggle, but I’m pinned too tight.

What does that spell?Addy demands.

A double backflip has her right in front of me, teeth shining dark with blood, eyes lit with anger, frustration, betrayal.

I groan at her, caught on the cusp of an inexplicable climax that feels like it will never reach me.

Then her eyes flicker past me, over my shoulder.

Hands grip me, turn me. They must be Addy’s, because that other hand—impossibly—is still around my throat. The other gripping my pussy.

My heart stops beating when I see who was standing behind me. Eyes the color of a basement at midnight consume me.

Marcus smiles, slides a finger deep inside me, and whispers, “Marcus Baker, bitch.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Briar

“Evening, Son.”

I choke on my own spit as I’m walking into Briar Manor. When I look up, my father’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, a wine glass in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Suddenly, I’m very glad I didn’t join Marcus for that last round of shots. It’s only nine, but I’m a bit unsteady on my feet.

---