Page 29 of Forty

“This isn’t funny!”

“Isn’t meant to be.” He lays down three or four more quick ones, and it smarts, really bad, but he doesn’t know me. Or he doesn’t remember. Ineverknow when enough is enough.

His jean-clad leg is eye level, and I yank those pants up and sink my nails into his calves. His leg muscles are as hard as the rest of him, but his skin’s no thicker than a normal man’s. He grunts, and I gouge my nails deeper. Maybe his skinisthicker. I’m getting nowhere.

He fights back with a huge wallop—a jarring impact followed a second later by searing pain—and I’m distracted so much I let go of his leg.

He lays down another thwack, and ouch, ouch, ouch. I can’t take much more. Fay-Lee is into this? Holy hell. Girlfriend is insane.

I scramble for Forty’s leg again, but he’s wised up and tucked it behind the other so I can’t get the pants up again. I flail my arms, but I can’t get a shot. My eyes are leaking. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

I chomp down on the side of Forty’s thigh, getting a big mouthful of denim. I bear down, but it’s like biting a fabric-covered log.

“Stop that.” Forty doles out several swats in quick succession on my left cheek, and my ass is throbbing now, burning. Snot’s mixing with my tears, and it’s hard to breathe, but I’m not giving up.

“Make me!” I angle a leg and manage to nail his arm with my boot heel as he lands a sharp smack.

I shriek and struggle with all my might.

And the weirdest thing happens.

In between the bursts of pain? My body’s coming alive, sizzling with energy and adrenaline. Oh, hello sensation. My favorite drug. Waves explode over me, heightening every feeling, blocking everything out except this.

I’m pinned in place, my ass is on fire, and my skin’s hot all over. I’m sinking my teeth into impossibly hard flesh, clawing and bucking and flailing, landing a blow here and there, and it hurts so bad, but on the other hand, it’s ecstasy.

My brain is perfectly clear. There’s only this.

I’m out of control, but I don’t need to be in control. For once, I’m not failing at anything. I’m not scared. I’m angry, mindlessly pissed, and every smack keeps me anchored in this moment. The static and chatter and constant zigzagging thoughts are quiet for once.

Forty’s talking, but it’s background noise.

“You’re not going to put a wedge between me and my brothers.”

Smack.

“You’re not going to stir up shit.”

Thwack.

“You’re going to do as you’re told.”

There’s a rapid clap on my ass punctuating the do-as-you’re-told. I scream, but it’s muffled by the denim. God, it feelsgoodto scream at the top of my lungs.

“Understood?”

I’m jerking my hips to try and lessen the impact, but his hand is huge, and my ass is huger. Each blowstings. Should I say yes? Yes. I should say yes.

If I say yes, he stops.

“Do it harder!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “I love it! More!”

“Not funny, Nevaeh!” He slaps the hell out of my upper thigh, and, ouch, ouch, ouch, that’s a hell of a tender spot.

“You’re not funny either!” I’m just talking complete shit now. “You’re a bully and a jerk and no fun and your friends are bullies, too.”

“Yeah? Yeah?”

I’m about dig my hole deeper when he shoves his hand between us, pops the button of my jeans, and drags them down until they get stuck around my knees. I stop kicking.

---