Page 29 of The Enemy

Tatum had pressed his front against my back, his hands resting on my hips.

“Let. Go. Off. Me.”

Once the shock wore off, I began to wiggle, trying to get free of his grasp.

“This whole playing-hard-to-get act is getting old, Lou.”

I couldn’t help my scoff.

“What act, you fucking loser?”

This seemed to spur him on. The more I tried to get out of his hold, the closer he seemed to be pressed up against me.

“Yeah, love, keep wiggling that ass against me.”

Bile rose to my mouth as his words registered. I kept trying to break free while a part of me still thought this was some sort of fucked-up prank.

“This is not funny, Tate.”

Shivers went down my spine as I felt his pointy chin dig into my shoulder blade. When he spoke, I felt his breath on the shell of my ear, making it worse. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. A part of me knew what was going on, but another part of me was frozen in disbelief that it was happening to me, along with a crippling anxiety of why this was happening. Fear surrounded me, but it wasn’t the main thing—at least not yet.

“You’re always teasing, love.” His words were harsh. “Aren’t you tired of it?”

My first instinct was to tell him he was wrong, but I managed to hold myself back. If he was already delusional enough to get to this point and begin to assault me, my contradictory words were not the answer.

“Why don’t we talk about this?” I choked out, sounding calmer than I felt.

“We’ve done enough talking,” he murmured, leaning toward my face. That was when the smell of alcohol and tobacco hit me. If I had to guess, I would say he was also on something. “Always prancing around in those tight fucking clothes.”

“Please stop.” My lip quivered as I pleaded with him.

He didn’t answer me. Instead, I felt his lips begin to slobber over the exposed skin on my neck. I closed my eyes as the hands on my hips moved lower until they glided under the hem of my dress.

When his hand curved around my thigh, I snapped out of my shock. It was sad and crazy how high the statistics on sexual abuse were. How they surprised the victim and doused us in shock, fear, and shame.

“Get off me,” I yelled as I tried to wiggle free.

Tatum seemed to get off on it. I could feel his hardness pressed up against my ass crack. The hand on my thigh moved higher while his other one covered my mouth.

Fuck.

Mierda.

How the hell does this happen to me?

Tears pricked my eyes as Tatum’s hand cupped my pussy. How long until he tore through my pantyhose?

I tried harder to get away from him, and it fucking killed me because the more I wiggle, the more his filthy hand rubbed me.

“Lourdes!”

The sound of someone calling out for me gave me hope. Tatum was so busy feeling me up that he didn’t notice someone was looking for me.

“I bet you’re fucking wet for me already,” he groaned as he pressed his erection harder against me.

“Lourdes.”

I never would have thought I would feel relief hearing Neo’s voice. Since I couldn’t talk, I tried harder than ever to shake Tatum off of me.

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