Page 45 of Dirty Little Secrets
“Cold?”
“No,” I lie. I’m freezing, but he’s the last person I want to warm me up. I was so tired this morning I forgot the temperature would drop after the rain and didn’t bring a coat.
“Give me what you’ve found so far and I’ll warm you up.”
I toss the drive at him without a second thought. He catches it, looking at it under the light like it’s a precious diamond.
“It’s what I’ve gotten so far. I’ll let you know when I have more.”
I plan no such thing, but I would never tell him that. He’ll contact me like he always does. The longer I drag this out, the faster I can leave this life behind.
He pockets the drive and calls me over with his finger. “Come here,” he demands.
I walk begrudgingly over to him, his scent causing bile to rise in the back of my throat.
“I gotta go, Brent.”
He pushes me against the brick wall, caging me in with his hands flat against it. I look up to see the lust in his blue eyes.
“You think I don’t know you and your fake boyfriend split up?” He rubs his nose over my cheek like a dog, making the nausea brew even thicker. “I have eyes on you, Norianna.”
A ball of dread pools in my stomach reminding me that I’m not free.
“I know.”
There are times I forget Brent has eyes everywhere. There were so many times I tried to leave Seattle, but he’s always two steps ahead. He would find ways to instill fear.
“Good.”
When I think he’s going to pull away, his hand shoves my skirt up, forcefully pulling a gasp from my throat.
“Brent…”
“It’s been too long since I’ve tasted you, Norianna. I miss the way you gag on my cock.”
Yeah, right. Brent only misses getting his dick wet in what he considers his. Monogamy doesn’t exist in his vocabulary. Like father, like son. His father is a piece of shit just like him. If it weren’t for me giving Brent my virginity on my eighteenth birthday, his father would’ve taken it. It’s because of Brent I’m not his father’s whore.
Brent doesn’t like anyone touching his things. And I’m one of those things. A toy he only lends out if he’s in the same room. I’m just lucky Brent isn’t the type to be in the same room as his father when he fucks. Everyone else is fair game. Women. Men. Anyone Brent wants to watch me with. He gets off on it. It turns him on when he allows it. There is no room to say no. Because no one says no to Brent. He’ll find a fucked-up way to make me pay if I do.
I wince from the sting. My pussy is still tender from the other night.
His eyes narrow warily. “Did I hurt you?” I shake my head quickly. He’ll do it harder if I tell him it did.
He pulls my panties to the side for better access. I look to my left to see if anyone can see
us from the sidewalk, but he pushes my face roughly so I have no choice but to look into his dark blue eyes.
“Look at me.”
He slides his thick fingers inside, and I imagine it’s Xaiden.
“You know how much I love it when I break you. I should slit that fucker’s throat for touching what’s mine, but I’ve learned to be patient. Maybe when it’s all over, I’ll let him watch what a whore you really are before he chokes on his blood.”
He squeezes my throat, holding me so I can’t look away. He wants me to know that it’s him that makes me come. That it’s him I get on my knees for on the filthy street as I suck him off.
My mind drifts. Years of abuse trains the mind to go to places you’d rather be. A place I always go when Brent touches me. This time, the man I fantasize about has a face. A scent to his skin. A rasp to his voice. Tattoos marking him in ways that tell me he exists. It’s funny how the mind grasps parts that it needs to store away when you need it most. A picture book of memories to maintain your sanity. A way to escape reality.
When it’s all over, Brent pulls me up and grips my face, taking his cum from my mouth. I try to force back the bile in my throat when he spits right in my face and smears it on my cheeks. It smells like sweat and something sour. Like a corpse left too long in the sun.
