Page 56 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
He flicks on the light, and a yellow glow soothes me.
“Nice and bright.” He smiles down at me. He’s been trying to talk to me on and off throughout the journey home—the odd word here and there leaving his mouth after the world’s most silent dinner.
“Are you still mad?” he asks, setting down my shoes.
“I wasn’t mad. I was embarrassed.”
“I’m sorry.” His words sound sincere enough for me to continue giving him the time of day—or, in this case, night. “Are you coming around to my charms?”
Unmovable arms lock around my waist.
And I do try to remove them.
“The only charms you have, my friend, are the lucky ones in the cereal cupboard.” Something he claimed from whichever intruder thought it would be funny to fill the cupboards.
Shane breaks away and heads to the kitchen. I follow, eyeing each dark shadow in the reading room and ignoring his laugh at my pathetic joke.
He fills a glass with water and drinks it in a matter of seconds. I fill my favorite cup because any drink always tastes better in it, especially with a yellow bear in a tank top, and I take a sip, staring out into the darkness.
My reflection stares back from the window. Shane’s, too, as he comes up behind me, and I tense.
“You sure you’re not still mad at me?” He brushes my hair from my face.
Setting down my cup after another sip, I shake my head.
“That’s good.”
He gives me little time to say or do anything else as calloused hands scuff the edges of my dress and then my thighs. He hikes the satin up over my hips, tucking it into my underwear.
He tucks each edge into my panties, holding it in place. The sound of his zipper echoes in the silent room.
“What are you doing?”
“Showing you my other charms, seeing as you aren’t mad.”
Shane’s words kiss my neck, but his lips don’t follow the action. His breath is the only thing to caress me as he rubs two fingers over my crotch twice, pulls my lacy briefs to the side, and lines himself up.
“You’re not wearing anything, and I’m not ready.” My body stiffens, and my hips edge away into the kitchen cabinets. “You need to work harder for it.”
“Okay.” Shane’s fingers move to my clit, but it’s faster than I like, and I’ve already wasted countless breaths in the past telling him this. So, I let him continue.
Pulling a condom from his wallet and rolling it over his length, he lines his penis up again.
“Ready?” he breathes out, not waiting for an answer before he pushes in the first inch. His head collapses onto my shoulder, and he mumbles something about how tight it feels.
He pushes in another inch, and I try to relax into it, but with my body still not adjusted, I focus on my gritted teeth in my reflection. All attempts fail as my image slowly changes before my eyes.
My petite frame widens, and broad shoulders appear. My height increases, and the red stains from the martini on my pink dress begin to look something more like blood on an open white shirt. The body below—now, a man’s and not mine—appears scarred. My neck cranes to see his face. Wavy hair, which could be deep blue or green, is concealed by the darkness cascading around him. Loose strands fall into his eyes that look so enchanting against his stark white painted face.
A clown.
A giant hand comes up and slams against the window, sending me backward onto Shane’s penis. He hisses with the pain, and I scream out with the fullness, bending over with the pain until my knees slam against the ground and his body slinks out of mine.
“What the fuck, Lancie? Are you okay? What happened?” He drops to my side as I mewl in agony, still examining his invisible injury as each question rolls from his tongue.
With shaking hands, I pull my dress from the corners of my underwear and set it back in place.
On bruised knees, I crawl beneath the kitchen table, hiding behind the pink checkered cloth that’s bright and new in the black kitchen.
