Page 86 of Don't Make Me Beg
Wasa virgin, anyway, until I tore right through her hymen like a goddamn savage, too caught up in the moment to even notice until it was too late.
Jesus. Her first time, and I took it like I had a fucking point to prove.
Normally, I like to take my time the first time I’m with someone, ease them into it so that it isn’t painful. But last night, I was too blinded by my own desire to go slow. That and I’ve been observing her, and I’ve noticed that she’s not as vanilla asshe seems. She sort of has a bit of a thing for pain, and I think she likes it when I’m mean to her.
Is that why she didn’t tell me about still being a virgin? I tried to talk to her about it last night, but I think we were both pretty shaken. I was grateful she at least let me care for her. I ran her a bubble bath while I changed her bedding and brought her a cup of tea. After she was all cleaned up, I lingered around, just in case she wanted to talk about it, but she seemed to be fine. I figured she needed space, and God knows I did as well. So, after a couple of awkward, silent minutes, we said good night as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Like brutally taking someone’s virginity by accident is no different from walking in on them changing clothes…
I drag a hand through my hair as I stare out the floor-to-ceiling windows of the boardroom, admiring the view of the town’s largest waterfall. Roman’s yapping about the big home cleaning product brand redesign he’s been working on for the last six months. At least that’s what I think he’s talking about. I’m not quite sure when I stopped listening, but it was probably as soon as he made us listen to the new jingle, he and his team wrote for this year’s Super Bowl commercial…
I love him, but I swear, the guy’s a little too peppy for a Thursday afternoon. Sometimes I just want to lock him in a dark room and force him to watch sad movies, just to see if his mood ever changes.
A flicker of guilt claws at my throat as Roman lights up when someone asks him a question about his vision for the new branding.
Fuck, why am I such an asshole?
My physical attendance isn’t even necessary. Sure, I need to know the high points and what’s going on, but that’s not anything I can’t have L.O.K.I. summarize like usual. And the majority of my department consists of remote workers who liveall over the world. Which means I have no right to be annoyed by Roman, who’s simply doing his job… even if the obvious lack of any real stress in his life feels like someone pouring salt in an open wound.
Up until last night, I’d say that I lived my life the exact same way. No real worries. No real stress. But now, thanks to my—whatever she is—I’m starting to feel more like my brother Leo. What’s next, stomach ulcers or frown lines?
At this point, I welcome any physical symptoms if it means I don’t have to deal with my own guilty conscience. There’s no escaping the mental turmoil…not that I don’t deserve it, but damn it, I’m not built for this shit.
I have no idea what the right thing to do about it is. This was not part of my stupid revenge plan, and the worst part is, I feel horrible about it. There’s a part of me that is absolutely elated by the fact that I’m the one who got to have her first. And what the fuck does it say about me that all I can think about is when can I do it again? Because thirty seconds inside Scout’s tight, wet pussy was enough to keep me chasing after her for the rest of my life, especially if it means there’s even a slight chance, I can do that again.
As if trying to stay away from her wasn’t hard enough, knowing how fucking eager she was for me, knowing how goddamn tight her pussy is… Fuck me, I’m getting hard all over again just thinking about it.
This is absolutely the worst-case scenario. In just one fucked up moment of weakness, I managed to find myself back to where I was eight years ago—powerless, vulnerable, and completely fucked.
The sound of someone clearing their throat pulls me back to the present moment, and I look up to find the eyes of everyone in the boardroom on me—including the conference video of my oldest brother Leo, who has joined us remotely from Romania.
“Why don’t we finish this conversation next week?” Leo says, catching me completely off guard. I swear he looks ten years younger than he did when I saw him over Thanksgiving. I guess happiness and steady sex have that effect, especially going from lonely and stressed out…
“So, Luka, how’s the festival planning coming along?” Leo asks, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “I’ve heard you’ve taken some interesting creative liberties.”
I loosen my tie and undo my top button, feeling like I’m about to suffocate in my shirt. “Yeah, well, nobody’s ever accused me of being boring.”
“I can’t argue with that,” Leo agrees. His tone is casual, but I can tell he’s holding back his words.
“Just say what you want to say.” I roll my eyes, gesturing for him to get on with it.
“Okay…” Leo clears his throat. “First, you take this dumb-ass’s advice and get married, and now you’re using the festival as an excuse to graffiti our historic town square.”
“And your point is…” I singsong.
Leo pauses like he’s trying to collect himself, then finally says, “What the fuck are you doing? This isn’t a fucking joke. This festival means a lot to everyone in this town.”
Scout’s words play back in my mind, and I take a deep breath.
I give him a shrug. “I don’t know what you want me to say… I’m just trying to use my talents the best I can.”
Leo huffs, but to his credit, he doesn’t take it any further.
“I can’t believe Jett didn’t put up more of a fight,” Guy says, breaking the silence. “Honestly, I thought he’d riot before allowing something like that to happen in town, much less on the side of his own building.”
“How’d you get him to agree to it?” Leo asks, and I don’t miss the way his eyes flash to Roman, as if they’re sharing a silent exchange.
I just shrug. “I didn’t give him a choice. It’s always easier to ask forgiveness rather than permission.”
“If that isn’t a little brother motto, I don’t know what is,” Leo says with a sigh, but I can hear the hint of humor in his tone. Probably just glad that Jett’s the victim of said motto.
