“Oh, wow,” I groan so loud my face grows hot with embarrassment. It’s clear a shift in power is taking place beneath the proverbial sheets. If I thought for a minute that I was in the power position, Jet is making it crystal clear as his sparkling blue eyes that I’m completely dependent on the nimble flicker of his tongue. My body grinds with pleasure as my head pulsates with this dizzying state of insanity. The moment I’m trembling for is right there in front of me. I can feel my body ready and willing to collapse like a dying star, but a part of me demands I stay in control, keep the upper hand no matter how high the cost. I can’t. I won’t give in.
Jet pauses a moment, snapping his dark head up to meet with my gaze.
“Don’t fight it.” The words come out like a command as he gets back to business, and that first tender touch of his mouth sends my body bucking into a violent stream of earthquakes so hard and strong my soul reverberates from the feel-good vibes. Jet knew I was fighting it, fighting him, and called me on my bullshit. A part of me almost likes him a little for that. Almost.
He takes a hearty bite from my thigh, and I let out a sharp cry. The pain coupled with the trail of pleasure sets me off on another wild quaking spree as if he knew the exact way to prolong my ecstasy.
“You’re a mean son of a bitch.” It comes out breathy and far less caustic than I meant for it to.
“That’s right.” He gives my bottom a sharp slap. “On your knees.” He rolls me over and hoists my hips toward his, landing my face in his spring fresh sheets for a moment. The sound of a wrapper tearing precedes the plunge of a finger deep inside of me, then the far heftier sensation of his body entering mine. Jet slams into me, inciting my body forward until my head bangs against the wall, and I crane my face into the pillow, hoping I won’t die by way of a broken neck. God forbid he snaps my spinal cord, and I spend the rest of my life doing a circuit-speaking tour on the dangers of aggressive sex from the confines of a wheelchair.
Jet drags my body down the bed several feet as if he read my mind, or was tired of the racket, and in doing so fills my body until I’m certain that fifth limb of his will pop straight from my throat. He thrashes and smashes our bodies into one another until he grips my hips and lets out a roar that blows the membrane out in both of my eardrums.
Jet collapses next to me, gently rubbing my thigh as if tapping out. I land next to him and listen to the sound of our wild breathing until we smooth out to nothing.
A part of me wants to admonish him for momentarily deafening me, or in the least serve him a nice helping of sarcasm along with that kitten he ate for dinner, but I can’t seem to do it.
Jet and I are officially familiar with one another in the biblical sense. There, I’ve done it. I’ve officially become the whore my father accused me of being. At least now when I think of how much those words scarred me I won’t be so angry with him for getting it wrong. Maybe my heart won’t ache, and that searing wound he created as far back as my childhood will finally have the chance to heal. A hard sniffle comes from me, followed by an unexpected watershed of not so quiet tears.
The bed stirs as Jet wraps an arm around me. He buries a tender kiss to the back of my head and lingers for a moment before seemingly falling contentedly to sleep.
Then, in a miracle to end all miracles, I fall right asleep, too.
My phone never stops buzzing.
A text from my mother.Congratulations! You’ve officially killed your father. He’s quitting the Elks. He no longer has the gumption to face his friends.
My heart sinks. I hate that this ridiculous nightmare has snowballed into a monster that’s eating through my life and now that of my family.
A text from my brother, Jonas.What the hell, kid? Tell me you’re not a dancer. And that senator? No fucking way. Jen is due in four weeks, and now she’s stressed that the firm is in danger. Lay low for the next four years, would you?
A text from an unknown number.We can talk anytime you want. I’ve got two good ears. Rumor has it I’m a good listener.
I bet they’re a good listener. It’s probably FOX Hole news or Capitalize Off Your Emergen-C-NN. No thanks. I may be blonde, but I’m not that blonde.
I reply right back.Thanks for nothing, jerkwad! Take your two good ears and shove them up your asshole!
And another, this time a group message from Tiffany Ikeman, president of the WB Legal Eagles.Remember to keep your eye on the message boards for news of upcoming events! Welcome to a brand new school year! And, remember, the future legal challenges of our great nation will be in your hands one day!
All of that enthusiasm crammed in one small text makes me want to vomit exclamation points. At least it wasn’t caustic. So what if it was a group message? At least she didn’t exclude me. Right about now, I want nothing more than to blend deep into the crowd, and at this point any crowd will do.
All day at school I drift from class to class, attempting to hide from the angry dark cloud of photographers who rabidly follow me around and yet have proven impervious to campus police. Students stop to gape at me as if trying to place my face before offering a depleted smile or an honest gasp. It’s as if I’ve singlehandedly managed to disappoint every single person at WB. How the hell is this my life again?
But the one thing that can’t seem to leave my mind, that overshadows even the most despondent of thoughts, is a replay of what happened between Jet and me last night. It’s as if I’m stuck on a replay of one earthshaking moment—the one where Jet looked up with sleepy, stoned eyes and commanded me not to fight it. My entire body quivers each and every time I think of it—think of every delicious sinful moment that took place on that mattress last night. Not that I could forget if I wanted to. I’m so sore I can hardly walk without being reminded of it, ofhim. I wonder if my body had somehow left a calling card of its own? Doubtful. Men have it easy in just about every respect. Sex doesn’t hurt. God knows bringing a child into this world doesn’t cause them one ounce of pain. Nope. Men have the sexual version of paradise, and women, as in life, are left to carry the burning, the polemic pain that comes with it all.
Whitney Briggs University is bustling with skateboards and bicycles. If you’re not careful, either one will land you on the ground with tire tracks running down your back. It’s a virtual cluster of limbs and mechanics all moving in a stressful symphony as bodies jostle to get to classes. I’m all through with my last classes for the day. They’re all just okay with the exception of Interpretive Art, which is shaping up to be the best class I’ve ever taken. The first thing we’re going to work on is sketches, so in addition to the books I’ve already purchased, I need to make a quick run into the student store to pick up a few supplies, sketchpads, charcoal pencils, and a kneaded eraser.
I wish life came with a giant kneaded eraser. I’m still making headlines on every tawdry website known to modern man. It seems the senator has lost his backers for his upcoming presidential bid, and every day a new lie is shed about me as a punishment. I can hardly stand the heavy stares from my classmates, their heated whispers as I try to sit unassumingly amongst them. I went as far as to throw my hair into a ponytail, donning a baseball cap and sunglasses, but it’s too late.
The scarlet letter—an S to be exact is clearly stamped across my chest for all to see. I’d like to think the S stands for Slimy Senator, but I know that the world, much like my father, believes what they want to believe. The only person who doesn’t seem to have an opinion is ironically the girl who got me into this debacle. Caila hasn’t said a word to me yet, which of course, pisses me off to no end. I haven’t breathed a word to her sister, Cassidy. In fact, nobody knows of my loose connection to what amounts to a prostitution ring.
I shake all thoughts of the day off before heading up the stairs toward the campus bookstore. The heady scent of paperbacks brings a sense of calm the second I walk through the door. On my way over to the art supplies, I take a quick detour through the girls’ sports department, which is typically dotted with the cutest tennis skirts you’ve ever laid eyes on. They’re amazingly sexy with their well-cut pleats and thick ream of grosgrain ribbon running along the edge. I’ve been tempted to take up the sport a time or two just to have an excuse to purchase two or six. I’m about to fondle one when a totally cute pair of Chuck All-Stars in the prettiest shade of pale pink catches my eye, and suddenly everything in me begs to have them. I haven’t bought a single thing since this entire nightmare broke, and I’m beginning to get the shakes just thinking about it.
Last New Year’s Eve, I made the resolution to go on a thirty-day shopping fast just to give my credit cards a breather from the holidays—as much as I love spoiling myself, I love spoiling my friends. But that fast was rather short-lived, all of nineteen hours. Who knew the best deals of the year take place on New Year’s Day? But this seven-day foray into retail starvation has left me hungry and chomping at the bit, and, right about now, I have a craving for something light pink that can really take me places.
“That’s right—I’m looking at you, Chuck,” I whisper under my breath. God, an entire week and counting without a single retail purchase to call my own has me practically jonesing for everything in this girly sports section. Even the homely gray sweats with nary a trendy logo to call their own seem to be pulling me toward them.
A wholeweekand counting. I had three dresses on hold at Neiman Marcus that I let go to waste because I was too horrified to venture out that far into the world. Not that I have a single dress to adorn myself with at Jet’s house. I’ve been through hell and back with just a few things my friends tossed into a bag. Per my request, my things have been hermetically sealed in boxes and are currently taking up space in Jet’s living room, but I’ve been so busy, and so emotionally distraught, I can’t seem to go through them.
