He was wrong. She was a victim.
And I was a monster.
My fingers tightened, and I schlepped Jolie’s body down the table. She let out a whimper, the wood burning her exposed flesh. I pulled her fast and hard, not wanting her near my father, who was standing way too fucking close.
“Don’t feel bad about hurting her, she wouldn’t—”
“Shut. Up,” I warned, my eyes scouting out my father, leaving Jolie for only a second. “I don’t want to hear it.”
I took my cock in my hand, hating that I had to touch myself in front of these people. But I wasn’t fucking hard, and I couldn’t get hard, even as I pumped myself.
I closed my eyes, envisioning Jolie in a totally different position. Bent between my legs like she was last night.
But I was still fucking flaccid.
Frustration was growing on me, making my awareness of the situation raise with each passing second.
I kept my eyes closed. Picturing her on me. Picturing me with her. Touching, kissing, caressing.
But images weren’t enough. My fingers moved up her leg, trailing her soft skin.
I stretched over to reach her pussy, my fingers dipping between her folds. She wasn’t excited—hating every minute of this, like me. But it wasn’t long after I touched her that my fingers became wet.
Her breathing picked up, my own, too.
My body twitched. I feared what was coming, but I’d felt this way all day, and I was still at the front. Still in control.
I blinked slowly, confusion clouding my vision, my senses, and abilities. I felt like I was zoning out, my memory slipping away. My body stiffened, trying to focus on what I was doing while I still had any sense of it.
Pumping myself again, my other hand moved to her clit, and I pinched.
Everything went black. I forced my eyes to open. “No,” I mumbled to myself—to someone inside myself. I didn’t want him here. I didn’t want the extra trauma he’d bring to Jolie, even if he’d spare me. Which he would. He’d do this for me. Step to the front and take over. So, I wouldn’t be the one to hurt her.
Removing my fingers, she was wet enough now. I couldn’t delay this further, or I wouldn’t be the one to do this.
Tears rolled from my eyes as I lined up my hips with hers, pressing the tip of my cock to her opening.
“Do what you have to,” Jolie responded to the quickening of my breath. “You can’t save me right now. Save yourself.”
“Shut up, whore!” Her talking was all it took for my father to wrap his fist around her hair and use it to direct her face into the table with a violet slam. And that was what it took for me to finally fucking snap.
A silent thought moved around my head,I need her to be safe.
And then, there was nothing.
Hell
My body stiffened; memories of the situation disappeared instantly. I had no idea what Woodrow had been doing to be standing naked in the kitchen with a fucking audience of men.
I looked over to my father, standing with his hands in my gift’s hair. And I heard a voice, so similar to mine, whisper, “I need her to be safe.”
“Who said you could fucking touch her?” fury barrelled through my mouth.
I listened to her gasp of relief, finding it cute that she believed my words were in her best interests. Maybe in a way, they were. But a lot of it was pure fucking jealousy. No one should touch, breathe near or even fucking look at what belonged to me. It ignited rage. Made me feel fucking evil.
“I’m doing it for you, Son.”
Here he was—the perfect father—trying to get into my head, again.
