A ripple of unease moves through me as I think of all the things Whit and I have done. I love his brand of dark and twisted. I have no idea what Bryan’s like, but I’m sure he doesn’t even come close to what Whit’s capable of.
We approach the grove of trees, the damp air hushed, the sound of the ocean in the distance. I breathe in the scent of pine, the cold air making goose bumps rise all over my exposed skin and I gasp when Bryan shoves me against the thick trunk of a towering pine, the bark scratching my back as he pins me to it with his body. “Ow,” I complain, reaching to rub the back of my head, glaring at him.
“Sshh,” he says, his mouth on mine before I can say another word.
His kiss is hard. Punishing. I gently bat at his shoulders, trying to make him stop, to push him off me, but he won’t let go. He tightens his hold on my waist, his fingers pinching into my skin. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, searching for mine, and I tentatively touch it. I try to pretend he’s Whit, hoping it makes my response easier, but it’s no use.
He’s not Whit. Not even close. His tongue is too big in my mouth, and he’s so pushy. I hate the feel of his hands on my body, how he gropes every part of me. I shove at his shoulders, trying to avert my face away from his to end the kiss, but Bryan is persistent.
“You said you were a sure thing,” he whispers against my cheek, right before he dips down and drags his too wet mouth along my neck.
Alarm fills me at his words. I don’t like this. Not at all. I press my hands flat on his chest, desperate to push him away, but he’s too strong. “Stop.”
“Aw come on,” he says with a low chuckle. That sound fills me with dread. “Don’t be such a fuckin’ tease. Give me a show. Dance for me like you did earlier.”
“Let me go,” I demand.
He goes completely still, pulling away from me slightly to glare at me. His gaze is unfocused, and I realize too late that he’s smashed. He’s had a lot to drink tonight. Probably something else too. Coke? I noticed a few people wiping white stuff away from their noses earlier on the dance floor.
“You said you wanted this.” His voice is quiet. Disbelieving.
“I-I changed my mind.” I curl my fingers around his shoulders and smile, a tremor moving through me at the dark look in his eyes. “Let’s go back inside. We can dance some more, okay?”
“No.” He says, reaching for my tube top and tugging it down. My breasts pop free, the cold air making my nipples harden and I cry out as I try to cover myself, but he won’t let me. He grabs hold of my hands, keeping them at my sides. “Fuck me,” he says, his gaze on my chest. “Look at your tits.”
His voice is reverent, as if he’s never seen a set of boobs before. He starts to reach for them.
“Stop.” I break free from his grip and grab at my top, ready to yank it back up, but he stops me, his hand crushing my wrist, his mouth back on mine as he presses me firmly against the tree.
“Don’t fight it,” he mutters against my lips, his other hand going for my bottoms. He slips his fingers just beneath the fabric and I lift up my knee, trying to fight him off. “Don’t fight me. Calm down, Satan. You’re going to like this. I promise.”
He pins me in place, overwhelming me with his strength.
My thoughts are frantic as he exerts pressure on my wrists, pulling up so my arms are above my head, completely exposing me. I start to tremble when he holds my wrists together with one hand, his other hand sliding down. Along my face. Across my shoulder. Down my chest, until he circles one hard nipple with his index finger.
“You want it,” he murmurs, a whimper leaving me when he pinches my nipple. He glares at me. “You like it rough.”
I gape at him, horror consuming me. How does he know? Did Whit tell his friends? And then the rumors spread?
“Any girl who’s fucked Lancaster likes it hard.” His fingers pull tighter on my nipple, making me cry out. He smiles. “She likes it when it hurts.”
“Please,” I whisper when he cups my breast, kneading my flesh roughly. “Don’t do this.”
“You want it,” he says, leaning in so his mouth is just above mine. “Remember? You promised you were a sure thing. I expect you to deliver.”
He kisses me and all I can do is take it, sobbing into his mouth, but he doesn’t even notice. His hand is too busy, his mouth too greedy. I should’ve never worn this stupid costume. I was asking for trouble from the moment I appeared at the party like this, and I honestly thought Whit would’ve stopped Bryan from taking me away.
But he didn’t. He let me go. He doesn’t care about me. He probably never did, I think as Bryan runs his lips down my neck, across my collarbone, his mouth getting closer and closer to my breasts. Oh God, I think I’m going to be sick.
Bryan squeezes my right breast, his fingers brutal, his head dipping down and his mouth open so he can suck on my nipple when he’s suddenly gone, ripped away from me.
“Motherfucker—” Bryan utters, right before a fist connects with his mouth, the sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh filling the air before he drops.
I shriek, more with relief than anything else, when I realize it’s Whit punching the shit out of Bryan. He hits him again. And again, his knuckles red, his eyes blazing with fury as he stands over Bryan, who crumples into a ball on the ground, trying to protect himself.
“She said no, asshole,” Whit says, literally spitting on him, reminding me of the time he saved me from Elliot. He kicks Bryan directly in the ribs and he rolls over with a grunt, away from us. “Sick fucker.”
“She wanted it,” Bryan says with a groan. “She promised me she was a sure thing. She grinded on my dick.”
“Doesn’t mean shit if the girl says no. Ass face.” Whit nudges Bryan’s backside with his booted foot before lifting his head to glare straight at me.
I stare at him in return, breathing heavily, my top around my stomach and my breasts exposed. Tears stream down my face and I know I must look a mess.
His lips firm and he slowly shakes his head as if he’s disappointed in me, kicks Bryan one more time for good measure, and then turns.
And walks away.
What the actual fuck?
Tugging my tube top back into place, I chase after him, calling his name.
He keeps walking, his back stiff, his shoulders straight. Tension radiating off of him as if it’s a living, breathing thing. I pick up my pace, desperate to catch up to him, and I snag his hand, my fingers curling around his.
He whips around, yanking his hand from mine, his expression one of pure anger. I’ve never seen him so mad before. “What the hell, Summer?”
I go completely still, shocked he called me by my first name. He never does that. Surely never in public. Not that anyone’s around.
“T-thank you,” I whisper, just as my entire body starts to quake. “He was going to—going to—”
I choke on a sob.
Whit pulls me into his arms and I collapse against him, his familiar smell wrapping around me, making me feel safe. I cling to him, crying into his soft black shirt, my tears flowing uncontrollably. He just lets me cry, holding onto me, his arms around my waist, his chin resting on top of my head. I feel his fingers tangle in my hair and that just makes me cry harder, my stomach roiling at the realization of what just happened to me.