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Chloe jolted awake to the unfamiliar and strange sensation of something hot and hard pressing between her legs. She was dizzy, disorientated, from the sudden shift from deep sleep to consciousness so she blankly stared out into the dark room. If she focused, she could just barely make out the lump of Tori sleeping in the bed across from her, spiked hair illuminated by the moonlight coming in through the window.
She lay there for a moment, trying to drag the sleepy pieces of her mind back together, as that pressure kept going…and going. Breached her pussy and then continued on, splitting her apart. That was it felt like anyway—like something very big, maybe even too big, was forcing its way inside of her. Like being fucked by a two-by-four. And the pain, white-hot and so intense her vision went fuzzy, seemed to immobilize, paralyze, her. It also stole her voice, the only noise escaping her a dry, weak rasp as she sucked in a shuddering breath.
As the battering ram bottomed out, she became aware of several things at once. Fingers gouging into the meat of her thigh and holding her open. The arm cradling the side of her neck, the smothering hand over her mouth. The overwhelming stench of men’s cologne or body wash, Old spice or something equally reminiscent of a middle school boy. And the throbbing, rock-hard cock in her.
When she inhaled shakily, her nose burned from the chemicals of the cologne, her eyes watering that had nothing to do with her being violated.
“If you scream,” a familiar voice whispered in her ear, “then you’ll wake up everyone and they’ll see what a cock tease whore you are. Spread like this on my cock.” For emphasis, he rocked his hips, sending sharp little pulses through her pussy that did nothing to mask the burning sensation.
At first, she couldn’t make sense of her current circumstance.
She remembered crawling into her bed, exhausted and tired from crying while Tori attempted in a typically Tori way to comfort her, and it had been easy to fall lay her head on her lumpy, musty pillow and close her eyes. It had taken seconds, or so it felt, for the blackness of unconsciousness to find her. And then, she was startled awake by—she wasn’t entirely sure what, exactly, had woken her, just that it had. Maybe it was the pain. The hand over her mouth. Or maybe it was her senses screaming for her to just wake up. Either way, she found herself awake and here she was, being violated.
But none of it made sense.
And then, like a lightning strike, the confusion cleared, and terror lanced through her, singeing her nerve endings, burning her. She tensed.
And judging by the way his fingers tightened on her and he tensed against her back when she sucked in a breath, he knew it did too.
Their first—and only—date (could a single, lackluster kiss even be counted as a date?) had ended with her in tears, him accusing her of having feelings for Derek. He hadn’t seemed too angry, at least not enough where she’d felt unsafe or scared, and she’d thought they’d be okay. That he’d realized she hadn’t been trying to lead him on, that she’d wanted things to work, hadn’t realized she’d actually fallen for Derek.
Sure, he’d been a bit of an ass with his brooding, morose attitude and sure, he’d stormed away and left her in the woods but she’d just broken his heart and basically admitted she was in love with his brother, not him. And they were going through puberty; it had been all understandable. What sixteen-year-old was level-headed while being, for lack of a better term, broken up with?
But to do this? To creep into her room and violate her with Tori across from them? While they were surrounded by his uncle and his werewolf brother?
Chloe’s head spun wildly.
If she’d have to accuse anyone of being capable of such violence, it would’ve been Royce or Liam, maybe even Liam’s friend.
But not Simon. Simon was—was sweet and gentle, funny, but most of all, he was kind. He didn’t have a cruel bone in his body, that she’d been so certain of…until now. She was stuffed full of his cock, stretched to capacity in fact, and his fingertips cut into her jaw so hard, it brought tears to her eyes.
A grunt had her focusing back into reality.
Simon started to thrust, slow and careful, mindful of the bed’s creaky springs.
Her intimate muscles spasmed involuntarily, tightening around him, and even more tears filled her eyes. It wasn’t just the forceful, unwanted intrusion that was tearing her apart that made her cry silently but the fact her first time was being taken from her.Robbed. It should’ve been soft and sweet and slow, punctuated by declarations of love, her face and mouth pressed with kisses. It should’ve been with someone she loved.
Not like this—not stolen from her or taken in retribution for rejection, used as a way to punish her. That was what he was doing—tormenting her, teaching her a lesson. How dare she reject him?
The mattress shifted beneath their combined weight as he withdrew slowly, his cock dragging along the brutalized walls of her sore cunt,until only about half of his length remained in her.
“Chloe,” he breathed, his voice choked, breathing heavy and rough in her ear, “this is all your own doing. Besides you like it.”
She shook her head frantically. And shuddered at the nausea that welled up in her belly, so intense she had to screw her eyes shut and swallow to keep from being sick.
What happened to the sweet Simon she knew? The one who’d whispered in her ear when Derek had upset her and snuck her McDonald’s to cheer her up? The Simon she knew would’ve never done this. He’d have never snuck into her room in the middle of the night and forced her open, never victim-blame her.
He sank back into her, and it felt like it would never end. That he’d just keep going until she died, and maybe even then, he wouldn’t stop.
Every thrust split her apart and tore her open again and again, her belly cramping at the both the intrusion and the pain, her muscles tight. Everything, in fact, was tight, screaming for relief, reprieve, but she couldn’t give it. Not yet. Not while she was being brutalized.
This isn’t happening, she tried to reassure herself, even as he settled deeper, nudging something tender and ultra-sensitive inside of her. Something acute lanced through her, her toes curling involuntarily.
She jerked at the sensation and her heart rate skyrocketed, hammered in her throat at the sight of Tori shifting and then sitting upright. She couldn’t breathe for a very long moment, gaze locked on Tori, praying she didn’t turn on the light or, an even more frightening possibility, that she couldn’t see in the largely dark room. Couldn’t see Chloe’s bare pussy, her spread legs, and especially Simon behind her, his cock in her cunt.
Her belly swooped at the idea that Tori could see in the dark. That she would see all of Chloe’s intimate places. God only knew what would happen if that was the case—no. Chloe knew what would occur: screaming. Lots and lots of bonafide scream queen shrieking and dramatics, hurled accusations and insults and waterworks. And that volume would wake everyone in the house, and they’d all see Chloe and Simon, and they’d look at her different. Derek would look at her different. Like she was a whore, a slut, just like Simon said.
Blood whooshed in her ears as Simon continued to fuck her at a glacier pace, slow enough that bed barely moved let alone squeaked.
But Chloe was still frozen, her lungs tight, throat even tighter, as she stared at Tori in abject terror, barely registering how the pain had faded or Simon moving at her back. She clawed at the bedding underneath her, squeezing until her hands went numb, as she stared and stared at Tori’s faintly-illuminated face, slack with drowsiness.
And then she laid back down and turned over so her back faced the room.
Chloe sucked in a deep breath, the icy grip of terror fading but not abating altogether, her heartbeat slamming in her throat and wrists still. In any other circumstance, she’d have melted against the mattress, burying her face into her pillow to groan with relief. In any other circumstance, she’d have flopped onto her back, staring up at the water-stained ceiling, and wondered if, for once, luck was on her side.
But this wasn’t any other circumstance, and she wasn’t lucky because Simon was still there, rutting against her faster, his bony hips snapping against her backside. His fingers pushed into her skin, bruising her, and his hungry, heavy breathing wet the side of her face, her cheek, her ear. The heat of it turned her stomach almost as much as the soured smell of his mouth.
She screwed her eyes shut and barely stifled the yelp that threatened to escape at a particularly deep, damn near painful, stab of cock.
The deep, low grunt he made seemed to echo in her brain long after he’d fallen silent, pouring all his focus into chasing his pleasure. So determined to finish, he didn’t seem to care about the way the bed was shaking or the way Chloe was jostled about.
Chloe’s head snapped back and forth with the vehemence of his thrusts, her body jerking every time he sank to the hilt, his thighs striking the back of hers. She gasped for air, but none came because every time she did, he pushed it out of her throat with a sharp thrust that made her fight to snap her legs closed. Made her toes curl and her body bow away from him, unintentionally backing into his next thrust.
The new pace left her choking for breath but, even worse, the new pace struck that tender, sensitive spot inside of her with single-minded focus. Like he was honing in on it. Her intimate muscles clamped down, pleasure sparking through her body, treacherous, painful, torturous heat washing over her. Her body was betraying her in her weakest moment, and she was powerless to stop it, to stem it like staunching a bleeding wound.
No, no, no. Not now! Please…
But her body wasn’t listening and it didn’t care anyway. Her scalp prickled as the tension ratcheted higher and squeezed tighter, her hands turning bloodless, her squeaks and cries muffled by Simon’s palm still. Tears streaked down her cheeks, hot and relentless, as she realized she was going to orgasm all over his cock while he brutalized her.
And she really, really, really didn’t want to. Didn’t want want to feel that heady rush with his hand over her mouth or his cock pulverizing her insides. Not with Tori in the bed across from them. Not while she was still reeling from Derek’s dressing down that did nothing but make her feel even worse than Simon’s dejected “yeah, it is,” as he walked away.
Her toes curled even more, painful now, as her orgasm clawed its way up her body, squeezing each muscle it encountered until she was was certain every single one was pulled taut. Her lungs seized on her inhale like they didn’t want to fill with oxygen.
“Yeah, you’re gonna cum like the whore you are,” he murmured, the words a promise, and he pumped his hips a few more times before he cinched her tight against him, so tight she lost her breath and her skin burned with pain. Those once-friendly, once-gentle fingers seemed to gouge past skin and burrow into her muscle. His hips stuttered once, twice, and then he buried himself to the hilt, hips jerking in little pulses as he came inside of her.
But that didn’t matter because Chloe was blind-sided by the strength, the ferocity, of the orgasm that crashed over her, sucking her under like a whirlpool. Her body tensed, toes scrunched, fingers bloodless as it stole her breath, her sight, and every other sense. She couldn’t feel Simon against her back or the thick cock inside of her, didn’t feel the lingering pangs of pain, didn’t even register anything except the pleasure.
The inhale she gulped down was shaky at best and too fast at worst but it jolted her from her stupor, and she became aware that she was still largely nude, still lodged on Simon’s cock.
His voice was deadly serious when he whispered, raspy still with arousal. “If you tell anyone about this, who’ll they believe? Me or you, the girl who’s been two-timing two brothers and has done nothing but cause trouble since she showed up at Lyle?”
With a snort, he pulled out of her, the sudden vacancy and the sting making her shudder violently, and the bed squeaked just barely when he sat up and climbed to his feet. A shaft of moonlight illuminated his face, the one Chloe thought she’d known, all kind eyes and sweet smiles, cordial and handsome.
But she now knew better.
Unable to stomach his gaze anymore, she fumbled her panties and shorts up her legs, winced at the soreness between her thighs, her legs still trembling from the aftershocks.
She licked her lips and whispered, “I won’t,” And she wouldn’t. Because, like he’d said, who would believe her? Andrew, the man who’d known Simon all of life? Tori, the girl who was in love with him? Derek, his brother who’d accused her of leading Simon on?
With a shock of cold, she realized without her overbearing aunt, she had no one. No one who’d believe her.
Chloe turned her back as he made his way to his own room and squeezed her eyes shut, muffling her sobs and full-body dry heaves by cramming her face into her pillow, smelling must and faint traces of lavender.
And then she sank into the welcoming embrace of unconsciousness.