Page 50

And Cortland didn’t deny that I’m a secret. That’s all I ever could be. Maya and Chase and everyone else would fuck us over. I can’t even tell my best friend. Either of them.

I pull away from him, closer to the window. I bring my knees to my chest, my boots on the seat as he moves his hand from my dress.

“I should go, Cortland.”

He blinks, as if he can’t believe what I just said. Then he shoves a hand through his hair, shaking his head as he turns away from me. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he mutters. “What the hell do you want, Remi?”

I laugh. “You followed me out here. You’re fucking stalking me.

What do you want? You want me to fuck you so you can forget about me?

Tell everyone I really did want it? If that’s what you want, Cortland, come do it.

” He turns to face me again. “Fuck me here. Now. Get it all out, then leave me the hell alone.”

“I won’t be your blade,” he whispers. “You can do it on your own, hurt yourself while you choke on my cock, but I won’t do it for you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

My mouth drops open, and anger bubbles under my high, trying to break free from the calm, lucid surface. “You already did that to me,” I tell him, amazed my voice is quiet. I lean closer to him, my finger on his chest. “You did that.” My own chest is heaving. “You fucked me over, Cortland.”

He catches my wrist in his hand, pulling me closer, the console digging into my side. “Did I?” he asks, his voice barely more than a growl.

“Yes,” I tell him, unflinching. “I trusted you.” I feel myself breaking with every word. “I fucking trusted you.” Those words are jagged in my throat.

He stares at me, unblinking.

We don’t speak for what feels like minutes, time ticking by, more Deftones playing through the speakers. Until he finally says, his voice low, “I’m sorry.”

My throat feels constricted, like I can’t take in enough air.

“I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I…” He closes his eyes, and I see the pain on his face. I don’t know how he has it. I don’t think he’s the one who should feel it. That should be me. It’s mine.

But I can’t deny that it’s there.

I notice circles under his eyes, the gaunt look to his cheeks, the way his brows are pinched together now.

He hurts, too.

And I’m tired of hurting this way.

I don’t want his apologies, either. I thought I did. I thought I wanted him to acknowledge what he did. What they did. But I don’t.

It doesn’t feel good like I thought it would.

And I’m not ready to give up this bad girl persona.

I’m not ready to drown in the past again, those memories from the basement flooding up.

“I just got fucked up,” he says, an edge to his words. “It’s all so… It’s fucked up, Remi.”

No. I don’t want that. His excuses. I don’t want to hear it.

I yank my wrist from his hand, and he lets me, his eyes springing open. I’m not entirely sure how to do this, but I can figure it out.

I reach for the hem of his pants again.

“Remi.” He catches my hands with his, but I glare up at him.

“Let me do this.”

He stares at me, like he’s trying to read me, but I can feel his dick growing harder under my wrist, the way it’s angled over his pants. “You don’t have to?—”

“Let me do it.”

His hands leave mine, smoothing back the flyaways that escaped my braids. “Baby, you really don’t?—”

“Don’t be… like this,” I tell him, yanking at his pants.

He shifts his hips, let’s me pull them down. His boxers, too, just to his knees, his cock free.

My breath catches as I wrap my fingers around him, and he groans at my touch, his head leaned back against the seat.

“How do you want me to be, then, Remi?” he asks, his words hoarse as I pump him in my hand, crouched awkwardly over the console, growing wet between my thighs as I stare down at him, my heart racing.

“Don’t be nice to me,” I tell him. “That’s not what this is.

” Even as I say the words, nervousness has sweat pricking on the back of my neck as I stroke him.

He’s big, which I knew. If I had to choose a starter dick to take my virginity, it wouldn’t have been this one.

I glance up at him, see him watching me.

He must see the anxiety written all over my face, because his lips pull into a wolfish smile. “Nervous?” he asks me quietly, smoothing back my hair again.

I swallow the knot that’s tight in my throat and keep pumping him.

He bites his lip, careful not to pull in his lip ring.

“I just…” I don’t want to admit I’ve never done this before.

He cocks his head, the smile falling from his mouth. “Am I the first?”

So many different ways to interpret that question. “Yes,” I tell him truthfully, less embarrassed than I would be if I wasn’t high.

“But your tongue…”

I arch a brow, confused as I stop mid-stroke, his cock hard and warm in my hand. He smells good, too. Like soap, but not overwhelmingly so. “What about it?”

“You have a piercing,” he explains, as if I don’t know. I almost fainted when I got it with Sloane.

“Yeah, I…” I trail off, realizing what he’s implying. I heard the jokes, too. He thinks I got it to give good head? Or that I must have tested it on someone aside from him?

I almost laugh, but it’s kind of pathetic that I have to tell him it isn’t true. I shake my head, still cradled in his hands as I shift my knees up on his seat. “You’re the first,” I whisper, not thinking of Brinklin. That didn’t count.

So many things about that night don’t count. Not in my head. “I’ll help you,” he says quietly. “If you’re sure you want to do this.”

My cheeks burn, and I repeat what I told him before. “Don’t be nice. That’s not… that’s not you.”

His grip tightens on either side of my face. “It was me,” he says softly. “With you. And I don’t want to be mean.”

Slowly, ignoring him and all the feelings his words create in my chest, I drop my head down, open my mouth wide, and wrap my lips tight around his cock as I fit as much of him in my mouth as I can.

He groans, pulling my braids as he does.

Then I bite him.

Gently, but it must hurt, because he curses, yanking out of me as he does, pulling hard on my braids. “What the fuck was that?” he hisses.

I still have my fingers curled around the base of him. “I told you not to be nice. I meant it.” I lick my lips, strings of saliva connecting me to him. “This isn’t love, Cortland. We’re not dating. And I’m not a good girl anymore.”

He stares at me. Glares at me. “You want me to use you.” It’s not a question.

“Now you’re getting it.” I think about the cemetery. Him cornering me in the library. Being on my hands and knees in the woods, in a position not much different than this. Except then I didn’t have to beg him to use me.

Then, he just did it.

And he let them do it too.

He yanks hard on my braids, making my eyes water, my breath leaving me in a rush. The pain sparks something in me.

“Pay me back for getting you off, Remi,” he says, dipping his chin as he stares at me. “Open your mouth.”

I do, feeling giddy with his commands. Giddy, and a little less lost, because I have no idea what I’m doing, despite my bold words.

“Ah,” he says, smiling, still yanking down on my braids enough to hurt. “You look so pretty like this, baby. Just a mouth for me to use.”

My face warms with his words, and I feel equal parts shame and lust coursing through me. I just want to let go. I just want to forget what it’s like to be damaged for once. I want to be a girl giving a guy she thinks is hot a blowjob.

And yeah, maybe on my birthday in his truck isn’t the best idea for my first time, but it’s what I want.

Tonight I feel bolder.

Freer.

Ryann’s words echo in my head. “You can do whatever you want.”

Cortland angles his hips, let’s go of one braid to lift his shirt with his hand. I see his six-pack, the deep V that leads down to his cock. The one he’s pushing into my mouth, all the way to the back of my throat.

Again, my eyes water, but I feel good in knowing it isn’t from crying.

“You okay?” he whispers softly as I close my eyes.

But with his tenderness, they snap open again and I glare at him. I can’t exactly speak, but I don’t care. I love how he tastes. How he feels. And I drop my hand from around the base of him, plant my palms against his hips.

He closes his eyes as I start to move my head, a groan coming from his lips, and it feels good to know I’m the cause of the sounds emanating from him.

He gathers both ends of my braids in his hand, guiding me back and forth over his dick, faster, harder.

Hitting the back of my throat and making my stomach convulse, but I don’t care.

I don’t even have to do much, the way he’s thrusting against me, guiding my head.

I just make sure my teeth don’t scrape against him and he keeps fucking my mouth.

Drool pools in the corner of my lips, and I stare up at him in wonder, his head tipped back, his teeth on his lip ring as he bites his lip.

It feels good, making him feel good.

It feels strangely powerful too. I always thought of sucking dick as a favor, but getting to hear his low groans, his whispers of my name… I feel like I’m floating.

Like I’m high on more than weed.

Suddenly, his grip is harsher than before and he dips his chin to stare at me as I whimper from the way he’s pulling my hair.

My nails dig into his hips, hard enough to draw blood, but I don’t push away. I just want to hurt him like he’s hurting me.

He smiles. “Too much?” he taunts me, arching a brow. But his chest is heaving, his knuckles white as he keeps holding his shirt up. He thrusts his hips, angling his cock further back into my throat.

I can’t breathe.

I rake my nails deeper into his skin.

“Scared now, Remi?”

Spots pop in front of my eyes, but I’m not scared. There’s something strange about floating this line of consciousness. And maybe it’s weird, and maybe I shouldn’t like it but I kind of do.

He angles his hips more, and those spots become splotches, big and white and obscuring my vision of his granite eyes.

His hand comes to my jaw as his shirt falls. “Don’t pass out, Remi,” he says, his voice angry. “You asked for this. You’re going to finish it.” And just as my grip on his hips loosens because I don’t think I can take it anymore, he pulls out, letting me gasp for breath.

But not for long before he’s pushing into my mouth again, and I flick my tongue on the underside of his shaft, the piercing hitting his ridged skin.

“Goddamn, Remi,” he moans, and a second later, I taste something thick and salty on my tongue, in the back of my throat. His grip isn’t so painful, but he’s still holding my jaw as he comes, sucking in a breath and groaning as he does.

He doesn’t taste bad, and as he pulls out, I swallow all of him down.

He’s panting as he watches my throat bob, his thumb running along my bottom lip. “Fuck,” he swears under his breath.

I start to wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, but he slaps it down. “No,” he says, his voice stern.

I drop my hand, freezing.

“Let me keep looking at you before you wipe this all away.”

My cheeks warm as he turns my head to one side, then the other, but I don’t say anything, keeping my hands on my thighs.

“Stick out your tongue,” he says as he lets go of my braids, pulls up his boxers and his pants, shifting his hips.

Slowly, I do as he asks.

He leans down close to me, then he runs his tongue down the length of mine, over the metal piercing, probably tasting himself on me.

I tense, my entire body warm.

He tastes good, fresh. Minty.

When he pulls back, just slightly, I’m about to ask what he’s doing, but then he spits. In my mouth.

My breath catches.

He grips my jaw again, hard. Not enough to hurt, but enough that I’m paying attention as he stares at me, still leaned down close.

“Swallow that, too. I don’t want the taste of those fuckers in your mouth.” He kisses my lips, roughly, and long enough that when he finally pulls away, his hand still on my face, my mouth feels swollen. “Happy birthday, baby.”