Page 63 of Mimic

“That’s not it.” I tried to appease him, but the whole‘it’s not you, it’s me’argument never worked.

“Bullshit.”

I spun around, and the fire in his eyes was so intense. So arousing. This was the Mimic I wanted. Not the sweet boy who’d never been kissed. I wanted the man who took what he wanted.

Like the other day.

I wanted him to push me to my knees. I wanted him to shove his cock in my mouth and force me to be his. I couldn’t handle the romance. The sweet gesture of making love. That wasn’t for me.

“You should go.”

“Fuck you, Indie.”

We glared at each other, and I pleaded with him in my head, begged him with words I couldn’t say out loud. Words he wouldn’t understand. He’d never fucked a woman before. He’d never lost control and taken her from behind, grunting as he shoved inside her without any thought to what she might want.

But that was what I was used to. I couldn’t be his first. I had to tell him that. I had to be honest.

“I can’t be your first, Mimic.”

He winced as if I’d slapped him. His eyes turned dark with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. I’d seen it before, on other men. Some were angry, some so filled with lust they took their anger out on me.

That was comfortable.

That was familiar.

That was what I craved.

Years of conditioning had turned me into a whore. It was their goal. The Trick Pony stole children and trained them to become whores. Whores they expected to train other children.

I couldn’t be with Mimic, because I would never be able to tell him my secrets. I couldn’t share my childhood with him. He wouldn’t understand it. He would look at me the way the others did. The police and the foster families. The pity and disgust were always there.

Never mind that we were children. Never mind that we were innocent. We didn’t ask for what happened to us. We didn’t want it. But we learned to accept it. We learned to enjoy it and to do it well.

It was what they’d wanted.

It was how we survived.

“You should go.”

“I didn’t want you to be my first, Indie. I wanted you to be my fucking only.”

His words crashed over me as he slammed the door behind him. I threw myself on the bed, and for the first time in my life, I cried for what I wanted. I cried for what I could never have.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Mimic

I never should have opened my fucking mouth. I should have just fucking taken her, like she said. I was starting to understand what the fuck Dakota had said.

Bitches shouldn’t get a say.

When a picture of my sister popped into my head, I froze. What the fuck was I thinking? Dakota was a narcissistic asshole who deserved to be as dead as his fucking father. Nothing that man said should be repeated, not even in my fucking head.

Yet, there it was. His words tormented me. Making me believe I was just like him. I wasn’t fucking like him. My sister didn’t deserve what happened to her. Aspen didn’t deserve what happened to her.

My mother didn’t fucking deserve what happened to her.

I fisted my hands in my hair, pulling it hard enough to hurt. Maybe Rose had something when she was cutting herself.