Page 30
Story: Sparktopia
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
T he moment Clara enters the god’s tower there is a massive flash of cyan-blue spark, then… blackness.
Everyone in the entire city—gasps.
Then the lights come back on and there is nothing but silence.
Something akin to emptiness.
The quiet is broken by Finn when he raises his voice for all to hear. “There. Are you happy now? Does this make you happy now?”
Of course, no one answers him. He’s the Extraction Master and the God’s Tower stage is his domain. Everything that happens up here is scripted by tradition. Even when it’s not, which is the case here, as there are no more lines to say and no more acts to perform.
The only thing that happens after the Maiden disappears is… dispersal.
But no one moves. All eyes are focused on Finn.
He’s angry when he points to Gemna. “One more, right? We only have to do this one more time.” Then Finn whirls around to look at us , the Little Sisters, and for whatever reason, his gaze locks with mine as his words spill out. “You’re next, you know.”
I point to myself, mouth open in shock. “Me?”
“Not literally, of course. But then again, who knows? Maybe it will be you? Maybe I should just choose right now?” He turns to the crowd of important up-city people wearing all their fine clothes, with their fancy hair, and their sparkling jewels, and their prim attitudes. “What do ya say? Should we just pick her now? I can pick all ten, if you’d like. Then we can stop pretending this Choosing is anything other than a culling for slaughter. They might as well just be pigs. Hell, all of you might as well just be pigs.”
I think all of up-city chokes in horror at this comparison. Some of them start whispering.
Then Finn’s friends, Mitchell Davies and Jeyk Ward, come up on either side of Finn, leaning in to him, whispering as they grab him by his upper arms and try and lead him off the stage.
Finn resists. “No, I won’t shut up. And no, I won’t go home! This is fucked up, you guys. This whole thing is fucked up !”
Gemna steps forward, looking every bit the part of a Spark Maiden who knows her place and her value. Because her back is straight, her chin is up, her shoulders square, and her eyes are flashing. “When?” She crosses the stage, walking towards Finn as she speaks. “When, Finn? When did you first realize that this was a sacrifice? When Imogen went through? When Marlowe went through? When the Mabels went through? At which point in this culling did it occur to you that this was a slaughter? Oh.” She smiles sardonically as she taps her chin with a single, perfectly manicured fingernail. “No. It wasn’t until Clara went through that you decided to take a closer look at what the actual fuck was happening here.”
Finn closes the short distance between him and Gemna and growls at her. “That’s not fair. I wasn’t in charge until three days ago. That’s not fair .” He’s very tall, but Gemna is not a tiny woman the way Haryet was, so while they are not eye to eye, she in no way looks cowering.
Lucindy leans in to me. “What the hell is happening?”
“I don’t know.”
Mitchell starts yelling, pointing at Gemna. Then he snaps his fingers and Jeyk has grabbed her by the arm and is pulling her off the stage. She’s screaming at Finn now. “Coward! You only care because you lost something this time! You never cared about anyone but yourself and Clara!”
Everyone starts yelling at once. And then we’re surrounded by Matrons ushering us backwards in the direction of the Maiden Tower and the Little Sister dorm.
What happens next is hidden from my view, but the commotion continues behind us until we’re all back inside the building, making our way through the hallways.
Britley and Lucindy are shook up over what just happened, nervously chatting on either side of me as we enter the dorm and make our way down the brightly painted blue canal towards our spaces. Ceela and Harlow are leading the way in front of us, discreetly whispering to one another.
“Girls!” Everyone in the dorm stops and the whole place goes silent when Auntie Bell’s voice echoes off the four-story ceilings. We all turn, almost in unison, because the shuffle of dresses sounds coordinated.
She’s standing in the middle of the open double doors, looking down her nose at us with hands folded in front of her. “You will not ever again discuss what happened after the Extraction tonight. Not even whispers. Do you hear me?”
“But Matron Bell,” one of the more popular up-city girls says, “they were so disrespectful of the god and our tradition. Both the Extraction Master himself, and our Maidens.”
She makes a point of stressing the word ‘our’ here. Because technically, the Spark Maidens are the property of Tau City. It’s all paid for by Tau City. Which means it’s paid for by us. Well, not me—I’m not a taxpayer—but that’s not the point.
The point is that Gemna acted in a way unbecoming of a Spark Maiden. She was not poised, proper, and polite tonight. Neither was Clara. Not at all. And all of us saw it.
Neither was Finn acting much like the god’s master of ceremony. Calling people pigs! What was he thinking?
“It was a stressful night, Little Sister Maylyne, wouldn’t you agree?”
The up-city girl nods, reluctantly. “Yes. But they’re all stressful. No one wants to go into the tower, but—” She scoffs here. “The nerve of her. After ten years of mooching off city taxpayer money?—”
“ Enough !” Auntie nearly blows her top over the boldness of this girl’s statement, cutting it off. “You heard my order. There will be no discussion. Not even whispers. Now quickly get to bed. You’ll be up before sunrise for your first official day in Little Sister training. Lights out in five minutes.”
I’m looking at Auntie when she says these words, and she’s looking directly at me as well. Her eyes narrow and she gives the slightest of nods. Get to work, Jasina . That’s what that nod says. Then, with a swish of her tunic and scapular apron, she turns and walk out the doors.
I blow out a breath, because I’m exhausted. Like never in my life have I ever felt this tired. And that little nod was a gentle reminder that my nights are not for sleeping.
We all turn back to the dorm and I make my way to my space at the end of the canal. I’m not even undressed when the lights go out and I end up pulling my nightgown on over my head by the glow of the dim floor nightlights.
There’s a chorus of whispered goodnights weaving their way along the gently curving walls and hallways and as I stand in the middle of my space, I say them as well.
But I don’t go to bed. I don’t make any move at all. I just wait until I hear the gentle sound of Britley’s snoring. She’s the closest one to me and this snoring is my signal to get to work.
So, in my nightgown and bare feet, I make my way to the back rooms, go down the stairs, passing by many, many empty bedroom spaces, and then find the stairs that go up.
A nightgown is not the most appropriate outfit for spying, but after living through the most chaotic start to the Choosing in recorded history, there are more important things to be concerned about.
It’s a pretty nightgown, though. As are all the clothes made for the Little Sister experience. They’re all white, of course, and the cotton is soft and light with a little bit of pastel silk ribbon trimming each hem. They’re meant to be identical, but since they are handmade, there are slight differences. Mostly in the color of the trimmings.
I didn’t even get a good enough look at this nightgown to notice the ribbons, but oh, my gods. Why am I even thinking about this? Who cares, Jasina?
There is the door.
This is the only thing I can think to do tonight. This door is the only out-of-place thing I’ve found during my short stay.
It’s a long shot, but I’m taking it. Because my only other choice is to stay in bed and get some sleep. And while I would prefer that choice, I don’t think Auntie would be very forgiving if I came to her with nothing the next time we meet.
I need something.
This door is my something.
I let out a long sigh as I walk over to it, then mutter, “At least it’s a start,” as I take a pin out of my hair and pick the lock. Even if I wasn’t part of the Rebellion, I would know how to pick a lock on a door like this. Everyone down-city knows how to pick a simple lock.
It only takes a few tries, then I hear the telltale ‘click’ of the locking mechanism releasing.
I take one last look behind me, then pull the door open.
It’s dark inside, but when I move forward a little, small lights pop on along the floor. Just a few. Just enough for me to gather my nerve, look over my shoulder one last time, step in, and allow the door to close behind me.
My heart is beating wildly at this point, so much so I’m nearly out of breath even though I’m standing still.
Fear, Jasina. That’s fear you’re feeling .
I don’t like the fear, but I can control it. So I take a moment to close my eyes, slow my breathing, and think of the mission and what I’m actually trying to accomplish here.
The standard line is freedom. That’s what we’re after. To be free of this god and his tower. To stop the Extractions. To make the future brighter for all the people of Tau City.
Normally, most people don’t think about the Spark Maidens. They have been tricked into accepting them through the use of this clever Choosing campaign and by celebrating, as well as envying, the luxurious decade of extravagance that will be bestowed on the nine women who will be spared.
But this time it’s not going well, this delusion Tau City has talked itself into. Nine women have been ritualistically sacrificed to the god in the tower and people are beyond nervous now. They’re on the verge of panic, as is evident from the outbursts on the tower stage tonight by Gemna and Finn.
Of course, Tau City should’ve been this unsettled about Imogen and all the other number ones who came before her. But people are slow to accept that they are stupid. And I suppose the god has done us a favor by calling all the Spark Maidens in like this. It puts the whole thing right up in people’s faces.
When I open my eyes again, my heart has slowed and my feet move forward.
The lights pop on as I move. I’ve seen them act this way in a few places up-city, so while it’s not common, it’s not completely foreign to me.
The lights are helpful. Especially when I come to a stairwell leading down. As I descend, I can detect a hum. And by the time I get to the bottom, the hum is more of a rumble. Like there are machines down here.
I’m barefoot, and the ground down here is flat, and hard, and a little bit wet. When I look up, there are pipes—some of which are leaking, and explain the wetness. The passage at the bottom of the stairs only leads one way. I take a moment here to orient myself and decide that I am under the canal and the passage leads across it. Not a bridge, but a tunnel.
Right to the Extraction Tower?
Makes sense, so I follow it until I come upon another stairwell, which goes up. A long way up. And after climbing many flights of stairs I realize that there are no doors to exit out. There are no choices to make, so I keep climbing.
Finally, when I am winded, and exhausted, and ready to just sit down and take a nap—damn the consequences—I realize this is the end of the stairs. I’m at the top. And when I arrive on the landing, there is a door to my right.
I pause, catch my breath, try to stop the fear, fail, and then just keep going. Walking right up to it and reaching for the handle.
What is on the other side of this door? I have no clue. But I push it open anyway. Just a crack. Just enough for a tall, thin beam of light to enter my darkness.
I hear voices. Muffled, but recognizable. It’s Finn and his friend—or whatever he is these days—Mitchell Davies.
Finn is being loud. “She’s gone, Mitch. And I did that!”
“You had no choice, Finn. Just… you’re tired, man. You’re beat. You need to rest. It’s been a really fucked-up week. And the next Choosing will be here before?—”
“Fuck that .” Finn doesn’t even let him finish. “Fuck that, Mitch. I’m not doing this.”
“You’re not doing… what ?”
“The Choosing. It’s not even gonna matter. The Council told me—” But he stops.
I can’t see them—they are in another room across the open space in front of me—but I don’t need to see Finn’s face to deduce that he just said something he wasn’t supposed to.
“The Council told you what?” Mitch sounds pissed. Possibly at being left out.
“Never mind. It’s not important. Just go, OK? Go and take everyone with you.”
“But the cooks. It’s nearly breakfast time. They’re already?—”
“I don’t care!” Finn yells this. And it is followed by a long, dramatic silence on Mitch’s part. Then he’s there, in the doorway of the room across the room, and I slink back, letting the door I’m holding open close to just a sliver as I watch Mitchell Davies leave by way of a staircase going down.
About a minute later I can just barely make out his voice somewhere else in this building, telling the cooks, or whoever, to get out and go home. The Master would like his privacy.
What do I do now? Leave and go back to bed? It’s what I want to do. Desperately want to do.
But I can’t decide if I’ve found enough information. And just as I’m thinking this, Finn appears in the open door of the other room, holding a bottle of whiskey. He leans against the doorjamb, his eyes unfocused as they travel up a massive wall of windows with the most incredible view of the night sky, not to mention the God’s Tower.
He sighs. Drinks. Sighs again. Then he clumsily turns, walking back into the room, kicking the door closed behind him.
Is that the room I’m looking for? Is that the room Auntie told me to find?
Maybe. But it doesn’t matter. It’s the only room I’ve come across. This is the Extraction Tower. I’m here. That goal, at least, has been met. But it’s not enough. I need a yes or no on that room Finn’s currently in, one way or the other.
That’s actual information. Not good information, but what I’ve gathered so far amounts to a whole bunch of nothing.
It’s so close. There’s no way I can leave now. I need to get in there. Just a peek. That’s all I want. Just to see it one time so when Auntie asks for a progress report, I will have information she needs.
Finn is drinking. Probably well on his way to being drunk. The odds are pretty good that he’s going to pass out in that room. Which sucks, because that means I won’t be able to get in there and look around. But there is a lot to see here aside from that room. I must explore. I must have something to take back to Auntie.
“Finn!” Mitchell’s distant voice floats up from downstairs and I go absolutely still. “I’m leaving. Everyone’s gone, but we’ll all be back just after dawn.”
I wait for the door to open again and for Finn to appear and answer his friend. But he doesn’t. There’s nothing but silence.
“Finn?” Mitchell calls up one more time. Then I barely make out, “Fuck it,” as all the lights flip off somewhere down below. A door bangs closed.
I wait, listening for any noises that might indicate that people are still here, but when I don’t hear anything after counting out a full minute, I push my door open wider and take a cautious look around.
The first thing I notice is that this is not a door. At least, not on the interior side of things. It’s a bookcase filled with books. I’m just about to turn away when a spine catches my eye. The Godslayer and His Courtesan. The same book I found in the sewing room back in the dorm.
How odd.
I pull it out and look at the cover, examining it carefully. Taking in the details. It’s a nice illustration, though old and the colors are fading. The Godslayer is portrayed as a beautiful man and his courtesan an even more beautiful woman. Behind them is a desert background because the most popular of the tales take place during the Great Sweep when the winds dominated the world and covered it in sand.
I have an urge to open the book and read it, but it’s a stupid urge because it’s the middle of the night, I’m spying on the Tau City Extraction Master in my nightgown, and if I get caught, my life is over. So I put it back on the shelf.
Anyway , a soft voice inside me says, there’s another copy in the dorm. You can read it any time you like .
Right now, I need to gather as much information about the Extraction Master’s palace as I can. Then I need to get the hell out of here and get as much sleep as possible before dawn breaks and the new day starts because I will not have a single moment to myself until dinner.
Even though the lights are out, the windows are so massive that all three moons in the night sky find a way to shine across the room. Cautiously, I start exploring, walking over to the stairwell first and peeking over the side of the railing. It spirals down another three levels.
But I don’t even consider going down there. The room I need tonight is up here, so whatever is happening downstairs can wait.
The problem is, there’s not much up here. It looks like an observation deck. There’s a desk, the door disguised as a bookshelf, another bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, and a scope that I know from school is used to observe the night sky, but that’s pretty much it. I do carefully, and quietly, riffle through the desk drawers, but there’s nothing in there but writing paper and pencils. No personal items of any kind.
I really need to get in that room. It’s not just for Auntie’s approval, either. It’s for the greater good. I have been chosen to make a difference in the lives of the people of Tau City. Me . Jasina Bell. I am the Rebellion’s secret spy. My name—if I succeed—will go down in history. I will be the reason why the Rebellion triumphs over the evil god. People will talk about me far, far into the future. I don’t even care if I die trying, either. Would I love to mooch off the taxpayers of Tau City for ten years the way Clara Birch did? Yes. Yes, I would. I would take that life if that’s what I was handed.
But I feel like things are progressing in a weird fast-forward way. In fact, I’m starting to get the feeling that there will be no next Extraction. I mean, Finn was pretty clear tonight. First the outburst on the God’s Tower stage and then, plain as can be, he told Mitchell Davies that he wasn’t going to go through with it.
This is when I remember that he almost spilled a secret tonight. A secret about something the Council told him.
Yes. Things have changed around here. I could feel them changing—slowly—as the Maidens were uncharacteristically called into the tower over the years. But Clara Birch’s Extraction tonight is most definitely a turning point and things seem to have reached a precipice.
As far-fetched as it seems, there might not be another Extraction. And if that’s the case, things will fall apart very quickly. Three months, that’s all we have. That’s when the next Extraction Maidens are Chosen and number one is supposed to walk through those tower doors.
Two weeks ago, if you had told me that the Extraction was on the verge of being obliterated, I would’ve agreed—because that’s my mission as a rebel—but I would not have believed it.
Tonight? Tonight it feels not just possible, but inevitable. The wind has turned. The sands have shifted.
The Rebellion could end this in a matter of weeks. And I might be the one to make all that happen.
Forget the gowns, and the coin, and the galas. I need to take every risk. I need to make every sacrifice. I need to be the one who takes down Finn Scott, Tau City’s last Extraction Master. And I don’t care if I die doing it—at least my life will have made a difference.
So I’m going to check the room. Just a tiny peek. It’s not even a risk. Not really. He’s been drinking and by the way he was slouched against the door, it was obvious that it was affecting him. He’s probably already passed out.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I walk to the door, grasp the handle, and, ever so slowly, twist. It doesn’t squeak and when I apply a little pressure, it opens just a crack. Just enough for me to see what’s inside.
I gasp. Not loud, but Finn, who is not sleeping, but only hunched over on the… desk—I’m not sure if that’s the right word for circular piece of glass in the middle of the room, but there’s no time to really take in what I’m actually looking at—because he stirs, straightens up, and is just about to look over his shoulder when I pull back, leaving the door slightly ajar, and start running across the room, back to the bookshelf.
I’m just reaching for it when behind me he says, “Clara?”
I stop, holding my breath. Clara ? How could he mistake me for Clara? Not only do I have red hair and she has blonde, but he just sent her into the tower like an hour ago. Is he that drunk?
A smile creeps up my face. Maybe he is.
“ Clara .” Her name comes out sharp this time.
“Yes,” I answer. But I do not turn.
He exhales. “I knew that was you.”
I hold my breath in, not daring to move. Am I caught? I’m not sure. He’s wasted. Not sloppy wasted, though. He’s not slurring his words like the men down-city in the taverns where the whores work. But I can smell the whiskey from here. Plus, there is no way to mistake me for Clara Birch if one is not completely smashed. Forget about my red hair, we’re not even the same height.
When I hear footsteps coming towards me, I nearly panic and run. I could outrun him, I’m sure of it. There are a lot of stairs. He’ll probably trip and fall if he gives chase. My chances are good. But it’s too late, because he grabs hold of my shoulder and for a moment I think he’ll spin me around and there’s no way he’s drunk enough to mistake my face for hers.
But he doesn’t turn me. He presses his chest into my back, slips his hands over my hips, leans his face into my neck, and urges me to step forward. I don’t know what else to do, so I just comply. But I soon realize there’s a couch in my way. The back of one, actually. It’s facing the windows, like he and Clara might’ve spent their nights up here stargazing.
When I reach it, I expect him to stop pushing me forward—because obviously, there is nowhere else to go. But instead, he places his hand between the middle of my shoulder blades, pressing and urging me to bend over.
“Remember when I bent you over this couch the other night and fucked you, Clara?”
Um. What the hell is happening? More importantly, what do I do?
But again, I don’t have much of a choice. I mean, I could scream or something. Wriggle away, possibly. But he’s pretty insistent. And if I do either of those things, he’ll snap out of whatever delusion he’s currently existing in and I’ll be… I don’t even know. Caught, obviously. Punished. And I don’t think Auntie would come to my defense, either. It’s too risky. We’ve come too far. The Rebellion is infinitely more important than one teenager who was stupid enough to get caught on her very first assignment.
I would be kicked out of the Little Sisters, disgraced, and sent back down-city to spend the rest of my life regretting my stupidity on this night. Harlow or Ceela would probably take my place as lead infiltrator, and that would be that. My life’s work over before it started.
Fuck that. I will not scream and I will not run. If he wants to think I’m Clara, then that’s who I am. “Of course I do, Finn, darling. How could I ever forget that? It was amazing.”
He huffs out a small laugh, pulling me back up into a standing position. “You liked it. You slapped me, but you liked it. You came three times, didn’t you?”
“Mmmmhmm,” I hum. But for freak’s sake, what the hell? I am not a virgin and I’ve had my share of boyfriends over the past couple of years, but… yeah, I don’t know what to do with this. They’re into dirty talking?
I dunno. I’m having a hard time picturing Clara Birch dirty-talking. Or even being on the listening end of it. She’s so… I mean, I don’t actually know her, but ‘uptight’ is the first word that comes to my mind. She’s rigid and prim.
And Finn, right now, seems very much the opposite of that.
His fingertips slide up over the curve of my right hip, pausing for a moment before gliding around the front of me. His other hand finds my bare arm—nearly stiff at my side from the shock of his touch—and slips down to circle my wrist. Like he’s afraid I’ll run, and if I were to try, he would stop me.
“Clara. You know I love you, right? You know I didn’t have any choice tonight, right?”
I nod my head but can’t seem to find any words. And anyway, I’d rather not speak if I can help it. He’s immersed inside this delusion at the moment, but I doubt it would take much to bring him out of it. One wrong step, I imagine. So I’m going to stay silent.
The hand on my stomach inches up the center of my ribcage, the other still threatening to hold me captive. His fingertips spread across my front until his entire palm is between my breasts.
I hold my breath as he leans into my neck, an explosion of chills erupting all over my body when he whispers, “Do you want me to make you feel good, Clara? Should we do it like we did that night?”
My eyes are wide, a war of desires wages in my mind, and I shudder.
“You do, don’t you?” He kisses my neck.
And I swear, I don’t mean to moan, but it slips out. I can feel him smiling against the tender skin just under my ear.
“It was fun like that, wasn’t it?” Fun like what ? He continues the thought, as if he’s reading my mind. “All bent over the couch. Your ripped underwear on the floor.” His hand slides back down my belly, grabs the cotton fabric of my nightgown, and his fingertips slip underneath it. Inching down inside my underwear. “Your legs were all spread open for me. You were ready for it, weren’t you?” And just as he finishes those words, his fingertips are between my legs and it is very apparent that I am, indeed, ready for it, because they slide all over the place.
He chuckles against my ear, his hand moving back and forth between my thighs.
“Bend over again, Clara.” These words are whispered so softly, I close my eyes and almost melt. Then his hand is between my shoulder blades again. Not pushing this time, though. “You do it. I want you to want it, Clara. Bend over and show me you want it.”
Do I want it? Or am I still pretending that this is just part of my job description as Rebellion infiltrator? Do I care at the moment?
A smirk plays across my face. Not really.
I haven’t spent much time thinking about Finn Scott, but there’s no denying he’s handsome. A little too pretty and clean for my tastes, but that dirty mouth of his has me reconsidering.
I bend over, telling myself that it’s an opportunity. One I can’t pass up. That this is just what’s required to get the job done.
It’s a lie. Even in this moment I know this. But I tell myself the lie anyway. I can introspect the fuck out of this decision tomorrow—if I still care about the moral implications. But right now, I just want him to keep going.
He chuckles behind me as he pushes my nightgown up my back, his fingertips making little circles down my spine until they come to that dip where they meet my underwear. “Slide them down over your ass, please, Clara. So I can see how pretty it is.”
I gulp air, but don’t hesitate. I reach behind me and begin to pull my underwear down, but his hands grasp mine, stopping me when they reach the top of my thighs.
“Leave them right there for me, please. They’re so pretty tonight. So plain and white.”
There are many seconds of silence after this. Like he’s expecting me to say something back. Does Clara talk dirty back to him? Should I be doing that? To… like… convince him that I’m her? To keep him in the delusion?
I bite my lip, trying to think of something to say, then blurt out, “I put them on just for you.” My voice is husky and deep with desire.
I can’t see his smile, or feel it—not literally. But I know he’s smiling. And while I’m thinking this his foot knocks against my ankle, kicking my leg open. I nearly fall over, but he grabs my hair in his fist, steadying me.
This shocks me. I don’t know why, of all the things he’s been doing for the past few minutes, it’s the hair pulling that makes me reconsider what my goals are here—but it is.
Mostly because it makes me moan. Not cry out in pain because a boy yanked on my pigtails in school. But actually… sexually moan. Like I want him to do it again.
This is some kind of signal to him. It must be. Or it gets him off or something. Because suddenly the fingers between my legs are pushing up inside me and I’m wriggling. Not trying to escape, but out-of-control wriggling because it feels so damn good. It’s almost too much. It’s like he just lit a fire inside me. Ignited a passion within me that I never even knew existed.
I’ve had hands between my legs before. The hands of boys who didn’t really understand what they were doing. But this is the hand of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing.
The initial wave of the climax bursts out of me as a tightly controlled squeal. My mouth clenches together, as I am desperate to control it. But the second wave is like an explosion. Like the fireworks on Extraction Eve. And there is no hope of stopping the scream that flows out of my mouth. So loud, it echoes off the ceiling.
Finn laughs, yanking my hair that is still in his fist. His laugh mingles with my moans as wave after of wave of pleasure fills me up until I feel so out of control, a sob escapes past my lips and my eyes tear up.
It’s not fear and it’s not pain, so it’s confusing. I don’t understand what I’m feeling because I’ve never felt anything like this before. No boy has ever made me squeal like an animal.
But this man did. And everything about what just happened feels primal and dirty.
But the most humiliating thing is… I want him to do it again. The pleasure is still coursing through me—my thighs trembling, the wetness of my orgasm running down them—and all I can think about is how I want him to do it again.
He’s still laughing. Thrusting his hips forward, grinding himself against my upturned ass. And then hope fills me—replacing the humiliation of lust—because he hasn’t finished yet.
There will be more.
He lets go of my hair, grabs my hips with both hands, and thrusts again. But his pants aren’t open. And I’m suddenly unsure. Is he just going to play with me like this? Or is he going to put himself inside me?
“Are you tired, Clara?”
“No.” It comes out before I can think about it. Because I don’t want this to stop. I want it to keep going. I want it to last forever.
“I am.” He sighs these words out as he reaches forward and grabs my shoulders, guiding me to stand back up.
My eyes close and my shoulders drop as a sigh of frustration escapes before I can stop it. Hope drains. Desire blooms. And this is it. Maybe he’s too drunk to finish.
I’m no stranger to this outcome. The boys my age need the drink to get the nerve. And they don’t understand that line between too much and not enough.
But I do.
And I know how to get what I want out of them, even when they don’t.
I want Finn Scott inside me tonight. And I need him hard in order to satisfy this lust of mine.
I reach behind me until my fingertips find his belt. His lips press up against my neck, his mouth kissing my earlobe as he whispers encouragement. “Yes. Keep going. Make me want you.”
Once the belt is unbuckled, I unbutton his pants, opening them up. He’s rock-hard inside his undershorts and I pause, closing my eyes as I let my hands explore his tight bulge.
Finn becomes impatient, breathing heavy into my ear as his hands take over, pulling himself out and placing the full length of him between my palms. He squeezes my hands, forcing me to squeeze him. Then my head falls back onto his shoulder as we both begin the back-and-forth rhythm of sex.
He’s kissing my neck, driving me crazy, and my hands go faster, making him moan. He nips the tender skin just below my ear and I hiss, but this just makes him chuckle.
I want more. It’s almost an uncontrollable need. So I bend back over the couch and spread my legs as far as they will go with my underwear still binding my thighs. Almost cutting into my flesh.
Finn lets go of my hands, then takes each of them and spreads my arms wide across the back of the couch. I’m panting, waiting, lusting, grinding my hips and thrusting them backwards, inviting him to enter me.
But he laughs, and I recognize the sound of a man pleasuring himself. “Oh, you are very fuckable, aren’t you? And I would love to. But if I give you what you want tonight, Clara, you might not come back for more.”
Then the hotness squirts all over my back, and he’s moaning, and my own fingers have to slip between my legs and move through the slippery wetness because I refuse to leave here without another climax.
There is combined moaning, and writhing, and then he’s spinning me around, kissing me. His mouth hard and forceful against mine. He grips my breasts, walking me backwards around the couch, and then he shoves me down into it.
“Yes,” I moan, looking him straight in the eyes.
“No.” He looks me straight back. Then he collapses into the couch cushions, his arms around me as he slides to the side, lying down. His pants open, his dick still hard, semen on my backside, my underwear still at my thighs, the wetness practically dripping down my legs.
And he holds me like this—captive, willing, mostly satisfied, yet craving more—and falls asleep.
I stay absolutely still, wondering how humiliated I would be in the morning if I rubbed myself against his thigh and got off just one more time before I leave.
In the end, I don’t. I get up, straighten myself out, not even caring if he’s watching—but he isn’t. He’s out—and walk over to the room I came for.
The door is still slightly ajar, but I push it wide open and look up and around at what I know to be the Looking Glass.
I memorize it. The sleek black glass of the circular desk in the middle of the room. The glass panels in the shape of triangles that cover every bit of the circular room as well as the domed ceiling. It’s very different than the room Auntie showed me, but that’s good. She said that one was outdated and this one wasn’t.
It’s certainly looks to be in working condition to me. Though, what it does, I have no idea. But I’m not supposed to know what it does. I’ve only been tasked with finding it. And that mission had been accomplished.
As for the message she wanted me to find? Well. I think maybe she had wrong information. There is no paper in here. There are no pencils. I did find that stuff out in the desk but there were no messages written on the notepads.
So I’m not sure what the message is all about.
Still, I feel like this is enough.
I have found the the room she was looking for.
I have succeeded.
My name will be in the history books.
Everyone will remember Jasina Bell—the young rebel who found the Looking Glass, which is… well, who knows? It’s probably the thing that changes everything.
A smirk grows on my lips and a chuckle escapes my mouth as I walk over to the bookcase and open it up.
Everyone but Finn Scott will remember, that is.
Because he’s too drunk to even know I was here.
Table of Contents
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
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- Page 29
- Page 30 (Reading here)
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