Page 92 of The Heartbreaker

He was squeezing.

His hand was like a vise, taking every bit of breath out of my body and worsening when I attempted to loosen his grip.

“Let go of me!”

“No.” I got a strong whiff of beer and cigarette from his breath. “I paid for you. I’m getting my money’s worth.” His other hand was on my inner thigh, rising at an uncomfortable speed. “While you’re in this room, these are my fucking titties. That’s going to be my pussy. And I’ll touch you whenever and wherever I damn well please.”

“Let go of me!” I repeated, hoping the pitch of my voice would alert the staff and a security guard would come running in.

But I couldn’t wait for that to happen.

He was hurting me.

He was touching something that wasn’t his.

He was breaking my rules.

I tore at his fingers, stabbing the backs with my nails.

He didn’t budge.

The only thing that changed was his expression, the passion building in his eyes, the desire bleeding from his lips.

This sick fuck was enjoying this. Something told me that the more I thrashed and yelled, the more turned on he was.

He was after the fight, and he wanted me to give it to him.

I shouted a final attempt. “Let go of me right fucking now!”

And when he didn’t move, when his hand was getting dangerously close to my thong, I lifted my leg and aimed my heel at his balls, and I kicked as hard as I could. When that didn’t feel like enough, I stomped a second time, and my ears were instantly filled with his groans, but my body was free from him.

“Take that, asshole!”

“You fucking whore!”

I left my bra where it was on the floor, not even bothering to reach for it, and I ran from the room, holding my chest as I rushed down the hallway—the walls, the strobe lights, the voices all a blur—and went past the cashier, which dumped me into the main lounge.

Unlike the private room, it was full of light.

Was that why there were tears, why my eyes felt like they were on fire?

And my breath—it was gone.

I scanned the room, looking for something, anything—mostly just familiarity.

But nothing seemed right.

It was all so far away and yet insufferably close.

The music was too loud.

The smell was thick and sickly.

My feet wouldn’t move. It felt as though they were glued to the ground. But my head wasn’t, and I looked from side to side to see where I needed to go.

Where I should go.

Where it was safe.