I tense, because anything to do with him leaving is an extremely sore subject. It’s just another opportunity to attack me. He got sent back to group and then shipped off to the military. Meanwhile I got to stay in the foster home, one with enough food and clothes to go around. He thinks I screwed him over—because I did. He’ll never let me forget. He’ll ruin me, remembering.
His hand strokes my hair gently, almost absently. Maybe he’s just curious.
“Just a few months after,” I manage to say, wondering how much I’ll reveal. Wondering how much he’ll make me reveal.
He stiffens beside me. His eyes snap open, intent and questioning. “Why’d they move you?”
“They didn’t. I left.”
Silence for a beat. “You didn’t turn eighteen for another year.”
I shrug, wishing I felt as nonchalant as I sound. “I didn’t feel like sticking around.”
“So where did you go?”
“Here and there. Nowhere.”
I give him enough to figure it out. Where did I live? The street. What did I do to survive? Everything. I don’t really want to talk about it, least of all with him.
His voice is low when he speaks again. “Did you get your diploma?”
No. My cheeks burn. “It’s no big deal.”
“It’s a big deal from where I’m sitting. You were all about school when I was there. You knew it was your ticket out.”
I laugh darkly. “I think we both know how that turned out.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Lola. Why did you run away? You had a good thing going there. I thought…I figured you sent me away because I was too much in your business. More into you than you were into me.”
My breath catches. It’s like a stab wound, hearing him talk about my deception so casually. But what twists the knife is that he’d somehow rationalized it, like I might have had a quasi-self-protective reason for doing it.
“It wasn’t like that,” is all I can say. I don’t need the excuses he’s giving me. I don’t want them.
His voice is musing. “But if you left right after…”
My heart pounds. I can’t let him figure the rest out. I can’t let him know the truth. He may not have hurt me, but someone did. That’s the only reason I’d have chosen the cold regard of the streets over a warm bed. That’s the only reason I’d have danced on a pole for food instead of grabbing an apple from a kitchen counter. He lived that life with me. He knows what can happen to a girl unprotected. He just never knew it happened to me, that it happened while he was there, all along.
No, it would break me for him to find out. It would ruin me more than rough sex ever could.
I distract him the best way I know how. The only way I know how. With my hand on his cock and my breasts pressed against his side. He responds instantly, growing hard and still.
“We aren’t here to talk,” I whisper.
“We can do both,” he says, but I already hear the lust in his voice. I already feel it creeping over his curiosity like thick, choking vines.
“This isn’t about catching up,” I say. “It’s about saying goodbye.”
His breath catches, and then he’s turning me over, spreading me wide, agreeing without words that this will be over soon. That the truth would only hurt us both. That some secrets are better left unspoken.
It should be impossible, but he’s rougher with me than before, fucking me harder and faster and deeper. He pushes moans out of me. I’m caught in a whirlwind, his whirlwind. It feels like a punishment, as if he’s angry at me for telling him that much. As if he’s angry at himself for asking.
He slows suddenly, pupils large and dark, almost alien, as he stares down at me. “How much will you do for me, Lola? How far will you go?”
I thought it couldn’t get worse than before—the humiliation of him inspecting me, fully clothed. Fucking my mouth with my hands behind my back. I thought that was the most he could degrade me, the worst he could do.
Apparently not.
I whimper on a powerful thrust. “How much do you need?”
I don’t mean it as an offer. It’s a plea. I can’t believe he wants more from me. And I know it will never be enough.
His smile sends a sliver of fear to my gut. God, it shouldn’t be handsome when he looks at me that way. He should have two horns on his head and a tail. His skin should be red. Instead he’s every dream I’ve ever had, my own perverted guardian angel.
“Open your mouth, Lola,” he says softly.
I’m already open to him in every way possible. My legs are spread as he fucks my pussy. He’s already kissed and licked and fucked my mouth. What else is there to do?
The light in his eyes tells me I’m about to find out.
Hesitantly, tremulously, I open my mouth. It’s awkward like that, mouth open with nothing inside. I’m meant to be filled with him, but he lets me sit that way, his gaze dark with anticipation. It’s terrifying to think what might excite him like that. What might humiliate me enough to please him.
One large hand gathers my wrists above my head before I can think to protest. His other hand cups my jaw, opening it wider.
He bends his head—for a kiss?