“No, but…” It was a little disconcerting that he’d ask such a personal question first thing. It showed he had sex on the mind. Of course he did—he was a guy. Even I’d had sex on my mind all day. But I still wasn’t sure if I planned to let it go that far. I wasn’t against it, but I also didn’t want it to be an assumed thing.
Fernando’s mouth found mine and his body pressed me back until I was laying with his weight on me. His hands pushed my skirt up and grabbed my knee, hiking it so he was between my legs. As nervous as I was I couldn’t help but be aroused from his confident control and the way he moved against me. Even through our clothes I could tell he would be an amazing lover. I pushed my fingers into his hair and he surprised me by reaching up, grabbing my wrists, and thrusting them over my head before he continued to kiss me more passionately than I’d ever been kissed.
Nobody had ever pinned my hands over my head before, and it did crazy things to me. I bucked my hips, trying to grind closer. He readjusted my wrists so that they were both held together in one of his strong hands, and his other hand trailed down my body, between my legs. He pushed aside my panties and slid two fingers inside me.
I moaned and pushed my hips against his hand.
“You are so wet for me, Angela. My beautiful little slut.”
I tensed and froze at what he’d called me, but his hands kept working.
“What is wrong?” he asked, pushing deeper. I could have sworn there was amusement in his voice. His fingers pushed slowly in and out, and I wished he would stop for a second. I was pissed off that he’d ruined our awesome moment. Maybe it was just a slip. A cultural misunderstanding. I needed to relax.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just...I don’t like that word,” I whispered. That was an understatement. I hated the word.
“It’s only a word.”
“I know. But where I’m from it’s...offensive.” I was ready to drop the subject. “Look, no big deal, okay?” I wanted him to kiss me again. Turn me on again.
“There are two kinds of women.” His voice seemed to get colder. “Prudes and sluts. I can tell you are a slut, though you don’t like to admit it.”
What. The. Hell.
The apprehension I experienced earlier had nothing on the sick sensation going through me now. I felt him trying to slip a third finger inside me, and I pushed with my shoulders, attempting to sit up. His hand tightened on my wrists and his body felt heavier as his breathing picked up.
“Fernando…stop.” I rocked my hips and turned to the side, knocking him slightly off balance.
He pulled his fingers out of me and slapped my face hard, making me yelp.
Holy shit. In the dimness I saw the white of his smile. That’s when panic set in and I really began to struggle. The more I fought and the louder I yelled, the harder I felt him get between my legs.
This could not be happening. My friends didn’t know where I was! Why was he doing this? Everything had been going fine. I started feeling woozy.
“Angela.” His voice was so smooth. So sickening. “Relax. You are angry over nothing. Be still and you will enjoy this.”
I blinked, my eyes feeling heavy, but my mind still angry.
“What alternate fucking reality do you live in where women enjoy being raped?” I spat the words, panting and verging on tears. A very small part of me still clung to the hope that he would see reason and stop.
“American girls. Always so quick to cry rape. Where you are from, women wish to rule the men. Where I am from, women know their place. And they enjoy submitting. You should try it, Angela. I’m told it is freeing.”
He was a psycho. How could I have so horribly misread him?
All I knew was that if Fernando raped me, he would not get away with it. My parents would nail his ass to the wall, using any means necessary. They were hard asses in the Texas legal world.
“My parents are lawyerrsss…” Damn. All the struggling I’d done had made me so tired. My words were slurring. I felt heavy.
Fernando ran a finger down my cheek.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re feeling good now, eh?”
No. His words. Oh, God. No. The special drink.
In one last hurrah, I fought, bucking and clawing and thrashing with all the energy I had left. Fernando laughed. He fucking laughed. And then he flipped me over onto my stomach and tore my panties down. My tears soaked the leather seat where my face was pressed. A spinning sensation began. Fernando placed gentle kisses all over the side of my face, neck, and ear, while his hand worked to push my thighs apart.
The last thing I felt before my world went black was Fernando forcing himself inside me.
Sixteen-year-old Scottish boy Conall McCray was rudely awoken far too early with a punch to his chest. He came to bleary-eyed with a hangover from alcohol and whatever white stuff he’d inhaled. He stared up into the eyes of his best mate, who was looking quite irate. Perhaps he was mad at Conall for passing out on his bed last night. The thought made Conall want to smile as he ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. He always took what he wanted.
“Of all the lassies at my party you have to shag my own sister?” his friend hollered.