Prescott yanks my skirt up to my hip and pinches my * through the crotch of my panties. “Baby, I’m gonna fuck you so hard tonight.”
I spin back toward the front, falling into the seat, and try to control my breathing.
My hand shakes as I buckle the seat belt. “No, you’re not.”
There’s a heavy dose of conviction in my response. And maybe a tiny smidgen of doubt. I’ve escaped Prescott’s advances before, but I can count those times on one hand.
He laughs. “We’ll see.”
When he turns onto Jackson Avenue and heads away from the river, I don’t have to ask where he’s going. During the six-minute drive to our usual spot, I use one of the overhead lights to skim through his assignments and notes. He’s pretty organized for a guy who’s not interested in homework, his tasks outlined in neat penmanship and notated with due dates. Everything he’s detailed is doable, easy enough to work in with my own assignments.
He pulls into an empty lot, hemmed in by a jungle of weeds and boarded-up homes that didn’t survive the last hurricane.
Shutting off the engine, he turns to me. “I have a proposition.”
A tremor shivers through my insides. Anything he has to offer comes with a painful price.
He bends toward me, his face inches away and cast in darkness. “I know you’re doing homework for a lot of my friends and who knows how many others.”
I haven’t had a chance to talk to the other guys about schedules and assignments. Another dreaded task on my to-do list.
His hand snakes over my thigh, making its way to the gap between my knees. I jerk away, and my legs collide with the door.
With a grunt, he faces forward, posture stiff, his fingers curled around the steering wheel. Fingers I don’t want anywhere near me.
He tips his head against the headrest. “I don’t want to share you.”
“Too bad.”
“Fuck, Ivory! You’re so—” He rubs his hairless cheek and softens his tone. “I got an increase in my allowance. I’ll pay you more, enough to cover what you’re making from everyone else, if you stop seeing them. Give me a price.”
He can’t afford it. I mentally sum up the monthly utilities, mortgage, groceries, and tack on a little extra for school supplies. Shit, that’s a lot of money. Pulling in a deep breath, I give him the number.
“Done.”
What? His fucking allowance covers the sum of all my bills?
I wrap my arms around my midsection. “All I have to do is stop helping other people?”
“That. And stop fighting me on this.” His fingers wrap around my knee, pulling my leg toward him.
“I—I…” My breathing quickens as I try to pry his grip away. “I can’t.” My chest heaves, my fight against his hand useless. “Let go.”
“I’m going to get this anyway. Stop making it so damn difficult.” He releases me and holds his hands up. “What’s it gonna be?”
I sway against the door and cover my face with my hand. Fuck, what choice do I have?
I can walk away from Prescott, forget his money, and try to make up the loss with all the other guys who want the same things he wants.
Or I can tell them all to fuck off and let the mortgage default. I’m not eighteen yet. I can go to social services and explain my situation. Maybe they’ll step in and put me in foster care. But there’s a good chance a new home would be too far away to commute to Le Moyne. Can I put my future in the hands of some grown-up who decides where I go to school? And what about Schubert? A temporary family may not let me bring him. My heart pinches just thinking about that. He’s not just a cat. Schubert is the last gift my dad gave me before he died. He’s the only living form of love I have left to wrap my arms around.
Or I can accept Prescott’s offer, endure just one high-school dick, and keep my house, my school, and my cat.
The pressure of tears burns the backs of my eyes as I force my lips around my answer. “Okay.”
“Okay?” He sits up, his entire body shifting to face me. “Okay…uh…” He twists around, scrutinizing the emptiness of the overgrown lot, and pauses when his gaze lands on the back seat. “Get out.”
With trembling hands, I put the binders on the floorboard, open the door, and step into a tangle of vines.
He’s out of the car and around to my side in a flash. A huge grin contorts his face as he opens the door to the back seat. “In there. On your back.”
No, no, no. My lungs labor for air, and every muscle in my body locks up.
“Ivoryyyyy,” he growls. “That’s not how this works. I’m not paying until I get my dick wet.”
Oh God, he already has a condom in his hand.
Tall grass itches my ankles. The chirrup of nighttime insects creeps from the shadows of broken concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. Another joins in. But it’s the godawful sound of a zipper that screeches past my ears.
He holds his dick in his hand, the bulbous thing swollen to fullness and pointed right at me as he rolls on the condom. Nausea simmers, and saliva rushes into my mouth.