Author: Olivia Cunning

“Open it, Jason. I need a drink.”

He pulled the bottle out of his jacket and unscrewed the lid. He passed it to her, and she took a long swallow, blowing through a stop sign without a moment’s hesitation. Kara Sinclair was undoubtedly the most beautiful girl Jason had ever seen. She was already making a name for herself in the world of fashion modeling. But that wasn’t what had him under her spell. She was wild. Reckless. He’d pursued her because she was Brian Sinclair’s little sister, and he’d originally hoped she’d introduce him to Brian’s band, Sinners. Five minutes with her had convinced him none of that mattered. He was in love with her.

Kara passed him the bottle of whiskey, and he took a drink. It burned his throat and made his eyes water. Jason winced, wishing he’d stolen something of higher quality. She deserved the best, and he had absolutely nothing to offer. She pulled into the long driveway of a Beverly Hills estate. Why had she brought him to her house?

She parked in the driveway and took the whiskey from him, taking a long draw from the bottle. “I like this,” she said. “Thanks for getting it.”

“It was nothing.”

“Did you really just walk in there and steal it right in front of the clerk?”

Jason shrugged. “I guess.”

“You’re so bad.” She leaned closer, and he caught the sweet fragrance of her expensive perfume mingling with alcohol. The bangle bracelets on her wrists rattled. “I like bad boys.”

He could be bad. As bad as she wanted him to be.

Her breath tickled his ear. “Do you want to kiss me?”

His heart stuttered and then raced. She leaned away to stare into his eyes, and the next thing he knew, they were kissing. Her soft lips tasted of whiskey. His cock was instantly hard, straining against his jeans. He could think of nothing but her. Possessing her. He lifted a trembling hand to her breast. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected a boob to feel like. Not this soft. It yielded to his touch as he squeezed.

Her brutal slap to his cheek caused him to jerk his hand away.

“I didn’t say you could feel me up,” she said, glaring at him in the dim interior of the car.

He didn’t know how to respond. Her slap had only managed to excite him more, and he wasn’t sure how to deal with that unexpected reality, so he kissed her again. He was careful to keep his hands to himself as he suckled her lips. Licked them. Nibbled them. Caressed her lips with his.

“Jason,” she gasped into his mouth.

Kara launched herself across the car so that she was straddling his lap, facing him. She rubbed her crotch against his, mewing in the back of her throat. He could feel the heat between her legs against his cock. Only layers of fabric separated him from sinking into her body. What would it feel like to bury himself in her moist heat? In her… pussy. Oh God, he was going to explode.

“Touch it,” he murmured against her lips. That’s all he needed—her fingers against his bare skin. He could make do with that. “Please, Kara.”

“Tomorrow,” she whispered. “I think I want my first time to be with you. If I show up at your house tomorrow night, you’ll know for sure.”

Kara Sinclair was a virgin? He wasn’t sure why that surprised him. Maybe because she seemed so worldly. He’d expected her to be far more experienced than he was. He would undoubtedly disappoint her with his lack of skill in the sack. It didn’t stop him from wanting to try it, however.

Kara slid off his lap into the driver’s seat, pressing her fingers to her cheeks.

“Get out,” she said.

Was she mad at him now? “Kara?”

“I need to think about this. So you need to go now. Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe not.”

He walked over seven miles to get home. He had a huge case of blue balls, but the agonizing ache was bittersweet. Would Kara show up tomorrow? He was kind of glad she’d put him off for at least a day. He had plans to make. He wanted to satisfy her. Make this special for her. Let it be more about her and less about him.

His father laid into him the moment he stepped through the door. “Where the fuck have you been, you worthless piece of shit?”

“None of your business.”

Dad grabbed him by the front his jacket. “You smell like whiskey. Have you been drinking?”

“Maybe.”

Dad cuffed him on the ear. Jason cried out in pain, covering his ear with one hand. He’d become accustomed to the belt years ago, so his father had started using his fists, and when that no longer made Jason beg for mercy, he’d started boxing him on the ears. Jason never got used to that pain. “Your mother is looking down on you from heaven, weeping over what you’ve become. Weeping that her son is no better than a delinquent, a criminal, a useless, no good pile of shit. You’ll never amount to anything.”

Jason sneered, pretending the words didn’t affect him, but even though he’d heard them a thousand times, they still stung, and he believed them a little more every day. “Are you finished?”

Dad boxed him on the other ear. “Get your ass up to your room, boy. You’re grounded.”

Jason had both ears covered with his hands now. “For what?”

“Drinking. And whatever other trouble you got yourself into tonight.”

“Get your hands off me.” Jason shoved his father, who stumbled back against the wall. “I’m leaving, and I’m never coming back.”

He turned to go, wondering where he could stay, wishing he could get his bass guitar out of his room, but knowing he had to get out immediately.

Jason should have learned by now that his father wasn’t afraid to beat him unconscious to make him obey. He wasn’t sure why he never fought back. He probably could have taken the old man if he really wanted to. But somewhere inside, he knew he deserved this. This pain.

When Jason regained consciousness on his bedroom floor, it was mid-afternoon the next day. His door had been secured with a padlock from the outside, and his windows had been intentionally painted shut long ago. There was no escaping this room.

He went into the tiny connecting half-bathroom and washed up in the sink. A dark bruise marred his cheek, but it was the only visible evidence. The rest of his injuries were under his clothes. He had a hard time taking a deep breath and figured he had another fractured rib. He fingered his rib cage, looking for evidence of protruding bones. At least, he had no complete breaks this time. Nothing bleeding. He was sore, but he’d live.

As expected, his father had confiscated his bass guitar again. With nothing to do, Jason sat on his bed, leaned against the wall, and dreamed of better days. Days of freedom and playing his bass guitar onstage with his favorite band, Sinners. Nights of making love to the most beautiful girl on the planet, Kara Sinclair.

He’d spaced out like that for hours. When he couldn’t stand the ache in his heart anymore, he cranked up his space heater until the coils glowed bright orange. He’d removed the protective grate months ago. As he’d done numerous times, he pressed his right wrist against the hot coils until his flesh seared and blistered. Eventually, the pain became too much, and he pulled away from the punishing heat. Breathing hard, he tightened his leather wrist cuff around the blistered flesh to keep the pain constant. He needed something to hurt him more than the hurt inside. The hurt he couldn’t dig out, no matter how hard he tried.

Someone knocked on his door, and he kicked the heater against the wall in case his father came in and saw what he was doing. He didn’t want him to know. Didn’t want anyone to know that he hurt himself when no one was looking.

“You want dinner?” his dad called.

“No.”

“Suit yourself.” His footsteps faded down the hall.

Sometime later, Jason heard a car with a big engine pull to a stop outside his house. He went to the window to gaze into the darkness. Across the street, Kara had parked. She honked her horn and sat there, waiting for him with the engine idling. She would think he stood her up. That he didn’t want her.

He fought with the window for several minutes, knowing it wouldn’t budge. Desperate for freedom, he grabbed a boxing trophy from his bookshelf and smashed it against the corner of the window. The sound of breaking glass was louder than he expected it would be. The pieces rained down on the porch roof. He paused, waiting for his father to come charging up the stairs to permanently put him out of his misery, but he never came. He must’ve fallen asleep in front of the TV.

Jason threw his blanket over the broken glass in the window frame. His stepped on his space heater to help himself over the windowsill. He dropped onto the roof, paused to make sure his father wasn’t coming to kill him, and then shimmied down the porch post and into the bushes. He fled across the yard and raced toward Kara’s car. Before he could climb inside, she sped off.

Jason watched her retreating lights—heart simultaneously thudding and sinking.

Her taillights brightened, and then her reverse lights came on. She almost ran him over as she backed up the car at a high rate of speed. She stopped, not looking at him. She stared out the windshield and wiggled in her seat. Jace climbed in beside her, and she sped off into the night.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” she said breathlessly. “At first, I was mad, and then a little relieved. When I saw you climbing down from your porch, I got scared. Sorry I took off.”

“It’s okay. If you’re not ready…”

“I am ready,” she said. She reached across the car and squeezed his hand. Her hand was damp, but he didn’t mind. He was pretty nervous himself. “My parents will be at a party until late. I thought… I thought we could… in the pool house.”

He lifted her hand to his lips. “Whatever makes you happy.”

She smiled, looking timid and shy. He’d never seen her this way. He liked this side of her. Maybe even more than the reckless and wild side. He wasn’t sure.

When they reached her house, she took his hand and led him to the pool house. His heart thudded with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. She opened the door, turned on a light, and they entered an open seating area flanked by two doors, one labeled ladies, the other labeled gents. There was a sofa and two chairs in the common area, but no bed. Not exactly what Jason had envisioned for their first encounter, but he could improvise.

She looked at him, and her eyes widened. “What happened to your face?” She touched the bruise on his cheekbone with her fingertips. “Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that.”

She smiled, her nose wrinkling as she gazed into his eyes happily. “Oh, Jason, you are so bad. Kiss me.”

He drew her against his body, and she wrapped her arms around him. Pain snaked through his bruised body as she clung to him. He gasped slightly, and when she looked at him in question, he kissed her. She stiffened in his embrace, so he kept on kissing her until her body finally relaxed.

“Can I touch you?” he asked. He wouldn’t really mind if she slapped him again, but he didn’t want to push her if she wasn’t ready.

“You can touch me anywhere you want.”

His breath caught. “Anywhere?”

“Anywhere.”

“And can I kiss you anywhere?”

She shuddered against him. “Yes.”

He cupped her cheek and shifted his lips to her jaw, her throat, her ear. She sighed, submitting to his questing mouth. Her fingertips dug into his chest, finding bruises he didn’t know he had, sending him to a strange place between pain and pleasure. When his hand found her breast, she inhaled and then drew away. She surprised him by tugging her T-shirt over her head and then unfastening her bra at her back. She looked at him. He could see her pulse thrumming fast and hard in her neck. Blushing, she let the undergarment fall free, leaving her perfect breasts naked to his eager gaze. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He traced one pink nipple with his fingertip, fascinated by the response of her flesh as her nipple grew harder with each stroke.