Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 29029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29029 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
I thought about it.
Right before he was ready to thrust into me, I almost told him to stop. Instead, I braced myself, because I knew I had to do it at some point, and I wanted it to be Max.
It could only be Max who brought me back into this.
But now… Now, we’re done.
Do I get up and leave?
I rise onto my shoulder, and I regard Max Robinson.
He is a beautiful man. No doubt about that. Tall and broad and solid, all muscle. Dark hair lightly covers his legs, and between them is his dick surrounded by a black bush. He’s only semi-hard now, but he’s still massive.
I had no idea he was so big. But why would I know? He and I were never together that way.
I never imagined us together this way. He was always Max. Max, my best friend.
What if I’ve changed our friendship forever by insisting that he have sex with me? What if we can never go back to where we were?
I need to leave.
I need to get out of here right now, because if I stay, I may ruin our friendship even more.
And I don’t want that.
I need Max right now.
I need my best friend.
I roll off his bed.
He jerks upward. “Jen?”
“Hey. I… Thank you.”
He cocks his head. “Thank you?”
“Well, yeah. For doing what I asked of you. For bringing me back into sex.”
“Oh. Yeah. Sure. No problem.” His voice cracks a little.
I grab my panties, my shoes, and my dress, and escape into his bathroom. I dress quickly and then look in the mirror above Max’s sink.
The scar on my cheek. Sometimes it’s all I can see.
No.
No.
No, I won’t go back.
No…
But the images blur, and as I grasp his granite countertop, blood drips from the cut on my face…
No!
The searing pain as my flesh is cut.
Mr. Brown.
Not his real name, of course. None of these men use their real names. Smith, Jones, Brown, Miller.
We have a lot of them.
This one is Mr. Brown, and he always wears a mask. A simple black mask like the Lone Ranger.
But still I can see his eyes. They’re dark blue, and they’re so full of hatred.
He likes to fuck me. Chase me around the hunting grounds and then fuck me. He’s not usually too cruel.
But tonight, he’s different. His eyes are different.
He pulls out a knife, and he cuts my face.
Tears stream down my cheeks, and the salt from them make the wound hurt more.
“Not so pretty now, are you?”
I bite my lip, try to keep from crying out.
But I’m not as strong as some of the girls. Garnet, Opal… they’re all much stronger than I am.
They never cry, and they get tortured so much worse than I do.
Garnet was in the infirmary for weeks one time. So was Moonstone.
He taunts me again. “You’re ugly now. No one else will want you.”
I close my eyes, still bawling, and I try not to feel the rest of what he does.
Jenna! Jenna! Are you okay?
I’m curled into a fetal position, crying.
I’m on a hard surface. Not sure where I am.
Please no more. Don’t cut me again. Please.
“Jenna, baby.”
I’m moving then. Am I walking? I’m not sure. Then…a soft surface.
“What can I do for you? Please. Talk to me.”
The voice.
The voice is comforting. But I need to get out of here.
I scramble off the bed.
The man. I recognize him. It’s Max.
But then it’s not Max.
It’s Mr. Brown with his hateful and cold blue eyes.
I scream, lunge at him, and he grips me.
“It’s okay, Jenna. It’s okay.”
But I pull away, push him onto the bed, and run out. Out of the bedroom and out of the apartment.
Once outside, I breathe deeply.
And I remember.
This is Max’s place. My car is here. It’s downstairs in the parking lot. I race down, get into my car, turn on the engine, and scream out of the lot.
Need to get home.
Need to get home.
Need to get home.
15
MAX
I called Jenna, and I stopped by. Both times Susanna told me she wasn’t seeing anyone.
My fault. I should have known Jenna wasn’t ready to get physical. I should have thought of her instead of myself. But I must move on. I have no other choice. Despite the mixed signals she gave me, I must accept the fact that Jenna doesn’t feel the same way I do, and she never will.
So I throw myself into my work, a week goes by, and I do something ill-advised.
I call Mimi and ask if we can talk. To my astonishment, she agrees.
“Thanks for meeting me,” I say to her in our favorite coffee shop.
She sets her peppermint mocha down harshly. “What do you want, Max?”
“To apologize, mostly.”
She takes a sip of her mocha. “Damn! It’s hot!” She wipes her lips with a napkin. “I don’t accept your apology.”
“I suppose that’s your prerogative, but if you don’t want to accept my apology, why did you agree to meet with me?”