Red Thorns (Thorns Duet #1) by Rina Kent

Grabbing his hard cock in one hand, he slaps me with it across the lips and I taste the precum. “Open that mouth and take me like a good whore.”

When I hesitate, he hits me three consecutive times on the lips. I open my mouth with a gasp and he thrusts inside, instantly hitting the back of my throat.

I choke and attempt to squirm, but his grip on my hair serves as a steering wheel while he powers in with a mad force. He uses my mouth in the most brutal way possible, making me gag on my drool and tears. He barely allows me any air before he drives back in and does it all over again.

And again.

My jaw is numb and my pussy aches, but the itch inside me is still there.

Waiting.

Probing.

Demanding more.

Just when I think he’ll keep fucking my face all night long, he pulls out. “Open your mouth wide. Let me see your tongue.”

I do as he tells me, wincing. His hold on my hair is so strong that I think some roots will rip.

Before I can mentally prepare myself, hot cum sprays all over my mouth and chin.

“Lick every fucking drop.”

I try to, mindlessly running my tongue over the contours of my lips and tasting him…and me.

Holy shit. I’m tasting both of us right now.

He taps my mouth with his cock, not too hard now, but enough to get my attention. “Good slut.”

And with that, his shadow disappears from over me.

I remain in place, sprawled all over the stairs with cum, drool, and tears streaking down my chin.

I have no idea how long I stay there, panting. A few moments later, the lights go on, but there’s no trace of him.

My harsh breathing remains irregular as I lick the remnants of his cum from my lips. Disappointment tugs at the base of my stomach.

Reality is here.





18





Naomi





“Nao?”

“W-what?” I stare at my best friend who has been talking for the past half an hour, but apparently, I haven’t listened to anything.

Lucy bumps her shoulder against mine as we head to the lunch table. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t sleep much.”

“Watching serial killers again?”

No. Contemplating whether or not I need help.

Ever since Sebastian left me on the steps of my house two days ago with blood coating my thighs and his cum on my face, I’ve been seriously thinking I have some loose screw that needs taking care of.

So no, I haven’t slept. Instead, I’ve spent every moment obsessing over what happened, rethinking every touch and every brutal thrust.

Every hit and ever orgasm.

And…I got wet in the process. I might have touched myself to the memory, too.

That’s not normal.

That’s not how people react to being savagely fucked for the first time after being so paranoid about sex their entire life.

That’s not how one’s virginity is supposed to be taken.

But now that it happened, I don’t think I’d want it any other way.

Something changed that night.

Sebastian and I passed the point of no return and now, it’s just a huge clusterfuck.

It would’ve been different if he’d forced me. I would’ve reported him and started an uproar in our town. I would’ve gone against him and his political ties, even if it meant destroying myself in the process.

But that’s not the case.

He gave me a choice and a way out. One I could’ve taken before he fucked me on those stairs. One where I could’ve ended the chase before it even started.

But I didn’t.

I was too addicted to the thrill and like any addict, I burned for more.

For a redo.

For the next level.

I got what I asked for and more.

He didn’t hold back, didn’t take it easy, and I found myself slammed into a brutal alternate reality.

One I’ve been thinking about since it ended.

One I’ve dreamt about every time I’ve closed my eyes.

I thought he’d disappear and ignore me now that he got what he wanted, but he texted me yesterday.

Sebastian: You sure you don’t want my opinion on the sketch?

I stared at my phone for a solid five minutes, trying to figure out what the hell was he getting at. He couldn’t possibly be picking up where we left off in our conversation before he broke into my house and fucked me like I’m a whore.

His whore.

But I confirmed that’s exactly what he was doing when the second text came.

Sebastian: Heads-up. I’m your number one fan, so don’t forget about me if you become a manga artist.

My blood ran cold at how he was blatantly not addressing what happened.

How could he?

How was he able to move past it so easily?

I’m nowhere near that stage, considering how much I’ve been obsessing about it.

And Sebastian is the one I wanted to talk to the most. I couldn’t actually tell Mom or call Lucy and say, “Umm…hi. I got raped and I liked it.” Or sort of raped or whatever.

Either way, he’s the only person I could broach the subject with. And yet, he acted as if nothing happened. So I bit the bloodied bullet and replied with the same tone I used in that exchange.

Naomi: Who told you I want you as a fan?

Sebastian: Too bad you don’t get to choose who your fans are. One day, you’ll be having a signing and I’ll show up with a copy of your work and kiss you in front of all your other fans. They’ll probably cause a ruckus and I’ll tell them it’s the perks of being your number one.