Jax by E. M. Moore
4
That night, while sleeping in the fetal position on a thin as fuck mattress, I dreamed about the last time I saw Jax.
He sat behind a small, dark wood table in a proper suit, looking vastly different than usual. The fancy facade did everything to remind me what we were in the courtroom for. Sitting on the opposite side of the room, I tried and tried and tried to make him someone else. I willed myself to believe he was some guy on the street who’d hurt me, who’d done me wrong like so many had before him. When I was made to stand before him to answer the lawyer’s questions, it was his eyes that got to me the most. They were dead, searing betrayal into me like a raging fire but there was nothing I could do.
Kingston Marx glared at me from the front row. He was my puppet master, pulling strings until I danced and spoke and acted just as he wanted. His crepe-like skin from weight loss was hidden behind an expensive, tailored outfit. The man thought his dick was everything. He was sick, loved beautiful women and power, neither of which he’d get if he wasn’t the leader of the Heights Crew, Rawley Heights’ infamous gang.
Because I was his top girl, I was expected to be his and only his. Jax and I knew we were taking a risk, but we were young and in love. We didn’t know we were being watched by K’s men twenty-four seven. When he confronted me, I did the only thing I could think of to save us. I told him Jax raped me.
Truth be told, I’m not sure the gang leader believed me. He let me go through the motions of accusing Jax, ruining his life, and then when all of it was said and done, he threw me out of the tower anyway. Looking back, I wouldn’t be surprised if he got some sick, perverse pleasure out of watching me ruin Jax’s life, only to cast me aside afterward.
The only thing I’m grateful for is that neither Jax nor I wound up dead, something K easily could’ve made happen.
When Jax walked away in handcuffs, I watched until he disappeared. I made myself focus on what I’d done for our survival instead of the ripping agony that threatened to tear me apart. He never looked back, not even once. At the time, I was grief-stricken, but now that I’m older, I’m glad he didn’t. What was I going to say? I’m sorry? Was I going to give him a look as if he should’ve known I was only doing this to save us?
A rough voice growls in my ear, making my eyes fly open. “You’re awake?”
The mattress on the floor smells musty and old—and of years of sex. I breathe through my mouth as Psycho curls his body around my own. He’s hard. He’s always hard in the mornings. I already brace myself for what’s to come and take my mind somewhere else. Licking my lips, I respond how he wants, “Mm-hmm.”
“You want Daddy’s cock?” he asks. For a minute, I forget to breathe through my mouth and smell his horrid breath instead.
I gag internally but arch into him anyway. If I don’t, he’ll beat my ass. “You know I do.”
He reaches around, moving his fingers between my legs. I sleep naked, at his command, so he goes right for my folds, sighing. “Dry as shit. I thought you wanted me.”
Psycho doesn’t understand a woman’s body. He expects me to be ready for him at a moment’s notice. The act of seduction and foreplay is lost to him.
Not that it would work anyway.
I go somewhere else entirely as he circles my clit and whispers degrading things into my ear. He thrusts his cock into the curve of my ass, moaning. “I got something for you,” he hums in my ear, nipping at my earlobe. He pulls away, and a moment later, a mechanical whir and buzz fills the desolate room. He passes his hand over my hip, and I feel the vibration through his hand. Shit, shit.
“I walked down to the store and bought this.” He places the vibrator on my clit, and I gasp as the sensation ricochets through me. “Mmm, yes. Open up those legs, Sade.” He presses the vibrator on my clit, and I groan, feeling sick to my stomach as pleasure rolls through me. “Fuck yes, baby girl. There’s that wetness. Arch into me.” He slides his cock inside and glides in and out easily with how wet I’ve become.
I curl my hands to fists, biting down on my lip. This is always a dangerous game to play with Psycho. If I don’t show him I’m enjoying it, I get beat. If I do, I lose a part of myself. Now he’s bringing in torture devices because how the hell am I supposed to make my own choices with this type of stimulation. “Fuck,” I breathe, breaths whirring out of me.
“That’s right, girl. Give it to me. I need to feel you around my cock again.”
I practically bite my tongue off but it’s no use. My body flies into an orgasm, and I let him know it, gasping as I succumb. He keeps moving in and out of my wet pussy, and I try to push the vibrator away. He keeps it there, though, unforgiving.
“It’s been forever since you’ve had two.”
“Psycho, I’m good,” I breathe. “Let me pleasure you,” I add, hoping it works. He pulls out, and I brace myself for the slap but it never comes.
“On your hands and knees. Face the door.”
I groan internally, my insides clenching in horror. He mounted a mirror on the door in an attempt to turn me on by watching us. It hasn’t happened once. In fact, it makes me feel worse.
I do as he says anyway. He takes up position behind me, wrapping one hand in my hair to make me look into the mirror. I spy two fucked up people. One high on power and another drowning from the lack of it. “Tell me you want me.”
“I want you,” I say, looking into my own dead eyes. My breasts are on full display. My body is still sensitive from the climax but my mind is gone again.
“Tell me you want my cock so bad.”
“I want your cock so bad,” I deadpan, keeping my gaze on myself as he slides inside. “God, you’re so fucking wet.” He holds me in place while at the same time slipping the little vibrating device between my legs again to settle on my clit.
“Psycho,” I moan, body locking up.
“Come for me again. Keep coming for me.”
I watch the image in the mirror move. It probably would be a good porn to anyone looking on the outside. My body races toward another orgasm because honestly, it hasn’t been feeling anything lately, and right now, it’s actually feeling something. Within minutes, I’m coming around him again.
“Fuck yes,” he bellows, getting louder and louder on purpose. He does it for the benefit of everyone staying at the compound. It makes him feel like the fucking man to know he’s getting laid, and they aren’t.
“Enough,” I gasp. “Please,” I plead as Psycho keeps the vibrator on me.
“Not until you’re screaming,” he whispers.
He thrusts in and out, pure concentration on his face as if he’s in this for the long haul. The stimulation starts to hurt. My clit feels raw from all of the unusual attention but he still stays there. “Psycho,” I groan, wincing.
Another forced orgasm rips through my body. The look in his eyes is crazed, maniacal. Pure bliss rolls off him. I push the vibrator away, and he yanks back on my hair, forcing my ear to his lips. “I said scream.”
“It hurts,” I seethe.
“Maybe if you weren’t so fucking dry every other fucking time. You owe me orgasms. So many fucking orgasms,” he growls, punctuating each one of his words with a thrust inside my used hole.
A tear slips down my cheek. I blink it away, hoping he doesn’t notice it in the mirror and judging by the way his gaze tracks my jiggling breasts, I don’t think he does. I bring up an image of Jax. I pretend he’s fucking me from behind. I pretend that when he saw me yesterday, he let everything else go. He told me he loved me again, and that he would never let anything happen to me. I imagine he saves me from Psycho—and all this bullshit—before bending me over and taking what’s always been rightfully his.
Before I know it, gasps and pants part my mouth. I bite my lip, closing my eyes to keep me in the fantasy. “Yes!” I scream.
I block out Psycho’s answering nonsense. In my head, I’ve locked gazes with Jax in the mirror while he’s pounding me from behind.
“Fuck yes! Make me come. Please,” I beg. I push back against him, wanting it, needing it.
“That’s right, my little whore.”
I gasp as my orgasm pours from my mouth, and Psycho follows me with a bellow of his own. I don’t feel him come inside me, I only feel his hot seed dripping down my leg after he pulls out.
My racing heart sends disgust through me even faster than normal. I hate that I gave that to him. I hate that he got me off, even if I was thinking about another man.
He rubs my ass, shutting the vibrator off. “Fuck yes, Sade. Damn. That’s the girl I remember. I couldn’t fucking think straight.”
My stomach rolls as I lock eyes with him in the mirror. I scramble off the bed as fast as possible without being obvious until he calls me back. I turn, and he beckons me forward with a hooked finger.
When I get there, he splays one rough hand around my hips, yanking me forward to kiss my stomach while one finger eases into my pussy. “All this right here, all of my cum filling you, this makes you mine.” He pulls his finger out to grab some that’s started to run down my leg and then inserts his finger back inside. “All mine. Remember that when you see your ex-boyfriend today. I own you. Every square inch of you is mine.” He opens his mouth and bites me on the stomach, hard enough to make me hiss. Then, he squeezes my ass and tells me to leave.
I exit the room stark naked and head for the only bathroom, hoping beyond hope that there’s no one in there to deal with this morning. Luckily, it’s free. I slip inside, push the metal lock into place and hover over the toilet. My stomach swims with nausea, and I flush as it all comes up, hiding the sound of my disgust as it spews into the porcelain bowl.
I hate myself. I loathe every part of who I am. Psycho can own me if he wants because I want nothing to do with the person who just did that.
After I wipe my mouth with a square of toilet paper, I slip into the shower and wash everything away, taking extra care to clean between my legs. Psycho forces both of us to regularly test for STDs, and luckily, he also deems it necessary to always pay for my birth control with our stolen winnings, so at least I don’t have that to worry about.
As much as I’d love to cry in the shower, my time is not my own. If I take too long, Psycho will bust the door down and find me here. Instead, I package up everything that just happened and force it into a corner of my mind. I have a bunch of moments just like this, hidden away. One day, I might be able to unpack them all. But for now, they’re safe there until a day when I don’t have to worry about survival and have the luxury of sorting through my own feelings.
When I return to the room, there’s no sign of Psycho but my outfit for the day is laid out for me on the grungy bed. I pull on a pair of faux leather pants and a halter, coupled with matching lace underwear. There’s always a reason behind why Psycho does things, so I inspect the clothes for their meaning. Either he’s trying to praise me for orgasming with his dick inside me, or he has a reason for why I need to be wearing this sexy outfit.
What he doesn’t know is if he thinks I’m going to be getting Jax in this outfit, he’s flat out wrong. This isn’t the look Jax goes for at all. He can’t dress me up like his perfect girl and expect me to get someone else.
Arguing with Psycho is fruitless though. He believes showing off skin automatically makes men crumble. Well, lesser men crumble. He thinks he’s above all that when really, he’s the worst of them all.
