Brutal Boy by Selena
nineteen
Harper Apple
I raise my hands to push Mr. Dolce away, but before I can, a hand shoots in front of me, throwing him across the room. Mr. Dolce flies backwards, slamming into his desk and reeling sideways, crashing to the floor. Royal grabs my arm and wrenches me out of the chair so hard my feet leave the floor. “What the fuck is your problem?” he rages, ignoring the groan of his father from the floor on the far side of the desk.
As he drags me out of the office and back down the hall to the stairs, I consider telling him that I’m not the one with the problem, and he should maybe be more pissed about the fact that his dad was hitting on his girlfriend, but then, he warned me. I just had to know more, though, just had to go sticking my nose in his business. It’s a curse, really, this wanting to know what makes people tick.
“Are you really so fucking desperate that if I won’t fuck you, you’ll go hit on my father?” Royal snarls as he stomps up the stairs, dragging me after him. I fight to pry my wrist free of his iron grip, but he doesn’t seem to notice as he manhandles me down the hall to his room like I’m no more than a ragdoll.
He shoves me through the door into his darkened bedroom, releasing me so suddenly I stumble forward. Before I can regain my footing, he grabs my arm and drags me backwards. I don’t have time to get my bearings before he slams me up against the wall beside the door. His eyes are wild, mad, unfocused as he thrusts a hand between my thighs, his other hand closing around my throat.
“Get away from me,” I snarl, shoving at his chest. He doesn’t seem to feel it, crowding in closer, his eyes blazing as he yanks at the drawstring on his pants. He slams the door closed with his palm, plunging us into complete blackness.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my breath hitching. I can’t tell if I’m afraid he’ll listen, or afraid he won’t. I’m terrified of what he’ll do to me, but at the same time, watching him lose control is addictive. There’s a careening thrill to it, like watching a train barrel toward you and knowing you can’t stop it, that it’s too late to get off the tracks.
Is this what I’ve always wanted, why I’ve kept pushing buttons, hoping to find the very one I just pushed?
“I’m fucking you,” he says, grabbing my jeans with both hands and wrenching them down with one quick motion.
I start to protest, but before I can even bend to grab them back up, he’s pinning me to the wall again, his broad shoulders holding me in place while he yanks my thighs open and rams his cock against my opening.
“Royal, no,” I gasp out, shoving at him as my body tightens, locking him out. “I’m not ready.”
“You’re not wet for that asshole?” he growls, a hint of triumph in his voice. He spits on his hand, slicking it over the head of his cock before pushing it to my opening. A hot throb of desire shoots straight to my core at the sensation of his smooth, warm skin over the unyielding hardness beneath. “If you weren’t planning to get fucked tonight, why is your pussy shaved?”
“Wait,” I cry, but he thrusts upward, tearing into my resisting flesh. A strangled cry chokes from my throat, tears of pain springing to my eyes as my walls clench around him. He leans his forearm on the wall over my head and drops his forehead against it, his breathing ragged, his body trembling. He doesn’t move, but I can feel his thick cock stretching me open, straining against my walls as they spasm around his length. I tremble at the knowledge that he’s only halfway in, that the pain is only beginning.
“Oh god,” I gasp. “Royal, stop. You’re hurting me.”
With a brutal thrust, he forces himself to the hilt inside me. “Did you think I was going to be gentle? You know me better than that, Harper.”
My body curls in on itself, a sob choking from me, choking off my words, my air. I can’t breathe, can’t speak. Pain spirals from my core, up through my stomach, wrapping its tendrils around my heart and squeezing until it cuts off all other feeling. I didn’t expect gentleness, but I didn’t expect this, either. It happened so fast, I can’t even comprehend what’s happening, that he’s fucking me.
He doesn’t though, doesn’t move further than penetration. He keeps me pinned to the wall like a butterfly, spread open and impaled on his cock. Part of me knew this would happen, was waiting for it, resisting it every bit as much as he was. And now it’s happening. I try to breathe through the pain, to adjust to this new world in which I’ve fucked Royal Dolce.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he ask, his voice edged with taunting. “You’re all over my dick every chance you get. You asked for it. Now you’re going to get it.” He rocks slowly, rhythmically grinding his pelvic bone against my clit as he speaks, until the pain subsides and tingles of pleasure begin to curl out from where he’s working me like the pro he is. The stretch of my walls around his thickness makes me lightheaded, and the way he’s rocking makes his cock hit all the right places inside me. I hate my body for reacting, for feeling anything but pain. I want to scream, to shove a knife in his fucking heart to show him what it feels like.
But arousal throbs inside me as I adjust to his size, to the sensation of a huge, hard cock buried deep inside me.
“Baby, you’re so tight you’re going to milk the cum all the way out of my balls,” he croons. His voice is completely changed, and if I didn’t know him, I might think it was sexy and coaxing. But I can hear the edge of taunting cruelty under it, the bitterness, the hatred. The hollowness.
The words sound as if he’s said them a hundred times, to every girl.
“I wasn’t ready,” I choke out, bracing my hands on his chest to push him away. He shoves them aside, grabs my wrists and pins them to the wall on either side of my head. He pulls out just an inch, then drives in quick and sharp. I can hear the wet sound of my cunt, like a kiss. Royal chuckles.
“You’re ready now,” he says, that haughty, arrogant lilt still laced through his words. He draws back and slams into me again, crushing me against the wall. I wince when he hits the deepest, tenderest place inside me, where no one has been before. But he’s right, my body is ready now, whether I want it or not. I’m wet, and he slides back until only his tip is inside me, then drives in deep again, burying himself to the hilt inside me. I struggle to pull my hands free even as my trembling thighs open for him, craving the contact, the end to the torment of wanting him for so long.
“You wanted me to fuck you, right?” he asks, his voice a cruel taunt, his grip becoming tighter around my wrists the harder I struggle. “You asked for the Royal treatment. If you wanted a pussy, you should have fucked a chick.” He punctuates each sentence with a deep, vicious thrust. I asked for it, I did, but I didn’t want it like this. He’s giving me exactly what I wanted—what I thought I wanted. It should feel good to give in, to let ourselves have what we’ve been denying ourselves since the moment we met.
But it feels emptier than all the other times put together. I don’t know where Royal is, but he’s not in this room with me. I try not to care, to tell myself it doesn’t matter as he pounds into me hard and fast, slamming me into the wall with bruising force. My breath escapes in little gasps, and he adds a low grunt with each brutal thrust, the wet sounds of our sex the only other noise in the darkness.
I wonder where he is, where his mind is, but not for long. My head drops back, and I close my eyes, giving in. Good dick feels good, and it’s dark enough in the room that I can pretend he’s someone else, too.
I could if there were anyone else I wanted to fuck, that is. I don’t want anyone else, though. I want Royal. I want to touch him, to bring some intimacy to the moment. I want to run my hands over his bare shoulders, feel the power trembling in his chiseled muscles, in his huge body that dwarfs mine and looms over me, trapping me as he owns me with each stroke, controlling the depth, the pace, the rhythm that sings through my blood and binds me to him in some dark, sick pleasure.
At last, he releases my hands, gripping my thighs instead. His thumbs cut into my flesh as he rotates my thighs, grinding into me. Then he grabs me around the waist, lifting me and slamming me down on him. He grips my ass hard enough to leave bruises, forcing me down hard as he grinds upwards into me with a guttural groan. I cry out in shock when he pulls out, pressing his wet, hard cock to my bare skin. The sensation fills me with an erotic thrill of wet heat. For a second, a minute, we don’t move. I can feel his heart hammering and the rapid rise and fall of his chest as his breaths come short and fast against my neck. His cock throbs every few seconds, sending a pulse of heat into my center, and I wait for the liquid fire of his cum to spurt against me, but it doesn’t come.
Reality comes back slowly, my senses returning. I can smell the sweat on his skin, and the whiskey on my breath, and the scent of our sex in the air around us. I rest my hands on his shoulders as if to steady myself and feel the dampness on his skin, the way little tremors rock through his body. I don’t pull away, even though I could now that he’s released his punishing grip. I let him fight his internal battle for control.
After a few minutes, he stumbles forward, knocking me into the wall as if he forgot it was there. He lifts a hand and fumbles across my face like a blind man trying to recognize someone he’s just met, like he did in the basement.
“It’s Harper, you asshole,” I say, slapping his hand away. I shove his chest, and this time, he steps back. My body cries out with unfulfilled frustration, like it does every time, but this time, there’s sharp pain along with it. I’ve never taken one that big before, and being dry on top of that…
“I know who you are,” he snaps. He turns and strides into the bathroom, flicking on the light before slamming the door behind him.
I pull up my jeans, my whole body suddenly shaking again. When the fabric hits my skin, I suck in a breath. Between my legs is more than tender, it’s fucking mangled and swollen, and every move I make sends a knife of pain into me. I cherish the pain, hold onto it. It’s only physical, and I can deal with that. I can’t deal with whatever fucked up shit is going on in my head. Not now, when he’s right here. I’ll think about that later.
I open the door to his room, knowing it’s impossible to walk back downstairs to call an Uber like nothing happened, but also knowing that’s exactly what I’m going to do.
Before I take a step out, the bathroom door opens, and Royal stands there like a giant, taking up the whole doorframe and blocking the light that spills out behind him. The look in his eyes makes me shrink away from him even before he speaks. They’re not empty now. They’re worse.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Away from you,” I snap. This horrible feeling wells up inside me, and suddenly, I’m sure I’m going to cry if I have to look at him another moment. I dart out the door, slamming it behind me, taking a little joy in the thought that if he tried to follow, I probably just smacked him in the face with it. I don’t get two steps before he wrenches it open and grabs my arm.
“Harper.”
“Let me go,” I warn, yanking at my arm.
Of course he doesn’t fucking listen. He spins me around and grabs me by my shoulders like he’s about to shake the shit out of me. Instead, he takes a breath, glances at the end of the hall behind me, and lowers his voice. “Harper,” he says, his brow furrowing, his dark eyes searching mine. “Were you… A virgin?”
I snort and yank away. “I thought I was a whore who was so desperate for dick I’d get it from your dad if you wouldn’t give it up.”
He glances behind me again, at the lights lining the walls all the way down to the stairs, where I need to go before I fucking lose it. I need to get out. Now.
Royal swallows. “There was… Blood.”
“I told you I wasn’t fucking ready,” I snap. “Don’t you know anything about a woman’s body?” To my horror, my lip begins to tremble. I bite down on it fiercely, hoping I draw blood. He’ll see my blood before I’ll let him see my tears.
Royal’s gaze doesn’t miss the movement. He stares at my teeth biting down on my lip.
“I—I’m sorry,” he says. “Let me make it up to you.”
“Why?” I demand. “All you’ve ever wanted to do was hurt me, so why should this be different? It’s just one more way you’ve succeeded in getting what you want, like you always do.”
“I’ve hurt you?” he asks. He looks so fucking confused, it breaks my heart. How can anyone be so completely clueless?
I sigh. “Of course not. I’m not a person, Royal. I’m just a piece of trash, remember? Trash doesn’t have feelings.”
I turn to go, but Royal steps past me, blocking my way. I try to duck past, but he rests a hand on the wall beside me, caging me in. “I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know you have feelings,” he says slowly. “I just didn’t know I could hurt them.”
“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” I say, because it’s more than that. He hurt something far deeper than feelings. “Just forget it, okay? Let’s just forget this happened.”
“I don’t know if I can do that.”
We stare at each other a moment. My heart beats hard, so hard I can hear it.
“Why not?” I ask, searching his eyes, aching to find something that’s just not there. It never will be. Just like on Halloween, he couldn’t give me a reason to stay. He never will. I don’t know if he’s even capable of giving me what I need, let alone what I want.
A slow smirk tugs at his lips, and I know I’ll never find what I’m looking for in this haunted boy, no matter how much his darkness calls to mine. “I can’t let a girl walk away thinking I don’t know my way around a woman’s body.”
“Fine, I won’t tell anyone,” I say, ducking under his arm. “I wasn’t going to, anyway.”
Again, Royal grabs my arm. I stop, and for a second, he doesn’t pull me back. Slowly, his hand moves down my arm, his fingers lacing through mine. I can’t look at him, so I keep my face forward. I close my eyes and take a shaky breath, trying to get it through to my heart that it doesn’t mean anything. “Please,” he says quietly.
His voice is soft, laced with so much emotion I can’t begin to untangle it. All I know is that it breaks my heart. That he said please, and that he was sorry he hurt me. Maybe it will never mean what I want, but it means something. When he pulls at my hand, I relent. He leads me back to his room without a word, pushes the door closed with his foot, and locks it behind us. The light from the bathroom spills out into the room, and when our eyes meet, he steps forward, sliding a hand under my ear to cradle my head. “Harper, I…”
A loud thud comes from downstairs, maybe the front door slamming, and his gaze flicks in that direction before returning to mine.
“What?” I whisper, my heartbeat slamming against my ribs. I need him to give me something, just once, after what just happened. I need him to give me a reason to stay.
“I—I’ll get something to clean you up,” he says. “Get undressed.”
He turns and ducks into the bathroom, leaving me standing there with my mind spinning. I hear the water running, and a second later, he reappears with a cloth balled in his hand. He takes my hand and leads me to the bed, pulling back the blankets and pushing me gently onto the cool, white sheets. I don’t protest. I feel numb, and my limbs are shaking as he pushes me back on the bed and lifts my legs onto it. I don’t know how I’m going to endure sex right now, but I can’t seem to formulate the right thing to say. If I open my mouth, I’ll cry.
He pulls off my jeans, dropping them to the floor. My legs shake harder, but he doesn’t give me a blanket. He kneels and spreads my knees, pressing the warm washcloth between them. I suck in a breath, the water stinging the torn and tender flesh. He cleans me up, then looks at the cloth. “Are you sure you’ve had sex before?”
“If what we just did was it, then yes, I’ve done it before,” I say, defensive at being interrogated for his fuck up.
“Like that?” he asks, his gaze falling on mine.
“More or less,” I say, shrugging and looking away.
“How many times?”
“A few,” I say. I could ask him the same, but I’m not that stupid. I know I don’t want the answer.
“Do you always bleed?” he asks, setting the washcloth on the bedside table.
“No,” I say, scooting up to sit against the pillows and watch him. God, he’s beautiful, every inch of his body chiseled to perfection as if carved out of marble by one of the great artists. I focus on the sight of his godlike body so I don’t have to think about the fact that I’m bare from the waist down while he’s still wearing pants. “A couple times, when I wasn’t ready, or it had been a long time since… The last time.”
He moves forward and reaches for my shirt. “Do you ever cum?”
“No,” I admit, letting him pull off my shirt. “I mean, yeah, but not during.”
He nods, reaching behind me and unhooking my bra with no more effort than I’d put in. “From oral?”
I swallow hard, dropping my gaze to the front of his pants. He’s got me naked on the bed, and he’s not even hard. Maybe I was wrong about having the same effect on him. My own heart is racing in my chest, and pressure builds between my legs in anticipation and fear while his eyes move down my body. My nipples harden under his gaze, and hunger builds as he continues to drink me in with his eyes, lingering on the tattoos on my thigh.
“I haven’t… I’ve only given it,” I say. I don’t want to tell him the truth, that having someone so close to my center makes me more vulnerable than I want to be. So I deflect. “I take care of myself.”
“Tonight, I’m going to take care of you,” he says, sliding down the bed in one smooth motion.
“Royal, wait,” I protest, but he’s between my legs, pushing them wider. I don’t want him down there, seeing me, smelling me. He hates the way I smell, and even though I showered earlier, I’m still self-conscious. No one’s ever been down there, looking at my cunt spread open like a sacrifice. I squirm, but he slides his arms under my legs, wrapping them around my thighs from below. He grips me right in the crease of my hips, spreading my thighs at the very top. He lifts his gaze to mine, and there’s nothing empty in his eyes now. They’re brimming with heat, with desire.
“I thought you didn’t eat pussy,” I whisper, my thighs shaking in his hands.
“This isn’t pussy,” he says. “It’s you.”
He drops lower, and I grab his shoulders, suddenly more terrified of this vulnerability than of an angry Royal. I’d rather him fuck me again, no matter how much it hurts, than have him make me vulnerable like this.
“You don’t have to—” My voice catches, breaking off as a shock of pure, erotic bliss rocks through me when his mouth touches me. His warm, wet tongue slowly strokes my clit, and all reason leaves me. All that’s left is the painfully exquisite sensation of his skilled, hungry mouth against my bare flesh.
My fingers tangle in his hair, and with whatever bit of brainpower that remains to me, I try to pull him away because it’s too intimate, too much, and this is Royal Fucking Dolce, my enemy to the death.
“Just relax,” he murmurs, kissing me gently. “Let me make you as crazy as you make me.”
Without waiting for an answer, he dips lower again, letting out a sound that’s half sigh, half moan as his tongue slips between my lips, toward my entrance.
“Don’t,” I breathe, but I barely hear the sound because I’m melting, weakening, as his lips and tongue and breath combine forces, overwhelming me. I drop my head back on the pillows, gripping his hair as if it can anchor me to this world even as his mouth moves against me like magic. He explores me slowly at first, tasting and sucking, his teeth nibbling gently at me, his tongue stroking me until I can’t breathe, and my hips start jerking involuntarily against his mouth.
He grips my thighs harder, his fingers cutting into my flesh, holding me still while his tongue moves faster. I let out a soft cry when his rough tongue breaches my opening, rasping against the raw, broken skin. But his mouth is wet, and I’m wet, and soon the burning sensation is too entwined with the swirling pleasure to tell where one ends and the other begins.
“Royal,” I gasp. “Stop, it’s too much, I can’t—”
He lets out a rough groan and squeezes my thighs harder, opening them wider, his whole body writhing in the bedsheets as he pushes deeper, thrusting his tongue into me until I’m dizzy with it. I buck under him, grabbing at the pillows, at anything, because I’m going to explode if he doesn’t stop. But he doesn’t stop. He goes on and on, moaning into me, eating me, until I can’t hold back the soft, breathy cries that have been building inside me with the pleasure. He fucks me relentlessly with his mouth, his tongue, until he pushes me over the edge.
It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt, not even when I’ve given myself a good one. This one is different, unwillingly almost as he drags it from my helpless body. A rush of wet heat flows from me in a way I’ve never felt, and I cry out, humiliation burning through me even as the orgasm clenches me in its grip. He moans deep in his throat, pushing his tongue deeper even as I cry out wordlessly, not sure if I’m telling him to stop or continue, not sure of anything except the waves of bone deep pleasure and release bearing me away on a current that I know will take me over the edge of the world into the abyss of Royal’s darkness, to be swallowed by his world, his soul-sucking emptiness.
When it ebbs, his mouth is still on me but moving slowly, his tongue lazily answering each pulse of my flesh with one of its own. I want him out, in case he didn’t notice how I came, so much it almost felt like I pissed myself, so much it’s unladylike and humiliating and like everything about me, too fucking much. I made a mess no girl should make, and the shame aches behind my eyes as I wait for the gloating, the degrading taunts. This is Royal. There will be triumphant smirks and bragging that he proved he knows a thing or two about my body after all, followed by scathing words about how I’m a disgusting freak who cums like a man.
He lifts his face at last, his lips shiny, his eyes wild and unfocused. “God, you taste so fucking good, Harper,” he groans, his breath coming as quick as mine. “I want to bite the fuck out of your pussy.”
“No,” I cry, shoving at his forehead.
He unclamps his hands from my aching things, which will surely be bruised to hell tomorrow. Instead of climbing on top of me as I expect, he braces his hands on my inner thighs and spreads them wide, staring down at me with that hazy, transfixed expression. There’s no way he can miss what I did now. When he leans down, I tense, trying to twist away.
“I’m not going to bite you,” he snaps, forcing my legs wide. “Let me lick the cream out of your cunt.” His tongue is gentle this time, slowly winding a spiral of pleasure deeper and deeper into my core as he laps up the mess of cum from my wrecked pussy until I swear even my heart is quivering for him. When I think I can’t take it another second, he slides a long finger into me. “Cum in my hand this time, Cherry Pie,” he murmurs. “I want to feel you gush again.” Then his mouth descends, stroking me toward an edge I know I can’t come back from. This time, I don’t even try. I let him carry me over.
*
When She Comes
When she comes
Mountains tremble
With her cries
With her thighs
Opened wide
Begging me to come inside.
When she comes
Her rains awaken desert blooms and
Oceans turn their tides
To see her arrive
To see the divine
Sunset inside.
When she comes
All the world loses its mind
Setting suns rise
In stormy skies
Stars in velvet night
Forget to shine.
When she comes
I come undone
and tell her the truth:
Wherever you’re going,
Take me with you,
I want to come, too.
