Dark Notes

I can walk away from Prescott, forget his money, and try to make up the loss with all the other guys who want the same things he wants.

Or I can tell them all to fuck off and let the mortgage default. I’m not eighteen yet. I can go to social services and explain my situation. Maybe they’ll step in and put me in foster care. But there’s a good chance a new home would be too far away to commute to Le Moyne. Can I put my future in the hands of some grown-up who decides where I go to school? And what about Schubert? A temporary family may not let me bring him. My heart pinches just thinking about that. He’s not just a cat. Schubert is the last gift my dad gave me before he died. He’s the only living form of love I have left to wrap my arms around.

Or I can accept Prescott’s offer, endure just one high-school dick, and keep my house, my school, and my cat.

The pressure of tears burns the backs of my eyes as I force my lips around my answer. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He sits up, his entire body shifting to face me. “Okay…uh…” He twists around, scrutinizing the emptiness of the overgrown lot, and pauses when his gaze lands on the back seat. “Get out.”

With trembling hands, I put the binders on the floorboard, open the door, and step into a tangle of vines.

He’s out of the car and around to my side in a flash. A huge grin contorts his face as he opens the door to the back seat. “In there. On your back.”

No, no, no. My lungs labor for air, and every muscle in my body locks up.

“Ivoryyyyy,” he growls. “That’s not how this works. I’m not paying until I get my dick wet.”

Oh God, he already has a condom in his hand.

Tall grass itches my ankles. The chirrup of nighttime insects creeps from the shadows of broken concrete. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. Another joins in. But it’s the godawful sound of a zipper that screeches past my ears.

He holds his dick in his hand, the bulbous thing swollen to fullness and pointed right at me as he rolls on the condom. Nausea simmers, and saliva rushes into my mouth.

When he meets my eyes, his determined expression looks ghostly and sinister in the moonlight. “We doing this the easy way or the hard way? One of those earns you more money.”

A sheen of tears blurs my vision. I made this deal, knowing what came next. Suck it up and eat it, Ivory.

I turn toward the waiting door, press the heels of my hands against my eyes, and slide into the back seat.

My brain is already reaching for the dark notes of Scriabin’s Sonata No.9. The melody plays in my head as the weight of his body presses my back against the bench seat. I envision the complicated key strokes as he wrenches my panties to the side and shoves inside me, grunting, thrusting. So dry, so fucking painful, the fire between my legs coaxes more tears from my eyes. I focus inward, blocking him out. I’m nearly lost in the discordant music of my mind when a ring tone chirps from Prescott’s pocket.

“Fuck.” He fumbles around his legs and pulls his phone from the folds of his trousers. “Goddammit!”

“Get off me.”

“No. And I have to answer this, so keep your mouth shut.”

I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t budge. His hips thrust harder as hatred leaks in huge drops from my eyes.

“It’s my mom.” He sets the phone on the seat above my head, the cheery ring tone bleeding into my ears. “If she hears you, the most I’ll get is a loss in allowance. But you…” His finger hovers over the screen as his hips drive against mine. “You’ll get kicked out of school.”

Before I can tell him he’s a fucking moron, he taps the screen and puts it on speaker phone.

“What’s up, Mom?” He lifts his pelvis and slams back against me, the hunger on his face illuminated by the glow of the screen.

“Where are you?” The dean’s severe voice barks through the phone.

“Avery’s house.”

Who is Avery? I squirm beneath him, aching for this to be over with.

“You sound out of breath,” she says.

He cups my breast and squeezes. “Lifting weights. She has a sweet workout room.”

“Oh? Well, tell her mother I said hi. We need to do tea soon.”

“Yep.”

“Keep your hands to yourself, son. I don’t want any problems with her parents.”

I bite down on my lip to keep from crying out. His movements quicken, growing erratic. Thank God, he’s getting close, but how can he do this while holding a conversation with his mother? He’s so disgusting my skin recoils everywhere his heat penetrates my clothes.