Chapter 5

The gravel of the driveway crunched under my feet like breaking bone. I didn’t wait for Toby to kill the engine; I was out of the Jeep before he could even offer to walk me to the door. I could hear him calling my name, a faint, confused sound that belonged to a world I was no longer allowed to inhabit. I didn't look back. Looking back would mean seeing the life I could have had—a life of bonfires, sand-crusted kisses, and boys who didn't use my mother as a tactical weapon.

The house loomed ahead, a gothic silhouette against the bruising purple of the midnight sky. Every window was dark except for one. My bedroom.

The amber glow from my bedside lamp spilled out into the night, a beacon that felt more like a snare. I fumbled with my key, the brass cold and mocking in my trembling hand. The front door swung open with a heavy, silent grace, and the air of the foyer hit me—chilled, stagnant, and smelling of lilies and expensive floor wax.

I took the stairs two at a time, my lungs burning, my heart a frantic bird trapped in the cage of my ribs. I reached my door and stopped. My hand hovered over the wood, the very wood he had stood behind only an hour ago, whispering threats that tasted like honey and ash.

I pushed the door open.

Laredo was exactly where he said he would be.

He was sitting on the edge of my bed, his broad back to the door. He had removed his jacket and his tie; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, the sleeves rolled up to reveal the thick, corded muscle of his forearms. He was holding one of my silk nightgowns—the pale peach one Elaine had bought me for my birthday. He wasn't just holding it; he was pressing the fabric to his face, inhaling the scent of my detergent and my skin.

The sight made my stomach heave. It was a level of intimacy that felt more invasive than the physical acts we’d shared. He was claiming my space, my smell, my very identity.

"You're late, Lisa," he said, his voice a low, vibrating rumble that didn't require him to turn around. "Twenty-four minutes. I was beginning to think I’d have to go wake your mother."

"I'm here," I choked out, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. "Please. Just... put that down."

He turned then, his dark eyes obsidian in the low light. He dropped the nightgown onto the rumpled duvet and stood up. He seemed to grow in the small space of my room, his presence expanding until the walls felt like they were closing in.

"You smell like smoke," he said, stepping toward me. "And cheap beer. And him."

He reached out, his hand wrapping around my throat. It wasn't a choke, not yet, but a firm, possessive squeeze. His thumb rested right over my pulse point, feeling the frantic, erratic rhythm of my terror.

"Did he touch you?" Laredo whispered, his face inches from mine. "Did that boy put his hands on what belongs to me?"

"I don't belong to you," I gasped, though my body was already betraying me, my thighs beginning to ache with a familiar, shameful heat.

"Don't lie to me," he growled. He shoved me back against the door, the wood grain biting into my spine. He grabbed the hem of my hoodie and yanked it upward, pulling it over my head and tossing it onto the floor. I stood before him in just my thin white t-shirt and denim shorts, feeling exposed and small.

He reached down, his hand diving into the pocket of my shorts. He pulled out my phone and tossed it onto the desk like it was trash.

"You thought you could just walk away? Spend a night playing house with a boy who hasn't even learned how to shave properly?" Laredo’s laugh was a jagged, cruel thing. He grabbed my waist, his fingers digging into the soft flesh above my hips. "You think he could handle you? You think he could handle the way you scream when I’m inside you”.

He didn't wait for an answer. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands sliding down my legs to grip my thighs. He didn't unbutton my shorts; he simply hooked his fingers into the waistband and hauled them down, along with my underwear, in one brutal motion.

I was standing there, my back against the locked door, my legs bared to the cool air of the room. Laredo looked up at me, his expression a terrifying mix of adoration and malice. He reached out, his tongue darting out to lick the centre of my thigh, right where Toby’s hand had hovered earlier.

"I’m going to wash him off you," Laredo murmured against my skin.

He buried his face between my legs. His tongue was a hot, wet muscle, lashing against my labia with a frantic hunger. He wasn't being gentle; he was reclaiming territory. He bit the sensitive inner skin of my thigh, leaving a mark that would be purple by morning—a brand that no high-necked sweater could hide.

I cried out, my hands flying to his shoulders. I wanted to push him away, to scream for my mother, to end this nightmare. But as his tongue found my clitoris, flicking against the swollen bud with rhythmic precision, my knees buckled. I slumped against the door, my head falling back, a long, broken moan escaping my lips.

"That's it," he hissed, his voice muffled by my flesh. "Forget his name. Forget his face. There is only this."

He stood up, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He didn't take off his trousers. He simply unzipped them, his cock springing free—angry, purple-veined, and dripping. He grabbed me by the waist and lifted me, my legs instinctively wrapping around his hips.

He didn't use a condom. He never did. He wanted his seed inside me, a biological claim that felt like a slow-acting poison.

He slammed me back against the door as he lunged forward. I wasn't ready; I wasn't wet enough yet. The friction was a sharp, searing pain that made me gasp, my internal muscles stretching to accommodate the thickness of him. He didn't care. He began to thrust—long, punishing strokes that rattled the door in its frame.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sound echoed through the hallway. I was terrified Elaine would hear, that she would walk out of the master bedroom and see the door to her daughter’s room vibrating with the force of her husband’s lust.

"Laredo... please... the noise," I pleaded, my fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

"Let her hear," he groaned, his teeth baring in a feral grin. He leaned in, his mouth capturing mine in a kiss that tasted of salt and desperation. He pushed his tongue deep into my mouth, mimicking the rhythm of his cock as it battered against my cervix.

I was falling apart. The guilt, the fear, and the overwhelming physical sensation were braiding together into a cord that was strangling me. I felt the climax beginning to gather—a dark, heavy wave that threatened to drown me. My vaginal walls began to pulse, milking him, drawing him deeper into the heat of my womb.

"That's my girl," he whispered, his voice thick with triumph. "Mine. Only mine."

I shattered. My body went rigid, my toes curling as the orgasm ripped through me, a violent, wordless scream dying in my throat as he clamped his hand over my mouth. I shook against him, my vision blurring into streaks of gold and black.

Seconds later, I felt the hot, rhythmic jet of his cum flooding my vagina. He let out a low, guttural roar, his forehead resting against mine as he emptied himself into me. He stayed there for a long time, our breaths mingling in the quiet room, the only sound the ticking of the clock on my nightstand.

He finally pulled out, the slick, wet sound of his departure making me shiver. He let me slide down the door until my feet hit the floor. My shorts were a tangled mess around my ankles. I felt a slow, warm trickle of his semen running down my inner thigh—the "washing off" he had promised.

Laredo didn't look at me as he tucked himself back into his trousers. He walked to my vanity, picked up a tissue, and wiped a smear of my moisture from his hand with a clinical indifference that made me want to scream.

"Get some sleep, Lisa," he said, his voice returning to that calm, paternal tone he used at the breakfast table. "You have a long day of studying tomorrow. I’ll tell your mother you came home early because you weren't feeling well."

He walked to the door. I didn't move; I just sat there on the floor, a broken doll in a white t-shirt. He paused with his hand on the knob.

"And Lisa?"

I didn't look up.

"If you ever go to the cove again... if you ever let another man touch what is mine... I won't just text you. I’ll make sure your mother watches the next time I do this to you. Do you understand?"

I nodded, a slow, jerky movement of my head.

"Good girl."

He opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, closing it softly behind him. I heard his footsteps retreat toward the master bedroom. I heard the click of his door. And then, silence.

I crawled to the bathroom, my legs trembling so much I had to use the walls for support. I turned on the shower, the water as hot as I could stand it. I scrubbed my skin until it was raw and red, trying to wash away the scent of him, the feel of him, the memory of his mouth.

But as I looked down at the drain, watching the mixture of soap and his seed swirl away, I knew it didn't matter. The marks on my thighs would fade, but the mark on my soul was permanent. I was no longer the girl who went to bonfires. I was a secret. I was a sin.

I climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin. The pillow still smelled of him. I closed my eyes, but I didn't sleep. I just waited for the sun to rise, for the masks to go back on, and for the long, slow torture of another day in the house that Laredo built.