First text

(Beverley’s POV)

I stayed in my room for the rest of the evening, curled up on my bed with my knees pulled tight to my chest like I was trying to disappear into myself. The slap from Mom still stung on my cheek, a hot, throbbing reminder every time I touched it, but it was nothing compared to the deep, hollow ache in my chest. Her words kept echoing in my head on repeat, “It’s final.” Like my entire future, my chance at independence, my escape from this mess, was something she and Marcus could just casually decide over dinner like it was nothing more than choosing a restaurant.

I hated her for it. I hated him so much more.

The house felt smaller than ever, suffocating, like the walls were closing in. Every creak of the floorboards downstairs, every low murmur of their voices drifting up through the vents made my skin crawl. I could hear them talking, Mom’s soft, tired, defeated tone and Marcus’s deep, calm, reassuring one. He was probably down there right now, holding her, rubbing her back, whispering all the right things to make her feel better after she’d slapped her own daughter. Playing the perfect, supportive boyfriend while I sat up here like a prisoner in my own home, isolated and fuming.

Tears kept leaking from the corners of my eyes no matter how many times I wiped them away. I replayed the argument over and over, the way her face had twisted when I’d said I wished I was living with Dad. I’d gone too far, but part of me still meant it. Everything had been better before Marcus showed up. Mom had been mine. Now she was his.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

I ignored it at first, assuming it was just another notification from some app or a worried text from a friend asking about college plans. But it buzzed again. Then again. Insistent.

With a heavy sigh, I reached over and picked it up, squinting at the bright screen in the dim room. Instead of a familiar name, it showed a new number I didn’t recognize.

Unknown: Hey Beverley. It’s Marcus. Hope you’re doing okay after that talk with your mom.

My heart slammed violently against my ribs. I stared at the message, reading it again and again, my stomach twisting into knots. How the hell did he even get my number? Mom must have given it to him without asking me. Of course she did. She told him everything now.

I should have deleted it immediately. Blocked the number. Turned my phone off and thrown it across the room. Anything to shut him out. But my thumb hovered over the screen, frozen, my breath coming faster.

Another message popped up.

Unknown: I know things are tense right now. Just wanted you to know I’m not the enemy here. I’m trying to help. Your mom loves you. She’s just stressed about money and wants what’s best for you.

I bit my lip hard enough to taste blood. The absolute nerve of him. Acting like some caring, reasonable stepdad figure when I knew exactly what kind of man he was. The same man who had cornered me in the kitchen and groped my tits like he owned them. The same man whose hands I couldn’t stop thinking about late at night. The same man I had fucked myself senseless to while listening to him pound my mom through the walls.

My cheeks burned with shame and something much hotter, much more dangerous. Heat pooled low in my belly.

I typed back before I could stop myself, fingers shaking.

Me: Why are you texting me?

The reply came almost immediately, like he’d been waiting with his phone in hand.

Marcus: Because I can tell you’re upset. And because I see how you look at me when you think no one’s watching. I know you felt what I felt in the kitchen that night.

My breath caught in my throat. Heat flooded between my legs instantly. I squeezed my thighs together hard, staring at the words like they might vanish if I blinked. My pussy throbbed traitorously.

Marcus: You don’t have to answer. But I can’t stop thinking about how soft your tits felt in my hands. How hard your nipples got when I squeezed them. I bet you’re touching yourself right now just reading this, aren’t you, baby girl?

“Oh my God…” I whispered, my pulse racing wildly. I was soaked. My tiny sleep shorts were already damp against my skin. I hated how right he was. Hated how my body responded to him like it had a mind of its own.

I should have put the phone down. I should have blocked him. Instead, my fingers trembled as I typed.

Me: You’re with my mom. This is wrong.

Marcus: I know it’s wrong. But that doesn’t change how much I want you. Tell me to stop and I will. But I don’t think you want me to stop, do you? I heard you moaning that night while I was fucking your mom. Were you imagining it was you underneath me? Did you cum thinking about my cock stretching you open?

I whimpered softly, he was so vulgar and straight forward, my free hand slipping between my legs without thinking. I rubbed myself through my shorts, pressing the heel of my palm against my swollen clit as I read his messages again and again. My breath was coming in short, shaky gasps.

Me: Stop.

But even as I sent it, I knew I didn’t mean it. Not really.

Marcus: Tell me the truth, Beverley. Did you cum thinking about me? Be a good girl and admit it.

I closed my eyes, remembering that night in vivid detail, the way I’d fucked myself with my vibrator, legs spread wide, biting my pillow while listening to him destroy my mom, imagining his hands on me, his thick cock pounding into me instead.

Me: Yes.

The reply came fast, almost predatory.

Marcus: Good girl. Fuck, I knew it. I’ve been hard all day thinking about you. About how much tighter your young pussy would feel around my cock than your mom’s. How much louder you’d moan for me. How you’d beg for it even though you know it’s filthy.

I moaned quietly, shoving my hand inside my shorts. My fingers found my swollen, dripping clit and rubbed faster, circling it desperately. Two fingers slid down and pushed inside my soaked cunt easily, pumping in and out as I stared at the screen, completely lost.

Marcus: Next time you touch yourself, I want you to think about my cock sliding deep into you while your mom is sleeping just down the hall. Think about me covering your mouth with my hand so she doesn’t hear you screaming my name. Imagine me breeding that tight pussy until you can’t think straight.

I was close already, dangerously close. My hips rocked frantically against my hand, fucking myself with my fingers while the phone shook in my other hand. The wet sounds filled my quiet room, obscene and loud in my ears.

Marcus: One day soon, I’m going to make it real, Beverley. I’m going to sneak into your room, pull those little shorts down, and fuck you so good you’ll forget how wrong it is. You’ll be my dirty little secret.

That was it. The words pushed me over the edge hard.

I came violently, biting my lip to stay quiet as my pussy clenched and spasmed around my fingers. Waves of intense pleasure crashed through me, my thighs shaking, toes curling, tears leaking from the corners of my eyes from the force of it. My mind was filled with nothing but him, his hands, his cock, his voice growling in my ear.

When it finally faded, I lay there panting, staring at the ceiling with a mess of guilt, shame, and overwhelming desire swirling inside me. My fingers were slick, my shorts ruined, my body still twitching with aftershocks.

What the hell was I doing?

I looked back at the phone with blurry eyes. Another message waited.

Marcus: Sleep well, baby girl. Dream about me. I’ll be thinking about you too.

I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. My hands were still shaking too badly. I turned my phone off completely and tossed it across the room onto the carpet. Then I curled up into a tight ball under the covers, pulling them over my head like they could hide me from what I’d just done.

My body was still trembling with the after effect. My mind was a complete wreck, guilt gnawing at me for betraying Mom, shame for being so weak, and a dark, throbbing desire that refused to go away. Marcus had crossed a massive line tonight.

And the scariest part was… I wanted him to cross so many more.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but all I could see was him. All I could feel was the ghost of his hands on my body and the humiliating truth that part of me was already hoping for the next text.