Lahat ng Kabanata ng Hate Should Be A Hockey Term: Kabanata 61 - Kabanata 70

SLOANEHe turned me over in one fluid motion, strong hands gripping my hips and flipping me onto my back across the reclined seats. My spine hit the leather with a soft thud, legs falling open wide around him as the fogged windows blurred the distant city lights into hazy halos. Cold air kissed my bare breasts and stomach; heat radiated off his body as he knelt between my spread thighs, cock heavy and glistening with my cream, veins standing out along the thick shaft.“On your back,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “I want to watch your face when you lose it. I want to see exactly what I do to my stepsister’s greedy little pussy.”I barely had time to catch my breath before he wrapped a fist around the base of his cock and started flogging me with it.The first wet slap landed directly on my swollen clit—hard enough to make my hips jerk and a sharp cry rip from my throat. The heavy head of his dick smacked against my slick folds again, then again, quick, filthy taps that sent obscene wet so

SLOANEThe car was quiet in the aftermath.Not truly quiet. The engine ticked softly as it cooled. Wind moved through the trees beyond the lookout. Somewhere far below us, the city glowed in blurred gold smudges through the fogged windows. My breathing was still uneven. So was his.But compared to the chaos that had just lived inside this car, it felt quiet enough to hear everything that mattered.I lay half-curled against the seat, wrapped in Chase’s hoodie because at some point he had pulled it over my shoulders without making a joke about it. My pants were back on. Barely. My hair was a disaster. My body felt boneless in the dangerous way that happened after too much adrenaline, too much wanting, too much of him.Chase sat beside me with one arm draped over the back of the seat, his other hand resting loosely on my thigh like it belonged there.That was the worst part.Not the touching.The ease of it.Like we had crossed some line so completely there was no point pretending otherw

SLOANE The email landed in my inbox on a Thursday afternoon, exactly when I was busy pretending my life wasn’t being written by a sadistic comedy writer who hated teenage girls.I was in the newsroom, halfway through arguing with Ava about whether the winter issue really needed another sidebar on student parking, when my laptop gave a single, innocent ping. Nothing dramatic. No orchestral sting. Just a quiet little notification in the corner of the screen, like it hadn’t just reached into my ribcage and squeezed.**Dalton University Admissions: Status Update Available**For a second I forgot how to breathe.Ava stopped mid-sentence. Ethan looked up from where he was crouched by the printer, pleading with it not to jam the sports proofs. Even Riley froze with her entire arm buried in the staff-meeting snack cabinet.The room went still. The computer fans seemed louder. The heater clicked. Out in the hall, freshmen laughed like the world hadn’t just tilted on its axis.Riley moved firs

SLOANEBy the second week of December, Eastlake High had discovered the concept of a Winter Formal and immediately devolved into a glitter-laced hostage situation.The hallways were suffocating under a blanket of silver snowflakes, blue streamers, and posters advertising *MIDNIGHT FROST* in curling white script. It looked less like a dance invitation and more like a high-budget deodorant commercial. Someone had wrapped the athletic trophy case in fake plastic icicles. Someone else had arranged battery-operated candles around the front office until Mrs. Keller from attendance nearly had a coronary, shouting, “Absolutely not! This is an educational institution, not a séance.”Naturally, the school newspaper was expected to cover all of it.And naturally, everyone involved had decided the newsroom was the optimal bunker in which to panic.I was hunched over my desk, aggressively trying to write a short announcement about ticket sales without using the phrase *student body enthusiasm*—I h

SLOANEEastlake High had dressed up its bones, but it couldn’t quite hide them.The gym was still the gym. No amount of silver streamers could disguise the faded championship banners, the scuffed hardwood, or the lingering scent of floor wax beneath clouds of expensive perfume and cheap cologne. Still, someone had strung white fairy lights across the rafters, and fake snow dusted the photo backdrop near the bleachers. In the dim, forgiving glow, the student body looked less like hostages in a public institution and more like people trying on versions of themselves they had only imagined.Winter Formal.Two words that had looked harmless on hallway posters.Two words that now felt like an ambush.I stood just outside the gym doors with Riley, Priya, Leah, and Jake, fighting the urge to tug at the hem of my dark green dress for the tenth time. The fabric fit too perfectly to ignore. Riley had called it flawless. Leah had called it lethal. Priya had smiled and said it made me look like I