Page 94 of Rough Hard Fierce (Chicago Underground 1-3)
His hands were rough, pulling off my shirt, touching my body, pulling me apart. His mouth was demanding. He wanted everything, but I couldn’t give it to him. No, that wasn’t true. I could give in to him. My body was wet with anticipation, my mind slipping to that dark, quiet place, but I didn’t want to. No.
He tried to kiss me again, and I turned my face away. He made a low sound like a growl, and then flipped me over onto a pillow. I knew what would happen next. The way he pushed apart my knees and tilted my hips and parted me there, it all meant I was going to get fucked. No!
“No,” I whispered.
He thrust inside me, hot and thick.
“No,” I said.
He pulled back. I thought he would pull out.
“Yes,” he grunted, and then he thrust again, and again, deeper each time, filling me, invading me— Get it out!
“Stop,” I said. “Colin!”
He froze. “Allie?”
It was his name that had caught his attention, so I used it again. “Colin, stop.”
In a heartbeat he was out of me. I was whipped around onto my back, and he was crouching over me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did I hurt you?
“No, I just—” I was fucking this up, that’s what I was doing. I’d done this before, in the alley, in my car, once in the bathroom of the club, what was one more time? But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to. Not right now. I’m sorry.”
“Jesus, Allie.” He rolled down to the bed beside me, breathing hard.
We lay there side by side, both flat on the bed, with only his cock standing up, gently waving in rhythm with his breaths, as if to say don’t forget about me! Neither of us had forgotten, I was sure.
“I thought it was…fuck, I thought it was a game,” he said in low tones. “I thought that’s what you wanted. I’m sorry.”
“No, don’t be,” I said, my voice small and stupid. “I know that’s what I asked for before, but that’s not…I didn’t want it now.”
“Okay,” he said, but he sounded confused.
“I’m sorry.”
“Allie,” he said, then paused. “You’re allowed to say no. You know that, right?”
“Of course I know that,” I said, too quickly and too brightly.
“Fuck!”
“I’m sorry,” I practically wailed. “I’m so messed up.”
“Shh,” he said, pulling me into his arms. He whispered things into my hair to quiet me while his hands stroked down my back, while we both ignored the thick, damp cock bobbing between us. Damned insistent things, cocks.
It was okay, though, because he didn’t freak out or get mad, but of course not. He’d always been tender with me, but there was this block built up in my mind. It wasn’t even about men, like I’d thought, or cocks or fucking, but about saying no.
I ignored the urge to tell him I was sorry, again, or to offer to make him come. It was hard to do, with his cock practically begging for my hand or my mouth, and I so wanted to make him feel good. That way we wouldn’t have to lie here thinking about me and my ridiculous issues. Yes, pleasing him was so much better, but if I did that, I’d have nothing. I’d gained one small thing by saying no, by meaning it, by insisting it. I’d gotten my consent back, and I wasn’t about to give it away so easily. Not ever again if I could help it.
Men could take my body if they were stronger than me, and they usually were. I never fooled myself about those women’s self-defense classes or mace cans. Where I came from, pulling shit like that got you killed. The important thing was to be able to get up and walk away from it after.
I’d given away so much more than that, though. The physical pain had been over in a week. But I’d made it all worse when I gave away my consent, when I’d set out to prove that sex didn’t matter, that getting raped was the same thing, and that men didn’t listen to no.
But not today. Today I’d said no, and he hadn’t forced me. He hadn’t left. Not even when the air cooled my skin, still damp with a sheen of sweat. His breathing evened out, and with his arm still wrapped around me, he slept.
Chapter Three
