CHAPTER 4
AVA'S POV
I stand in the doorway with water still running down my back, the oversized T-shirt sticking to my damp skin. Marcus doesn’t move from the edge of Lisa’s bed. He just looks at me like he has all the time in the world.
My nipples are hard against the thin fabric. I know he can see them. The shirt is too short and too light, clinging to every place I’m still wet from the shower. I should have locked the bedroom door. I should have gotten dressed properly. Instead I just stand here like an idiot, heart hammering so hard it hurts.
“You’re staring,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. It doesn’t work.
“You’re standing there wet in my daughter’s shirt.” His eyes drop to my thighs. “What do you expect?”
I should tell him to get out. I should pull the shirt down and walk past him like this is normal. Instead I stay where I am, frozen, because the way he’s looking at me makes my stomach flip and my pussy throb at the same time.
Marcus leans forward, elbows on his knees, and studies me for a long second. Then he asks, calm as anything:
“How long have you been fucking Ryan?”
The question hits me like a slap. My stomach drops so hard I feel sick.
“What?”
“Don’t play dumb.” His voice stays low, but there’s a sharp edge under it now. “I saw you. Last week. Behind the café. His hand up your skirt. You looking around like a guilty little slut before you pulled him into that storage room.”
My face goes hot so fast it burns. Shame and fear smash into me at the same time. My mind starts racing — how much did he see, how long did he watch, does he know how many times it’s happened?
“You—you watched?”
“I was driving past. Recognized your skirt. Then I recognized the way you opened your legs for him.” He stands up slowly, and suddenly the room feels smaller. “Does Lisa know her best friend is taking her boyfriend’s cock?”
“Please don’t tell her,” I whisper. The words come out fast and desperate, tumbling over each other. “Marcus, please— she can’t know. She can’t.”
He walks toward me. I back up on instinct until my shoulders hit the wall. He plants one hand beside my head and looks down at me, close enough that I can smell the coffee on his breath and the soap on his skin.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asks quietly. “You’re in her house. Wearing her clothes. Standing here half-naked after using her shower. And if I had to guess…” His other hand grabs my thigh and pushes the T-shirt up. I gasp at the contact. “You’re still wet from him, aren’t you?”
I try to close my legs. He forces them apart with his knee and cups my pussy through my panties. The heat of his palm is shocking. His eyes darken the second he feels how soaked I already am.
“Jesus Christ.” His voice drops even lower. “You’re dripping. He fucked you today, didn’t he?”
I nod, eyes burning with humiliation. My throat feels too tight to speak.
“Say it.”
“He fucked me,” I whisper.
Marcus makes a low, ugly sound of approval. He yanks my panties to the side like they offend him and drags two thick fingers through my folds, spreading the wetness around. I flinch hard at how sensitive I am. I’m still swollen from Ryan, and every brush of his fingers feels too much.
“Pathetic,” he mutters, watching my face while he does it. “Your best friend is out on a date with him right now, sitting across from the same cock that was inside you a few hours ago… and you’re here leaking onto my hand.” He pushes one finger inside me. Then a second. The stretch makes me moan before I can stop it. “You gonna cry if I tell her? Or are you just gonna open your legs wider like the slut you are?”
“Please… don’t tell her.” My voice cracks. I’m shaking. His fingers are moving now, slow and deliberate, curling against a spot that makes my knees weak.
“Then be useful.” His mouth is right next to my ear, voice rough. “Get on the bed. Now.”
My legs are shaking so badly I almost can’t do it, but I obey. I climb onto Lisa’s bed on my back, face burning, heart slamming. Marcus pulls the T-shirt up and off me completely in one motion, leaving me naked under him. The air feels cold on my wet skin. He shoves his sweatpants down just far enough to pull his cock out.
It’s thick. Heavy. Already hard. Bigger than Ryan’s. The sight of it makes my stomach flip with a mix of nerves and raw want. I hate how much I want it.
He climbs over me, pushes my thighs wide apart with his knees, and rubs the fat head of his cock up and down my slit, coating himself in the mess Ryan left and the new wetness I can’t control. Every time it bumps my clit I twitch.
“First time I’m getting this cunt,” he says, voice rough with something ugly and hungry, “and it’s already been used today. Still loose and creamy from another man’s cum. Dirty fucking girl.”
Then he pushes inside me in one long, slow thrust.
I cry out. The stretch burns — he’s thicker than I’m ready for, thicker than Ryan, and he doesn’t stop until he’s buried all the way to the hilt. My hands fist in Lisa’s sheets. I can feel every inch of him. It hurts in the best and worst way.
“Fuck—wait—”
“No.” He pulls back and slams back in. The bed creaks hard under us. “You don’t get to play innocent now. You walked into this house knowing what you are. You came upstairs wearing almost nothing. You stood there and let me touch you.”
He starts fucking me hard. Deep, steady, punishing thrusts that force broken sounds out of my throat. One hand pins my wrist to the bed. The other grips my jaw so I have to look at him while he uses me.
“This what you wanted?” he growls. “Your best friend’s dad stretching your used little pussy while she’s out with the boy you just fucked? Huh?”
“Yes,” I choke out. Shame makes my eyes sting. It also makes me clench hard around him. I hate that it turns me on. I hate that the degradation only makes me wetter.
“Slut.” He thrusts harder, the wet sound of his cock driving into me filling the room. “Say it.”
“I’m a slut—”
“Louder.”
“I’m a slut—fuck—please—”
He drops his head and bites the side of my neck hard enough to sting as he pounds into me. I can hear how soaked I am. I can feel myself dripping down onto the sheets. My orgasm builds terrifyingly fast, sparked by the shame and the stretch and the fact that we’re doing this in Lisa’s bed.
I come suddenly, hard, with a broken cry, squeezing him like I’m trying to pull him even deeper. My vision goes white at the edges. Marcus doesn’t slow down. He fucks me straight through it, relentless, until my legs are shaking violently and I’m sobbing from how intense it feels. Every thrust forces another weak pulse out of me.
Then his rhythm turns rough and uneven. He shoves himself as deep as he can go one last time and comes with a low, guttural curse, pulsing inside me, flooding me with thick heat. I feel every spurt. Feel it painting my insides. Feel it start to leak out around his cock when he finally stills, breathing hard against my neck.
For a long moment the only sound in the room is both of us trying to catch our breath.
Marcus pulls out slowly. The loss of him makes me wince. His cum immediately drips down between my cheeks onto Lisa’s sheets, warm and messy. He sits back on his knees and looks at the wreck he’s made of me — spread open, shaking, cum leaking out of my used pussy — and gives a dark, satisfied smile.
“Clean yourself up,” he says, already tucking his cock back into his sweatpants. “And if you tell anyone about this… I tell Lisa everything. About Ryan. About tonight. Everything. Clear?”
I nod, still spread open on the bed, chest heaving, unable to close my legs yet.
“Good girl.”
He walks out of the room without looking back, leaving me naked, used, and dripping on my best friend’s bed.
I stare at the ceiling, heart still racing, his cum leaking out of me in slow pulses, the threat sitting heavy in my chest.
I already know I’m not going to say a word.
And the worst part is that part of me is already wondering when he’ll do it again.