Miracle's POV
"Stevie..."
My voice was small, barely audible even though the panic rising in me could fill up an entire warehouse.
"Hush, sweetness," he murmured, his voice thick. "I'll get to it."
I swallowed hard. I wished he didn't get to it. Wished he'd stand up and apologize for his behavior. Wished this was a nightmare I would wake up from.
The car was too small, cramped. There was no room for the romance I'd imagined.
This wasn't the fairytale love making I envisioned. It was more like the opposite of it.
His hand grazed a sensitive spot, making me jump. He gave a low, excited laugh, mistaking my jolt of fear for pleasure.
"It's my first time, Stevie. Can we please just go home?" I asked, my voice small.
I hated it. How small I felt. How insignificant. How afraid I was.
He kissed my nose—a brief, tender gesture that felt completely out of place. "I've waited months for you, Ira. Let me have this. Let me have you. I can't wait anymore."
His voice was feverish, gruff. Then his words turned strange.
"You have no idea how long I've waited. Waiting to take you, but you just push me away. You always choose more losers over me."
What? What was he talking about? What losers? He was my entire world. How could I ever choose anyone else?
"I would never choose anyone over you, Stevie. Never. I love you too much," I said, desperate to correct him.
"Hush now," he said, as if my voice was just a distraction. Like the sound of me...was in the way.
His broad body lowered onto me. I felt him fumbling between us, the sound of his zipper, the crinkle of plastic. Then, the unfamiliar, frightening pressure of him against my thigh. I almost yelled in surprise. He hadn't given me any warning whatsoever.
My heart rate jumped.
This is Stevie, I tried to tell myself. You love him. But, God, I was terrified.
He pushed my shirt and bra up. His mouth was on my breast, pulling tight. It didn't feel like love. It felt more like a punishment which didn't make any sense. Because why would the man I love want to punish me.
I wanted to tell him to stop, but we had gone too far. I felt I had no right to say no now. I just prayed for it to be over.
The pressure between my legs became a maddening, searing pain. I tensed every muscle, gritted my teeth, and looked up at his face.
He wasn't looking at me. His eyes were shut, focused only on himself. I wasn't his girlfriend anymore. I was just a thing he was using.
He shoved harder into my resistant body. A pained, animal sound broke from my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut tight.
It only took a few more burning thrusts. I felt a slickness that I knew wasn't just from the condom. Then he shuddered against me, groaning.
"Oh, baby. That was so good. You are so sweet," he breathed.
I kept my arms around him. A wave of revulsion washed over me as he kissed my neck, his breath hot on my skin.
"Yes. This is it, girlie. The stuff of legends."
Girlie. That name again. It was the only almost-soft thing about him.
My whole body began to tremble violently, my teeth chattering from the shock and the strain of holding so still.
Stevie pulled me against him, patting my back like I was a racehorse he'd just run hard.
Finally, he stopped. I was so thankful. I needed to be my own person again, not just something he was on top of.
We dressed in silence. He didn't speak. I was too shocked to find any words. Too shun to form coherent thoughts. Too shaken to attempt a conversation.
"Are you sorry?" he asked.
What was I supposed to say? Yes? But that didn't seem like the right answer for him. So I just forced a weak smile and said nothing.
He leaned in to kiss my cheek. I had to stop myself from flinching away. I forced myself to be still. He can't hurt me again so soon, can he?
"Don't worry, sweetness," he said in a low, condescending voice. "With time, you'll learn how to participate. How to pleasure me, like I've pleasured you."
My hands were still shaking when he took one of them in his. We walked back to his party like nothing was wrong. Like the raw, aching pain between my legs wasn't there.
Maybe I should have realized it then. Maybe I should have known that something was deeply, horribly wrong with our "love."
But I didn't. I just loved him too much to see it.