Grace's pov
I ran out of that frat house like the devil was chasing me. Tears blurred my eyes, and my chest hurt so bad I thought it might split open. How could Steve do that? With Samantha, of all people? She'd always looked at me like I was dirt under her shoe, and now this. I didn't stop running until my legs gave out, somewhere on a dark street far from campus. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was probably him trying to call but I turned it off. I didn't want to hear his excuses.
The night air was cold, biting at my skin, but I didn't care. I needed to forget. Forget the moans, the smiles, the betrayal. My feet carried me without thinking, and soon I found myself in front of a small bar on the edge of town. It looked rundown, with a flickering neon sign that said "Joe's Place." I'd never been inside a bar alone before, but tonight felt like the right time to start. I pushed the door open and stepped in.
The place was dim, filled with the smell of stale beer and old wood. A few people sat at the counter, nursing drinks, and soft music played from a jukebox in the corner. I slid onto a stool at the far end, away from everyone. The bartender, an older guy with a gray beard, looked at me. "What'll it be, miss?"
"Something strong," I said, my voice shaky. "Whatever you got."
He nodded and poured me a glass of whiskey. I took a sip, and it burned going down, but it warmed the cold spot in my stomach. I stared at the liquid, swirling it around, trying not to think about Steve's face when he turned and saw me.
"You look like you've had a rough night," a voice said next to me.
I glanced up. A man had taken the stool beside mine. He was handsome with messy brown hair and sharp green eyes. He wore a simple black shirt and jeans, like he didn't care about fitting in. There was something about him. He was confident, but not pushy.
"Yeah," I muttered. "You could say that."
He smiled faintly. "Want to talk about it? Or should I just buy you another drink?"
I hesitated. Talking to strangers wasn't my thing, but what did I have to lose? "My boyfriend... ex-boyfriend now, I guess. Caught him with someone else."
He winced. "Ouch. That's tough. Well, if it helps, guys like that aren't worth the tears. Sounds like he didn't know what he had."
I laughed a little, bitter. "Easy for you to say. You've probably never been cheated on."
He shrugged. "Actually, I have. My ex left me for my best friend. Took me months to get over it. But here I am, still kicking."
We started talking then. Really talking. He asked about my life, and I told him bits and pieces. about being treated like a slave, school, how everything felt like a weight on my shoulders. I left out the revenge part; that was too dark for a bar chat. He listened, nodding, like he actually cared.
Then he shared about himself. He was in some hard shoes to fill but he had to do it. He made jokes about hotel rooms and bad coffee, and I found myself laughing. Real laughs, not the fake ones I used around Lilian.
"You're funny," I said after he told a story about getting lost in a city and ending up at a clown convention.
"And you're easy to talk to," he replied, his eyes meeting mine. There was a spark there, something warm and exciting. For the first time that night, I didn't feel broken.
We talked for hours. The bar emptied out, but we stayed. He made me forget the pain, at least for a while. When the bartender called last call, he looked at me. "My hotel's just down the street. Want to keep this going? No pressure."
My heart raced. This wasn't me. I didn't do things like this. But Steve's betrayal flashed in my mind, and I thought, why not? "Okay," I whispered.
We walked to his hotel, the cool air brushing against us. His hand brushed mine, and I didn't pull away. The lobby was quiet, and we took the elevator up.
His room was small. He shut the door, pushed me against it. Whether it was the alcohol or not, l liked where this was going.
His hands went under my shirt. They felt rough on my skin. I yanked his belt open and pulled his jeans down. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, veins pulsing. I wrapped my fingers around it, stroked once. He groaned and shoved my skirt up, his fingers sliding under my panties.
"Wet already," he muttered, rubbing my clit in circles. I gasped, my hips jerking. Then he added another finger. They were curling, pumping. My knees buckled but he held me up with one arm, his mouth on my neck, biting.
He carried me over to the bed and threw me down. In one swift movement, he ripped my panties off and spread my legs wide. For a while , he just stared at my pussy like he owned it. Then the next minute, his mouth was on me, tongue flat, licking up my slit, flicking my clit.
I cried out, my fingers tangled in his hair. He sucked my clit hard, while he finger fucked me. I came fast, my thighs clamping his heads and my juices coating his chin.
He didn't give me time to gather myself. He flipped me over, my ass up. I felt his cock nudge my entrance, then in one swift motion, he thrust in, one brutal stroke. I screamed into the pillow.
He filled me completely, stretching, burning. He pulled out slow, then slammed back in. Again. Again.
"Harder," I begged and he obliged. He pounded me like punishment, his balls slapping my clit with every thrust. I reached under, rubbed myself, chasing another orgasm. He leaned over, bit my shoulder, growled dirty words. Something about how tight I was and how I took it like a slut. I came again, pussy clenching around him.
He pulled out and I thought that was it but he flipped me onto my back, pushed my knees to my chest, drove in deep. He reached between us, thumb on my clit, rubbing fast.
"Come with me," he said.
And I did. He thrust once, twice, buried himself deep and came. We stayed locked and panting.
He rolled off and pulled me close. I fell asleep with his arm around me.
Morning light filtered through the curtains, waking me. I stretched, a smile on my lips, remembering last night. But when I turned, he was already up, buttoning his shirt. His face was different. It was cold, distant.
"Morning," I said softly, sitting up, the sheet clutched to my chest.
He glanced at me, no warmth in his eyes. "You should get dressed."
Confusion hit me. "What? Oh! But last night—"
"Last night was fun," he cut in, tying his shoes. "But that's all it was. A one-time thing."
My stomach dropped. "I thought... we connected. We talked for hours."
He laughed, short and mean. "Connected? Come on, woman. We met in a bar. You jumped into bed with a guy you barely know. What did you expect? A fairy tale?"
His words stung like slaps. "That's not fair. I was hurt, and you—"
"And you were easy," he said coldly. "Girls like you, throwing yourselves at strangers. It's pathetic. Loose, that's what it is. Sleeping with someone on the first night? No self-respect."
Tears pricked my eyes. "Stop. Please. I didn't think—"
"Exactly," he snapped. "You didn't think. Now get your clothes on and go. No wonder your boyfriend cheated on you. I don't want to see you again."
I tried to speak, to explain the pain from Steve, how he made me laugh, how it felt real. "Wait. Can we talk? Maybe—"
"No," he said, opening the door. "I've got someone. I'm getting married to. This was just... nothing. A mistake. Don't contact me."
He tossed my clothes at me and turned away. I dressed quickly, hands shaking, humiliation burning through me. How could I be so stupid? First Steve, now this. I grabbed my bag and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind me like a final nail.
Outside, the sun mocked me. I walked home, tears streaming. The Hendersons' house loomed ahead, but I couldn't face it yet. I sat on a bench in a park, hugging my knees. Revenge felt far away now. My own life was a mess. How did I end up here? Orphaned, betrayed, used.