Chapter Twenty-Eight — Maya

I was exhausted. Lack of sleep and fucking all night long for days on end had taken its toll. Oliver was insatiable. He came for me when he wanted, where he wanted. However he wanted.

He was possessive. Demanding. I’d become Oliver’s willing plaything, his fuck toy. At night when everyone had gone to bed, I'd be summoned to his room, or he’d appear in my bathroom while I was soaking in the tub or taking a shower.

He was moody and angry all the time, as if he had to prove something to himself. What happened to the sweet guy I’d given my virginity to? Maybe I’d dreamed all of that. With every passing day, I saw him get more distant and relentless in the way he fucked me.

My life had changed so much since my stepbrother had found me in the bathroom bleeding on the floor, that it was divided distinctly into two parts: Before Oliver and After Oliver.

Before Oliver had become a blur. The only highlights were the times my dad or Oliver were featured in some small part. The rest I’d forgotten.

After Oliver had taken over my existence. I'd become addicted to the man I’d always pretended to hate. It didn’t matter how badly he treated me, I took it every single time and then came back for more.

Since he brought me home from the clinic, he’d moved into the house, working from the study. Larissa seemed pleased to have her son so close after all the years she'd hardly seen him.

“So I can watch over you, little bee. Make sure you never try to leave me again,” he’d said when I questioned him about not going back to LA.

Since that first time when I’d given him my virginity, he’d fucked me on every conceivable space in the house. He’d dragged me down to the kitchen in the middle of the night, saying he was hungry. He was—hungry for me. The fact we could be found out at any moment spiked my adrenaline, made it even more thrilling.

He started with my pussy, then slowly trained my ass. Oliver had a thing for fucking my ass. And I’d do anything to please him, even wear butt plugs to college to stretch me enough so I was ready for his cock later. It made sitting through lectures pure torture, yet it also excited me; I had a constant reminder of where he’d been inside me and where he was going to be the next time he screwed me.

Sometimes he couldn’t wait and he’d show up at college on the pretense that I’d left a book on the kitchen table or some other bullshit story. Sometimes I’d see Oliver walking up the path and pretend I didn’t see him, letting the boy I was chatting to come a little too close to me or even brush against my shoulder. Funny how boys liked rubbing their shoulders or legs against mine. It did nothing for me, except give me the ability to watch Oliver’s face as he glared at the boy, wanting to rip him apart with his bare teeth. Some part of me found pleasure in knowing that I could inflict such torture on him, just as he’d done to me for all those years.

It turned me on so much that my pussy started weeping, the aroma of my sex so strong that even the innocent boy would sense something different and start panting. It was risky, yet I couldn’t stop myself, wanting to spur Oliver’s jealousy to fever pitch so he’d fuck me even harder when we were finally alone.

“Has any boy been checking out my tits today?” he’d ask as he grabbed both my breasts in his palms and squeezed till I wanted to cry out. I’d shake my head, biting down on my lip to stop a smile from giving me away, inwardly pleased that he was so possessive and so damn insanely jealous. I needed my daily fix of Oliver’s cock, my attachment to him growing more and more, my dependency on him reaching dangerous levels.

Oliver was my drug of choice.

I never denied him. We fucked like bunnies in the springtime, neither of us ever having enough. It got to the point that I needed a nap most days when he left the house for a jog; sometimes he'd go to LA for business meetings so I could get some much needed sleep.

In some part I hated myself for the way I couldn’t resist him. Hated how he always won in the end. Why, when it came to Oliver, was I so damn stupid sometimes? He was slowly but surely breaking any resistance I had to him.

Quinn was worried about me. She said it was unhealthy not wanting to do or be anywhere if it didn’t involve Oliver. I just smiled at her, knowing she’d never understand what it felt like—I only felt alive when he was around. There was no use in defending myself.

Sometimes Oliver was sweet and caring—those were the times I breathed for. I was so damn confused I gave up trying to figure him out.

Consumed. It was the only way I could describe my situation. I held on to every moment because I never knew when it would end. Because one thing I did know: this couldn’t last. We’d kill one another fucking the way we did.

Sweaty. Dirty. Always pushing for more.