His Pretty Little Burden (Kids of The District, #4)

by Nicci Harris

The fire in my abdomen billows into my veins. A tickle caresses the inner flesh of my cheek, a gentle stroke that moves up and down inside me, the action and sensation forcing a tiny mewl from my throat. A zap of awareness rushes between my legs. I curl in, squeezing my eyes tight, squeezing my thighs together, fending off the warmth making me want to rock my body. The Q-Tip leaves my cheek. His hold on my jaw softens. Fingertips caress my sore cheek muscles in a soothing way, making small circles around the harsh dips his thumb and forefinger left, completely replacing the discomfort with... I don’t know, but I think a soft smile plays on my lips at the sensation, an action so incongruous with the weight of indecency in the air. “Good girl.” In my dazed state, I barely

A little deer. One grey eye. One green. I'll kill her if I must.

I meet his searing blue gaze. His eyes are locked on me like he is imagining tasting me the way I am imagining tasting him, which can't be true because I'm a nobody. An obligation.

"She doesn't eat. Hardly sleeps." He pauses, and my heart becomes an erratic drum between my ears. "If you were my property, I'd bend you over my knee."

"You are my responsibility. While you are under my roof, you will eat three meals a day. You will make yourself comfortable. If you don't like something, use your voice, say it. You will not apologise unless you have done something wrong. The word sorry carries no significance when it's used to hide a lack of confidence."

But her use of the word sorry... it has no meaning to her. She is casually sorry for everything. A little people-pleaser. I don't like it—at all.

"You're reading into things." Ignore the way you feel seen.

"He doesn't eat. Hardly sleeps. If you were my property, I'd bend you over my knee."

"So, you haven't failed, sweet girl." He smiles, softly. "You are resilient despite all odds. And you'll survive what's to come."

"Mine," I hiss. Mine. Mine. A word I didn't know I would use, but now that I have, it takes root inside me. My responsibility. Mine to protect. Mine to care for. To clothe. To look at. Mine.

"Now be a good girl, and let me see these lovely lips say, 'Yes, Sir.'"

"Good girl. You’re such a good girl for listening. Do you enjoy fucking yourself in front of me, my pretty deer?"

"Did you know that pregnant women have tighter pussies? It is a fact; the lovely flesh between their legs is swollen with all the blood pumping to that area."

Fucksake, I care. I care about her.

"But I have never seen you look at a girl the way you looked at her tonight." "And how was that?" She touches my cheek. "Like you couldn't bear not to."

"Take your shorts off. Lay over my knees."

"I wonder if Dustin's little girl likes it when I spank her,"

This doesn't seem normal. Natural. Sane. I don’t know whether to hide my face as I drip from between my legs or beg him to please never stop the punishing pleasure.

His hand on my thigh My heart on the line.

She was never a good mother. But she is, still, our mother.

I fucked-up by... falling for him.

Then his lips crash with mine, his tongue punctures between inside, and my entire body burns up. There is no other thought, not a single fucking rational direction only a foggy abyss of sensation.

"I'm already completely possessed by you, and I haven't even been inside you," he states. "I need you to know that as soon as my cock enters your body, you belong to me. Not as a lover. Nothing that trivial. In every way. You won't like what that means... Tell me to stop." He nudges his cock at my pussy, still using his fingers to touch the outer lips. I wriggle against them, and they slide around in my wetness. His eyes darken, his tone dangerous with warning as he says, "Tell. Me. To. Stop. Fawn." I can't.

Then he drags me down the steel-like length of him. I cry out as I'm slowly impaled on his thick, long erection until he has to force himself further in on a throaty groan.

"You will be a good girl for me, little deer. Do as you're told, and everything will be okay. You will let me fuck any part of you. You will take me like a good girl. And you will thank me when I kill the boy who put this baby inside you while you were too high to consent."

"I'll let you off this once, little deer. But if you ever come again without screaming my name, I'll fuck your tight arsehole until you need my cock inside it just to feel normal—"

Then he grows inside me, the sensation almost startling as he comes, fucking me while his orgasm rips through his body.

I never want to forget the way his brows pinch, his mouth parts, the sound growling from him in a primal and feral timbre. I know he said I belong to him. I'm his dark possession. But people lie. Everyone in my life lies. Eventually, they give me up. But I'll never forget that my body can bring this king of a man immense pleasure, if only for a minute.

You left. You left when I needed to be held.

"What name would I use?" He smooths my hair down my head. "Always, Sir. You are the only one who calls me that, sweet girl." I move into his warm hand, liking how he brushes the side of my hair with his palm, his fingers lightly skating through the strands. "Even when you're... inside me?" He groans, a dark tic forming in the corner of his mouth. "Especially, then." My cheeks warm. "Yes, Sir." "Good girl."

Ball my hands into fists. Tighten my entire body. Watching the footage play out.

They will never breathe life into her rape again.

"Are you sorry for hurting her? You won't be raping anyone again, will you? Tell me you're sorry, my boy. Tell me how sorry you are."

"I won't be yours, but you are mine. That is already settled.

I know nothing about relationships. Of love. From a mother or father or lover or friend. I am a blank canvas without appropriate conventions and healthy dynamics to measure my experiences by... but I know whatever is going on between us isn't what everyone else has. It is more. It is everything. He is everything.

Her dual-coloured eyes glaze over as she rides me. She is close, and so very beautiful when gagged. With her cheeks puffed beneath the tight grip I have on her mouth. Muffled moans. Tears clinging to her lashes under the onslaught of waves of pleasure. Submissive. Curled up.

A young girl I should have never touched, but even God wouldn't dare take her from me now.

I'll keep her even if she hates me after what I do. After the lies. I'll keep her anyway.

I can't let her go. And I can’t stop kissing her, slow and soft. Her lips are like—fuck me. They are like peace and comfort. Fucking comfort.

"This is the last thing, Fawn. I swear it! The last thing. I will drag God himself to Hell before I let you hurt again."

Fourteen weeks of delicately constructed life reduced to a blob, a crimson mass. I didn’t want him anyway...

Bad things come in threes. Her suicide: number one. His murder: number two. My miscarriage: number three.

But I refuse to be his pretty little burden.

“When I say you belong to me and that I will take care of you, this is what I mean. You are not a stray. You are owned. I warned you once to tell me to stop. I warned you what it meant to belong to me... True, I didn’t plan on keeping you then. I do now. There will be times when you hate me. For what I have to do. I am sure of it. That will change nothing between us. I want you to know that if you try to leave, I will hunt you down. I want you to find comfort in the fact that you have no choice. You are mine. Because ever since I laid eyes on you, sweet girl, that is the only place they have wanted to be.”

“I have a pad on. It’s covered in blood.” “And you think I somehow forgot such a thing?”

“I’d like to see it. Leave it for me, and I’ll shave you from now on, the way I like.”

“Clay!” I scream his name. Clay. Clay. Clay. I take his tongue, his fingers, his everything. I’ll take it all.

I want to scream, ‘I love you!’ For an endless moment, I want to whisper, ‘I understand I belong to you. You won’t be discarding me. You won’t let me go. You’ll hunt me down. I agree. I agree to it, Sir. I’m yours.'"

As my mind rolls, delirious on a cocktail of everything him, I murmur softly, “I love you, Clay.”

“I’m going to come. You’re going to swallow every drop I give you. Then lick me clean... That’s it... Oh. Fuck. More...That's a good fucking girl.” He jerks my ponytail back and pushes me down, controlling my head in a brutal way that causes my throat to contract and whimpers to soar around his thick cock with the battering sensation. “Good... good girl.”