The Virgin's Second Suicide
Date: BACKDATED to August 26, with memories from February in Paris
Time: Near midnight
Location: Lavender's Leaky room and a club in Paris
Characters Involved: Marcus Flint and Lavender Brown
Rating: R
((Continued from when Lavender and Flint are reunited at the ball))
“Are you ready?” she asked him. Determination, Deliberation, Destination: The Leaky Cauldron. Her room. Her bed, where he would - No, stay focused or be splinched. No one found a splinched girl sexy.
White dress. Long gold earrings. Soft pink lipstick. Sexy smile. Out of the house. She had turned 20 last week. It was February, right before Valentine’s day. Zinnia was out with Edouard, and so she was not going to be tagging along watching Lavender. She’d be angry when she found out Lavender went out alone. Not because she was missing any fun, but because Zinnia had a feeling that Lavender was doing what she thought she was doing.
Zinnia was a smart girl. Lavender had been sneaking away with strangers into bathrooms, dark corners, cars and so on when she could manage it. She hadn’t thought she’d be doing it this much. She was still a virgin, of course. Thank Merlin, she had enough charm to get her out of situations she didn’t feel like following through on. Why had she begun? She’d only snogged boys back at Hogwarts. But after Hogwarts, when her mum died… Well, Lavender didn’t like to think of it as this abyss in her heart that she stuffed with alcohol and attention from men. She just liked to think of it as ‘growing up and having fun.’
She jumped into her dad’s car and headed towards the bar section of muggle Paris. Too many of the witches knew her sister from her work with Madame Clemenceau. She didn’t want any word about her fun time coming back to haunt her. She chose a simple enough club. Not too many flashing lights, just enough people milling around. That meant that she’d have plenty of blokes to wink at. Just enough for her to be able to dangle a few at a time and take her pick, while not being overcome by all of the people. She made her way into the club, paying her cover charge and flashing her ID and smile at the door man.
She’d dance soon, of course, but first she wanted to dull her nerves. She hopped onto a barstool next to a well-dressed man and his mate. They paused their conversation and gave her an appraising look. She winked at them and then stared forward, reaching out her arm to hail the barman.
Just as she had expected, they immediately began talking to her, and before the barman could bring her drink they had ensured her that they wanted to pay for this one, and the next few for her. She tilted her head back and laughed with them, drinking more than the alcohol. Lavender was living off these feelings lately. It was exhilarating to know that just the sight of her body gave men pleasure, and when they would grin at her jokes and stare at her, mesmerized, she couldn’t feel any sadness anymore. The three drinks they had promised came and went, and they started ordering for her.
The corners of her eyes began to get blurry. She was grinning more widely than before, looking like a Cheshire cat. Her head was leaning back farther as she laughed, and the counter suddenly felt slippery under her fingers.
“Why don’t we go upstairs for awhile?” one of the men asked her.
“The two of you?” Lavender asked, letting out a loud giggle.
“I was thinking just you and I…” the first man said.
“And then maybe you’d be willing to come with me?”
Lavender’s head wasn’t very clear at this moment, but she had decided earlier on that she didn’t feel like blowing these guys. She found that two men together could guarantee more drinks, but she didn’t like the idea of blowing one off and then going to the next, well that was more whorish than she did. Closing her eyes she put a hand to her head. She had had a bit more than she had planned. This was a situation that was going to take a lot of Charm - and not Professor Flitwick’s kind. She hadn’t gotten into a hotel or motel room yet. It would be too dangerous to keep her virginity with a bed too readily available.
“Well, what’s upstairs?” Flip the head, bat the eyelashes. Act dumb and they won’t push so hard.
“Rooms,” the man said. “Rent by the hour, so you don’t have to stay.”
“You can stay as long as you want, though,” the other man added, running his fingers along her bare, pale arm.
“I dunno,” she said, noticing the slight slur in her voice. There was another blur to the side and she turned to look. Slur. Blur. Too much vodka. “Hey there,” she said to the man sitting at the bar next to one of the friends she was charming. “Don’t I know you?” That was a tactic that usually worked. Most men were perfectly willing to be welcome into the acquaintance, true or not, with a beautiful girl like herself. And if the two friends believed she knew the guy, they were almost completely likely to leave her alone, not wanting to cause trouble.
She had thought he looked familiar, back then. Her insides were churning into ice and then fire as she had him side-along apparate with her. That pulling sensation behind her bellybutton didn’t fade away when she materialized in her hotel room. It just grew and grew.
“Why don’t you just… just sit down for a moment,” said Lavender, feeling a bit scattered. She had clothes and makeup, her journal and a few books on wands and magical creatures littering the bed and floor. She started to clean like a muggle, distracted, red-faced and embarrassed to have a boy in her room. Silly girl - what was a wand for? She stood up straight and pulled her wand out, waving it and causing all the odds and ends to fly into one of her trunks. “Sorry,” she apologized. What was she apologizing for?
It doesn’t seem real, she thought. To be here, in her room, with a boy. A boy - no, a man. He was quite a few years older than her. To have invited him here - But, he had acted as though he would have come anyways. That grip on her arm had been no joke. He wants me. I’m beautiful. He had wanted her that night, too. Same dress. Same fella. She wasn’t going to have just had a one night stand after all.
Marcus took in the cluttered mess of her room with a disapproving eye, as he paced away from the door. Yet his arms were already working to remove his jacket, and unbutton his dress shirt with ease. By the time she apologized, which made him smirk, he was already bare-chested. His clothes rested over an arm, as Marcus glanced around for a suitable spot. They were placed on top of her trunk, and then off came his shoes with a pull of a toe.
“Why are you staying here?” Marcus asked with a confused frown, while moving himself to the bed. “This place is a dump.” Much like the last place; he entertained himself with that thought. Marcus leaned back on the bed, and lifted a hand to bring her to him, with a gesture. He started to grin, as he bathed within the power he held over her.
The boys left, obviously annoyed that someone else had taken their prey. Lavender was relieved to see them walk off onto the dance floor. And I still got my drinks, she thought, picking up her vodka and lime. “You do look familiar, actually,” she said, leaning forward. “I mean, I just said it first to get away from those blokes.” She let out a loud laugh, tilting her head back. She was so drunk. She knew it. There was no way she’d be able to drive back. Poor boys. They had dropped quite a bit of Galleo-No, euros - to get her pissed and they didn’t even get the goods. But she didn’t feel bad for them, her company was worth the cost of several drinks, of course. Someone as charming as herself. “Two blokes at one time is a bit much for a girl to take care of, wouldn’t you say?” She raised her glass to him. “What’s a fellow Brit like you doing in a club like this? Paris, France. Not as glamorous as they told me.”
Easily, as it had been before, she joined him, was above him, putty in his hands. He slid her dress of with intent, not caring if it would tear, and it hadn’t yet. Marcus made them vulnerable, by forcing his women to bare all first. It wasn’t important for them to appreciate his features first; he knew he was a handsome bloke. And he enjoyed when awkwardness hit, and there was a moment of subconscious action to cover up exposed skin. While that moment struck, he undid his trousers, and worked them away from his body, along with his pants, strategically. Then Marcus lunged upwards and smashed her naked form against his, and crushed her lips with an open mouth kiss, intended to invade her. One of his hands went to her southern curve, between cold thighs, to prepare for what he would do next.
She remembered him being that fast. It had seemed slower at the time, from the long lazy lull of the alcohol. How had he managed to convince her to go up to the room?
She let him paw his hands all over her, wincing under his hard touch, automatically opening her mouth to receive his kisses. She’d have to do some elementary healing magic on herself in the morning to remove the bruises.
After just a short time, and after he’d only had to buy her a few drinks, Marcus had led her up towards the rooms. Lime and the vodka… sour… Renting a room by the hour. Like a prostitute, she had told herself later, when she hadn’t been able to chase the thoughts away. She hadn’t planned on going that far. She’d give him a blowjob, make him laugh and say pretty things to her, and then get downstairs and into a cab.
But he wasn’t the kind to say pretty things. And he hadn’t been content with just her oral skills either. She had been too drunk to protest as much as she wanted to. The din of the club downstairs, his pressure on her hips, the smell of smoke and sex and the vodka smell when he breathed deep and throaty. Everything had culminated in crazed sensation, her body feeling as though it was turning and - yes, she was turning. Trying to get away. But he held her down.
She knew she wasn’t going to get out of the grip. Was she still fighting? She couldn’t tell. Did she want it? She didn’t know. Uncertainties and confusion and fear clouded her mind. Too much vodka! she’d never be able to drink a vodka and lime again.
“You’re..” she managed to articulate, “My first. Please --” Please what? Please stop? Please be gentle? Please remember my name in the morning? Please me? She didn’t know what she meant to say.
Adrenaline. Swarming blood, heated breath, tense and eager muscle. Marcus was addicted to the rush of danger, aggression, and feral responses. And the girl he had found one night in Paris fed the rush. Even with sluggish speech, and weakened disposition, she had delivered such penetrating excitement, when Marcus learned he was her first. A virgin was with him, under him. He couldn’t let her go now, even when she softly protested. They were a different breed, the untouched, because innocence still remained within them. Taking something proclaimed as sacred was a better reward than just release. He felt it was like stealing a part of the person’s soul. And in a weak voice, she begged for it in the end, whispering ‘please’ in such a way that made him crazy. He could not hold back. He pinned her down, held her still, ravaged her body, and ate her pain and fear, thriving on it indefinitely. It had been the best thing to happen, when all he had wanted to do that night was find a dirty whore. He wished his family would take more retreats to Paris, if he would get this lucky every time.
He left. Her body was sore, aching. She put her hands on her middle and let out a groan, stretching her body across the blankets and then pulling herself into a ball. What the hell had she just done? What had he just done? It had been so fast that she couldn’t quite remember everything that happened between leaving her stool and getting pushed onto the bed.
It wasn’t good. Whatever the hell it had been, it wasn’t good.
He didn’t bother waiting, talking, or otherwise linger. Marcus removed himself from her lifeless form, and messy bed quickly, to dress and leave. Dark eyes, however, stared at her in admiration of what he had taken. His pride forced onto him to study her, and remember that which he had conquered. ‘Virgins are sacred, now you’ll burn in hell.
He left the room without goodbyes, and quickly brushed through the doors of the building, heading for his hotel. That had been the only reason he had decided to go to the Muggle bar, it had been within walking distance, a mile or so, from where he was staying with his father. If he were staying another day in Paris, he would ache to return and find the girl he had changed into a woman. But he was leaving in the morning, bound back to Rome. This perfect virgin would be on his mind a long time, with a yearning for a repeat performance.
Why does everyone act like sex is a big deal? she pressed her face against the pillow, not even caring enough to think about who would have rested their head against it the last hour. But it wasn’t that it wasn’t a big deal for Lavender. It was. Huge. A part of her was gone. What had Grubbly Plank said? Unicorns only like virgins. Well, she’d sure never see a unicorn again. It wasn’t that sex wasn’t a big deal. It was that… Where was all the pleasure? How had she missed it? It had been quick, sure, but why did people talk about pleasure and excitement and laughter and touching? All she had had was the touching. Rough. He had been experienced, but not in how to make a woman’s body rejoice. Just in how to get his job done with ultimate pleasure for himself. Not even caring to be gentle to a woman’s body who was opening itself up to this sort of encounter for the first time.
She sat up, giving a painful shudder. Tears stung her eyes. She reached for her bra and underwear, slipping them on. She put a hand against her bra, a hand against her panties. Strange. She had always thought of them as something like armor. But they hadn’t defended her against this intruder.
The women at the desk didn’t even look up. “Making sure you taking all of your tings,” she said in broken English.
Lavender had her dress, she had her undergarments, she had her clutch. But she had left something much more valuable back on those dirty sheets.
She hadn’t expected him to be gentle this time around. Why should he be more careful than he had been with a virgin? At least she had a better idea of what was going on. She could still recall the way he had pushed her body, moving her arms and legs and pelvis to satisfy himself. Lavender knew it was pointless to fight against him. She didn’t try. She called out his name every once in awhile, because she knew he liked it.
He found eagerness with his fingers. A body only ripe for him. From him. He had been excited before, when he realized who she was at the event. But nothing compared to the desire he felt when he touched her in places that are private. His prodding was only for a moment, and then he turned her over, and connected with her from behind.
So, when Parvati asked what it was like, what was she going to tell her? That it was painful? “Then why did you do it again?” Parvati would ask.
“Because I don’t want to be a whore.” - That’s why Lavender was doing it. Did it make sense? To be sleeping with someone who had left her broken, sore, and confused six months ago? And yet somehow he had come back. And he still wanted her. And she would not have given away her virginity to a nameless guy. Parvati would never understand. If Lavender didn't fully understand her own reasons, her friend wouldn't understand.
It was the same feeling, even if void of the original essence, and Marcus dwelled in the touch, the rush. He did not concern himself with her the last time they screwed, but now…. Now he wanted worship. He wanted her to remember him better, and beg for his touch. Not because he was sensitive and caring, but because he wanted to make an impact. The only kind Marcus ever wanted: submissive respect.
As he pumped and groaned against her body, her mind flew elsewhere. We’ll have a relationship, I’ll cook him dinner, he’ll- that hurt - buy me flowers and keep me company at night. Everything would make more sense. My sweetheart.
When he climaxed and released himself inside of her, she cried. She couldn’t have told him why she was crying, if he asked. She ran her pale fingers through his hair, pulling his face down and forced a kiss on him, “Marcus...” How could she tell him that he had made her feel like a whore six months ago, and yet now, doing the exact same thing he had done, that had been wiped away?
His release was just as sweet as the last he had given her, and it made him slip away to relax on her bed, and revel in it. She needed work, as she had the first time, but Marcus was soon learning that he liked her inexperience more. He had been hers, her first experience, and now her second. To be single, solitary in this quest with this one person, was producing a coveted feeling. She was his. Completely his. Forever. He started to wonder how to guarantee she would stay that way. He did not want to share the rawness of her flesh. Not with any man.
Time: Near midnight
Location: Lavender's Leaky room and a club in Paris
Characters Involved: Marcus Flint and Lavender Brown
Rating: R
((Continued from when Lavender and Flint are reunited at the ball))
“Are you ready?” she asked him. Determination, Deliberation, Destination: The Leaky Cauldron. Her room. Her bed, where he would - No, stay focused or be splinched. No one found a splinched girl sexy.
White dress. Long gold earrings. Soft pink lipstick. Sexy smile. Out of the house. She had turned 20 last week. It was February, right before Valentine’s day. Zinnia was out with Edouard, and so she was not going to be tagging along watching Lavender. She’d be angry when she found out Lavender went out alone. Not because she was missing any fun, but because Zinnia had a feeling that Lavender was doing what she thought she was doing.
Zinnia was a smart girl. Lavender had been sneaking away with strangers into bathrooms, dark corners, cars and so on when she could manage it. She hadn’t thought she’d be doing it this much. She was still a virgin, of course. Thank Merlin, she had enough charm to get her out of situations she didn’t feel like following through on. Why had she begun? She’d only snogged boys back at Hogwarts. But after Hogwarts, when her mum died… Well, Lavender didn’t like to think of it as this abyss in her heart that she stuffed with alcohol and attention from men. She just liked to think of it as ‘growing up and having fun.’
She jumped into her dad’s car and headed towards the bar section of muggle Paris. Too many of the witches knew her sister from her work with Madame Clemenceau. She didn’t want any word about her fun time coming back to haunt her. She chose a simple enough club. Not too many flashing lights, just enough people milling around. That meant that she’d have plenty of blokes to wink at. Just enough for her to be able to dangle a few at a time and take her pick, while not being overcome by all of the people. She made her way into the club, paying her cover charge and flashing her ID and smile at the door man.
She’d dance soon, of course, but first she wanted to dull her nerves. She hopped onto a barstool next to a well-dressed man and his mate. They paused their conversation and gave her an appraising look. She winked at them and then stared forward, reaching out her arm to hail the barman.
Just as she had expected, they immediately began talking to her, and before the barman could bring her drink they had ensured her that they wanted to pay for this one, and the next few for her. She tilted her head back and laughed with them, drinking more than the alcohol. Lavender was living off these feelings lately. It was exhilarating to know that just the sight of her body gave men pleasure, and when they would grin at her jokes and stare at her, mesmerized, she couldn’t feel any sadness anymore. The three drinks they had promised came and went, and they started ordering for her.
The corners of her eyes began to get blurry. She was grinning more widely than before, looking like a Cheshire cat. Her head was leaning back farther as she laughed, and the counter suddenly felt slippery under her fingers.
“Why don’t we go upstairs for awhile?” one of the men asked her.
“The two of you?” Lavender asked, letting out a loud giggle.
“I was thinking just you and I…” the first man said.
“And then maybe you’d be willing to come with me?”
Lavender’s head wasn’t very clear at this moment, but she had decided earlier on that she didn’t feel like blowing these guys. She found that two men together could guarantee more drinks, but she didn’t like the idea of blowing one off and then going to the next, well that was more whorish than she did. Closing her eyes she put a hand to her head. She had had a bit more than she had planned. This was a situation that was going to take a lot of Charm - and not Professor Flitwick’s kind. She hadn’t gotten into a hotel or motel room yet. It would be too dangerous to keep her virginity with a bed too readily available.
“Well, what’s upstairs?” Flip the head, bat the eyelashes. Act dumb and they won’t push so hard.
“Rooms,” the man said. “Rent by the hour, so you don’t have to stay.”
“You can stay as long as you want, though,” the other man added, running his fingers along her bare, pale arm.
“I dunno,” she said, noticing the slight slur in her voice. There was another blur to the side and she turned to look. Slur. Blur. Too much vodka. “Hey there,” she said to the man sitting at the bar next to one of the friends she was charming. “Don’t I know you?” That was a tactic that usually worked. Most men were perfectly willing to be welcome into the acquaintance, true or not, with a beautiful girl like herself. And if the two friends believed she knew the guy, they were almost completely likely to leave her alone, not wanting to cause trouble.
She had thought he looked familiar, back then. Her insides were churning into ice and then fire as she had him side-along apparate with her. That pulling sensation behind her bellybutton didn’t fade away when she materialized in her hotel room. It just grew and grew.
“Why don’t you just… just sit down for a moment,” said Lavender, feeling a bit scattered. She had clothes and makeup, her journal and a few books on wands and magical creatures littering the bed and floor. She started to clean like a muggle, distracted, red-faced and embarrassed to have a boy in her room. Silly girl - what was a wand for? She stood up straight and pulled her wand out, waving it and causing all the odds and ends to fly into one of her trunks. “Sorry,” she apologized. What was she apologizing for?
It doesn’t seem real, she thought. To be here, in her room, with a boy. A boy - no, a man. He was quite a few years older than her. To have invited him here - But, he had acted as though he would have come anyways. That grip on her arm had been no joke. He wants me. I’m beautiful. He had wanted her that night, too. Same dress. Same fella. She wasn’t going to have just had a one night stand after all.
Marcus took in the cluttered mess of her room with a disapproving eye, as he paced away from the door. Yet his arms were already working to remove his jacket, and unbutton his dress shirt with ease. By the time she apologized, which made him smirk, he was already bare-chested. His clothes rested over an arm, as Marcus glanced around for a suitable spot. They were placed on top of her trunk, and then off came his shoes with a pull of a toe.
“Why are you staying here?” Marcus asked with a confused frown, while moving himself to the bed. “This place is a dump.” Much like the last place; he entertained himself with that thought. Marcus leaned back on the bed, and lifted a hand to bring her to him, with a gesture. He started to grin, as he bathed within the power he held over her.
The boys left, obviously annoyed that someone else had taken their prey. Lavender was relieved to see them walk off onto the dance floor. And I still got my drinks, she thought, picking up her vodka and lime. “You do look familiar, actually,” she said, leaning forward. “I mean, I just said it first to get away from those blokes.” She let out a loud laugh, tilting her head back. She was so drunk. She knew it. There was no way she’d be able to drive back. Poor boys. They had dropped quite a bit of Galleo-No, euros - to get her pissed and they didn’t even get the goods. But she didn’t feel bad for them, her company was worth the cost of several drinks, of course. Someone as charming as herself. “Two blokes at one time is a bit much for a girl to take care of, wouldn’t you say?” She raised her glass to him. “What’s a fellow Brit like you doing in a club like this? Paris, France. Not as glamorous as they told me.”
Easily, as it had been before, she joined him, was above him, putty in his hands. He slid her dress of with intent, not caring if it would tear, and it hadn’t yet. Marcus made them vulnerable, by forcing his women to bare all first. It wasn’t important for them to appreciate his features first; he knew he was a handsome bloke. And he enjoyed when awkwardness hit, and there was a moment of subconscious action to cover up exposed skin. While that moment struck, he undid his trousers, and worked them away from his body, along with his pants, strategically. Then Marcus lunged upwards and smashed her naked form against his, and crushed her lips with an open mouth kiss, intended to invade her. One of his hands went to her southern curve, between cold thighs, to prepare for what he would do next.
She remembered him being that fast. It had seemed slower at the time, from the long lazy lull of the alcohol. How had he managed to convince her to go up to the room?
She let him paw his hands all over her, wincing under his hard touch, automatically opening her mouth to receive his kisses. She’d have to do some elementary healing magic on herself in the morning to remove the bruises.
After just a short time, and after he’d only had to buy her a few drinks, Marcus had led her up towards the rooms. Lime and the vodka… sour… Renting a room by the hour. Like a prostitute, she had told herself later, when she hadn’t been able to chase the thoughts away. She hadn’t planned on going that far. She’d give him a blowjob, make him laugh and say pretty things to her, and then get downstairs and into a cab.
But he wasn’t the kind to say pretty things. And he hadn’t been content with just her oral skills either. She had been too drunk to protest as much as she wanted to. The din of the club downstairs, his pressure on her hips, the smell of smoke and sex and the vodka smell when he breathed deep and throaty. Everything had culminated in crazed sensation, her body feeling as though it was turning and - yes, she was turning. Trying to get away. But he held her down.
She knew she wasn’t going to get out of the grip. Was she still fighting? She couldn’t tell. Did she want it? She didn’t know. Uncertainties and confusion and fear clouded her mind. Too much vodka! she’d never be able to drink a vodka and lime again.
“You’re..” she managed to articulate, “My first. Please --” Please what? Please stop? Please be gentle? Please remember my name in the morning? Please me? She didn’t know what she meant to say.
Adrenaline. Swarming blood, heated breath, tense and eager muscle. Marcus was addicted to the rush of danger, aggression, and feral responses. And the girl he had found one night in Paris fed the rush. Even with sluggish speech, and weakened disposition, she had delivered such penetrating excitement, when Marcus learned he was her first. A virgin was with him, under him. He couldn’t let her go now, even when she softly protested. They were a different breed, the untouched, because innocence still remained within them. Taking something proclaimed as sacred was a better reward than just release. He felt it was like stealing a part of the person’s soul. And in a weak voice, she begged for it in the end, whispering ‘please’ in such a way that made him crazy. He could not hold back. He pinned her down, held her still, ravaged her body, and ate her pain and fear, thriving on it indefinitely. It had been the best thing to happen, when all he had wanted to do that night was find a dirty whore. He wished his family would take more retreats to Paris, if he would get this lucky every time.
He left. Her body was sore, aching. She put her hands on her middle and let out a groan, stretching her body across the blankets and then pulling herself into a ball. What the hell had she just done? What had he just done? It had been so fast that she couldn’t quite remember everything that happened between leaving her stool and getting pushed onto the bed.
It wasn’t good. Whatever the hell it had been, it wasn’t good.
He didn’t bother waiting, talking, or otherwise linger. Marcus removed himself from her lifeless form, and messy bed quickly, to dress and leave. Dark eyes, however, stared at her in admiration of what he had taken. His pride forced onto him to study her, and remember that which he had conquered. ‘Virgins are sacred, now you’ll burn in hell.
He left the room without goodbyes, and quickly brushed through the doors of the building, heading for his hotel. That had been the only reason he had decided to go to the Muggle bar, it had been within walking distance, a mile or so, from where he was staying with his father. If he were staying another day in Paris, he would ache to return and find the girl he had changed into a woman. But he was leaving in the morning, bound back to Rome. This perfect virgin would be on his mind a long time, with a yearning for a repeat performance.
Why does everyone act like sex is a big deal? she pressed her face against the pillow, not even caring enough to think about who would have rested their head against it the last hour. But it wasn’t that it wasn’t a big deal for Lavender. It was. Huge. A part of her was gone. What had Grubbly Plank said? Unicorns only like virgins. Well, she’d sure never see a unicorn again. It wasn’t that sex wasn’t a big deal. It was that… Where was all the pleasure? How had she missed it? It had been quick, sure, but why did people talk about pleasure and excitement and laughter and touching? All she had had was the touching. Rough. He had been experienced, but not in how to make a woman’s body rejoice. Just in how to get his job done with ultimate pleasure for himself. Not even caring to be gentle to a woman’s body who was opening itself up to this sort of encounter for the first time.
She sat up, giving a painful shudder. Tears stung her eyes. She reached for her bra and underwear, slipping them on. She put a hand against her bra, a hand against her panties. Strange. She had always thought of them as something like armor. But they hadn’t defended her against this intruder.
The women at the desk didn’t even look up. “Making sure you taking all of your tings,” she said in broken English.
Lavender had her dress, she had her undergarments, she had her clutch. But she had left something much more valuable back on those dirty sheets.
She hadn’t expected him to be gentle this time around. Why should he be more careful than he had been with a virgin? At least she had a better idea of what was going on. She could still recall the way he had pushed her body, moving her arms and legs and pelvis to satisfy himself. Lavender knew it was pointless to fight against him. She didn’t try. She called out his name every once in awhile, because she knew he liked it.
He found eagerness with his fingers. A body only ripe for him. From him. He had been excited before, when he realized who she was at the event. But nothing compared to the desire he felt when he touched her in places that are private. His prodding was only for a moment, and then he turned her over, and connected with her from behind.
So, when Parvati asked what it was like, what was she going to tell her? That it was painful? “Then why did you do it again?” Parvati would ask.
“Because I don’t want to be a whore.” - That’s why Lavender was doing it. Did it make sense? To be sleeping with someone who had left her broken, sore, and confused six months ago? And yet somehow he had come back. And he still wanted her. And she would not have given away her virginity to a nameless guy. Parvati would never understand. If Lavender didn't fully understand her own reasons, her friend wouldn't understand.
It was the same feeling, even if void of the original essence, and Marcus dwelled in the touch, the rush. He did not concern himself with her the last time they screwed, but now…. Now he wanted worship. He wanted her to remember him better, and beg for his touch. Not because he was sensitive and caring, but because he wanted to make an impact. The only kind Marcus ever wanted: submissive respect.
As he pumped and groaned against her body, her mind flew elsewhere. We’ll have a relationship, I’ll cook him dinner, he’ll- that hurt - buy me flowers and keep me company at night. Everything would make more sense. My sweetheart.
When he climaxed and released himself inside of her, she cried. She couldn’t have told him why she was crying, if he asked. She ran her pale fingers through his hair, pulling his face down and forced a kiss on him, “Marcus...” How could she tell him that he had made her feel like a whore six months ago, and yet now, doing the exact same thing he had done, that had been wiped away?
His release was just as sweet as the last he had given her, and it made him slip away to relax on her bed, and revel in it. She needed work, as she had the first time, but Marcus was soon learning that he liked her inexperience more. He had been hers, her first experience, and now her second. To be single, solitary in this quest with this one person, was producing a coveted feeling. She was his. Completely his. Forever. He started to wonder how to guarantee she would stay that way. He did not want to share the rawness of her flesh. Not with any man.