“Jesus,” I whispered, closing my eyes, sick to my stomach.
I feared the worst, of course: Joshua Kane using his piece of ugly dick on me, slipping it into holes where it didn’t belong. I imagined him using my flesh for his graphic needs: kissing me in places where I didn’t want to be kissed, using his tongue on my chest, swirling it over my muscles, and fingering, probing, pinching, and slapping me for his simple pleasure.
“You like it, don’t you?” he asked, standing proud and strong with his hands on his hips. “And you want it, don’t you?” He rolled a thick palm up and over his bristly chest, groping one of his pecs and providing it with a firm squeeze. “Daddy is going to make you hurt, Dalton Prie. I hope you’re ready for me.”
“Put it away,” I told him. “I’m not into dicks.” I sounded gruff and to the point, disbelieving my situation. All I could think about, asking myself the same question through my skull again and again: Why did you trespass, Dalton? Why? Why? Why?