Giving It Up Read Online Free PDF Page A

sense. It was me.
    A hard body pressed against me from behind. Some part of my brain flickered with hope that it was Colin. But the body pressed harder, grinding its erection into my back, and I knew it wasn’t him. Not that I could recognize his cock print, just that it was too cheesy of a move for him. Too aggressive.
    The acrid scent of sweat wafted from behind me. I started to turn, but hands clasped around my waist and squeezed.
    “Where do you think you’re going?” a rasping voice whispered in my ear. Cold lips slid down the side of my neck, leaving a trail of wetness like a slug.
    I shivered. He chuckled.
    At the other end of the bar the bartender was serving a group. If I screamed, he would probably hear me, even over the racket of music. He’d help, maybe.
    “It’s okay, baby. I’m not going to hurt you.” A lie. My skin prickled in warning. I wanted someone who could be mean, but I tried not to cross the line into outright crazy, and this guy was ringing all the warning bells. His hands were already so tight on my hips that they’d leave bruises. Without having seen his eyes, I knew they would be empty, lifeless. He would be more than rough—he’d be brutal, dangerous.
    “Come outside and play,” he said.
    This was what I’d come for, but now that it was here, I didn’t want it.
    “No.”
    He yanked on my arm, and I toppled from the stool. I finally got a look at him. I looked up to angry eyes and a shaved head. His bulging stomach did nothing to negate the meaty muscle everywhere else.
    His eyes looked like I’d envisioned, but with something else: a cruel amusement. Oh, he’d hurt me, all right, and he’d enjoy it. Chills raced through me.
    He grabbed my arm and turned to leave, but the bartender called us back. “Hey, stop.”
    The man paused and turned. “What’s up?” he said.
    The bartender looked from me, to the guy holding me, then back at me. “You okay?”
    I don’t want this. Help me. “No, I…” Fingers tightened on my arm, cutting into the flesh. I cleared my throat against the thickness. “I’m okay.”
    The bartender narrowed his eyes; then he was gone, lost in the swirl of flesh and nylon as I was dragged through the crowd and out the door. The man pulled me over to the side of a building, toward an overflow parking lot, mostly vacant. The heavy beat of the music boomed even outside the club, but I could still hear my blood rushing through my ears. I struggled, but it didn’t slow him down.
    A truck was parked in the corner, against two brick walls.
    He shoved me against the truck door, the metal cold against my back. His body pressed into me as his mouth came down on mine. He tasted me, consumed me, pushing his tongue in deep. Thick, harsh hands groped me, squeezing my breasts and grabbing my bare ass beneath my skirt.
    “You know you want it, you little slut. Let’s see what you got.” He yanked my shirt down at the draped neckline, ripping the fabric. The cold winter air kissed my breasts right before his hands grabbed and burned.
    Oh God, I was torn. I’d come here for this. I should want this, but I didn’t. I wanted to leave. I wanted him to stop touching me. I wanted to curl up and die.
    “Don’t be a tease.” He squeezed hard. I gasped in pain but let him do it. Of course I did. This was what men did, and I was the girl who let them. The sick sense of triumph I felt every time I proved it was absent this time around.
    “That’s better, baby.” He ravaged my body with his mouth and his hands. He was leaving marks on me, marks I knew from experience I would study later with revulsion and fascination.
    Someone else kept intruding even as this guy assaulted me. It was Colin’s tongue in my mouth, Colin’s hand yanking my hair, Colin’s cock pushing painfully into my pubic bone. I closed my eyes. Maybe that was the solution. I could get the roughness I craved, but my imagination would make it safe.
    Two fingers shoved inside me. Dry. My eyes snapped