His lips were foreign on my mine, the butterflies that should've been the first to form had churned my stomach into vile sickness. He knew it and instead of pulling back and stopping it, he advanced, forcing his tongue into my mouth. His one hand trailing as if measuring my body gripped my hip and forced me to feel his hard-on.
All I could think of right now was that he wasn't Anthony and he had already stolen something I had kept to myself for years. I relaxed my hands and he let them go, I placed my hands on his chest, pushing him back. Pushing the illness away, needing air as if needing a vaccine.
"Stop. Please." I whispered as fear planted its seed in heart, which should've been enough but some man think that stop means more. Some think that words don't and stop are yes and more. It isn't always and in this case, it wasn't consent but his eyes told me something else. His eyes read greed, need, despite my fear.
Find a way to run
