Livia Lone (Livia Lone #1)(66)

There was a boy on the judo team she liked—Colton, a junior, who had come to SJSU from Los Angeles specifically for the judo and who a lot of people thought had Olympic potential. He had light brown hair and green eyes, and a face full of freckles that reminded Livia of Sean. And he was a lightweight, close enough to Livia’s size so that they practiced together a lot, though she also made sure to train with bigger, stronger opponents. She knew life was less fair than the tatami.

One afternoon after practice, Colton asked if she wanted to get a drink. She didn’t trust alcohol because that time in Llewellyn it had made her feel out of control, albeit in a good way. But she said yes. They went to a bar near the school, and Livia had a beer. It made her feel buzzed, but not so much that she didn’t like it. Afterward, Colton walked her back to her dorm and kissed her goodnight. Livia really enjoyed kissing someone again—the kissing, and the tingling it caused. She wanted to do more than kiss, but after everything that had been done to her, she was afraid to try.

The next few times they went out, they kissed more. And then, one night, after several beers instead of the usual one or two, he asked if she wanted to come back to his apartment. She was afraid, and furious at herself for feeling that way—furious enough that she would have gone with him even if she hadn’t wanted to, because she was never going to be ruled by fear again.

But she did want to. She was afraid of what it would be like. But she wanted to try.

He put on some music—Rihanna’s “Pon de Replay,” a song Livia liked. Then they sat on his couch and kissed for a while, but it wasn’t like the other times, when she had felt the tingling. She supposed that, even buzzed from all the beer, she was too nervous. Colton started touching her, running his hands along her hips and breasts, and it reminded her of what Mr. Lone used to do, which was awful. But she wasn’t going to stop. It would have felt like a victory for Mr. Lone. So she let Colton undress her, and she undressed him, her fingers trembling as she did so. He eased her back on the couch and she tried to relax while he touched her, but it didn’t feel good, she wasn’t wet and tingling the way she was when she touched herself.

“I have a condom,” he said, breathing heavily. “Is it okay? Do you want to?”

She didn’t, but she knew she had to get past it. Had to at least try. So she nodded and whispered, “Yes.”

He leaned away and pulled something from a drawer, then fumbled to get it on himself. She didn’t watch. She was afraid seeing his penis would make her remember too many horrible things.

He pushed her legs open—gently enough, but she didn’t like it, didn’t like it at all. Too many memories were being stirred up, too many terrible feelings. The way Mr. Lone had pulled the towel off her. And made her stop covering herself. Those things. And then Colton moved on top of her, and his weight was on her, and his arms were under hers, and she felt him poking at her, trying to push it in. But she wasn’t wet, and it hurt, and she just . . . she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

“Stop,” she said. “Colton, stop. I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“Wait,” he said, breathlessly. “We’re almost there. Just a little more. Just a little more, Livia.”

“Stop,” she said again, louder this time, angry he wasn’t listening. “I don’t want to.”

He put more weight on her and gripped her more tightly. He pushed harder, trying to get inside.

“No!” she shouted, suddenly enraged. “I said no!”

She hooked a leg under one of his and flipped him off the couch onto the floor. She kept the hook in and stayed with him as he crashed onto his back, landing in a straddle across his torso—the mount, the dominant jiu-jitsu position. She took hold of his throat with one hand and raised up the other to smash his nose into his face—a palm heel, one of the strikes Malcolm had taught her.

Colton was stronger than she was, but whatever he saw in her face must have frightened him. His eyes widened and he lay perfectly still for a moment, as though too shocked or afraid even to defend himself.

She looked down at him, suddenly acutely aware of the hot skin of his stomach pressed against her. She shifted slightly. That tingling. More than tingling. It was like an electric current. She realized she was wet.

Keeping one hand on his throat, she reached down with the other and took hold of his penis. It had softened, but the condom was still on it. And as soon as she touched it, it got hard again. Colton watched her, his mouth open, his eyes wide.

She rubbed his penis against herself. It felt good. It slipped in a little. It made her gasp.

She held it more tightly and spread her knees more, lowering herself onto him. It went in a little more. It hurt, but in a good way. She eased up, then pushed down again.

Colton tried to reach for her. Without thinking, she tightened the grip on his throat. “Don’t move!” she said. He froze, then slowly lowered his arms back to the floor.

She kept easing her knees wider, and each time she did, it went in deeper. Finally, her hips were against his and there was no more deeper to go. It didn’t hurt anymore. It felt good. Really good. Like when she touched herself, but different. More . . . all over, or something. She started moving, back and forth, up and down, riding him, finding the right spot, the right rhythm. She was panting now. She could come from this. She was going to come. He tried to move again, and she squeezed his throat hard. He stopped. She realized she was f*cking him, f*cking him the way she wanted to, and that he was afraid, and she moaned without meaning to and felt the explosion building, and she f*cked him harder, moving exactly the way she wanted to, and then it happened, she was coming, coming so hard, and it was so much, it was so good and so different from the orgasms she gave herself.