Submission to Things Monsters Are Made Of
Mrs. Knight arrived home and demanded I stay for dinner once she saw me. Hero is less than pleased about it, but I agreed because I told Naya that I would and I don’t want to disappoint her. Now we sit around a small mahogany table in a lavish dining room, eating tinder lamb doused in some kind of spicy sauce. The lamb sits on a bed of wild rice.
“It’s been so long, Isabel. How have you been?” Mrs. Knight asks. Her blue eyes are focused on me as she takes a sip from her elegant wineglass that’s probably trimmed with real gold.
“Difficult, but I’m trying my best to adjust,” I say, before plopping the delicious lamb in my mouth.
“I couldn’t imagine,” she whispers, before taking another sip. “Everyone thought you weren’t resilient enough to weather through such tragic events.”
“Mom,” Hero warns softly. “Please do not start. Isabel has had a very long day.”
Mrs. Knight doesn’t bother to give Hero a slightest of a glance; her cold, critical eyes never leave mine.
“It’s alright, Hero,” I say pleasantly, though I know that it’s anything but.
“See, Hero. Isabel is a tough girl indeed,” Mrs. Knight declares, smiling a sharp smile that threatens to cut me into a million pieces.
“Mom, Isabel and I are going to the Winter Ball and we’re both wearing white. Isn’t that cool?” Naya asks enthusiastically. I’m unaware of how she treats Naya, but when we were younger Hunter told me she wasn’t in the running for the Best Mother Award. Though, it is apparent that Naya loves her mother very deeply.
“Really?” she asks with false thrill in her tone.
“Mm-hmm, she said Hunter hasn’t asked her…but he will,” Naya mumbles confidently through mouthfuls.
She gazes at me with narrowed eyes. “Will he now?”
“Mother,” Hero says quietly.
“I don’t think Hunter will. I mean, we are only just friends,” I mutter, looking down at my plate, avoiding her assessing eyes. Grace never liked the idea of me and Hunter together. I think it makes her sick. I’m the troubled girl from a suicidal family background and I will never be good enough for her brilliant Hunter. That’s perfectly fine with me since I have no intention to get involved with Hunter any further than I already am.
“I think you and Hunter as friends is nice. You’ve practically known each other your entire lives.” She smiles at me, her eyes lingering on my exposed scars that score my skin. “Friends, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
My heart drops in my stomach. I stare down at my plate, raking over the rice and lamb with my fork. My appetite has now vanished. “Yes, being friends is quite nice.”
The legs of Hero’s chair scrape against the wooden floor as he pushes away from the table and stands abruptly. “Mom, we have to go. Naya would you like to ride along?”
Naya nods wide-eyed and vigorously.
Mrs. Knight shoots Hero a deadly look. “Sit down and finish your dinner, Hero. A few more moments with your mother will not kill you.”
He glances between me and his mom a few times and then cautiously sits back down.
“It’s okay Hero,” I whisper to him.
He nods, looking at Naya, who is humming, eating, and oblivious to everything around her. She seems like she’s in her head a lot. I don’t blame her, because it’s probably a better place to be.
I scoop some rice up with my fork and glance at the elaborate, gruesome painting of Jesus Christ that’s posted on the wall ahead of me. The massive picture framed with gold. It’s the disturbing scene of Jesus’s crucifixion. His arms are expanded out at his sides like wings except his wrists and ankles are bound by rope and his palms and feet are painfully nailed down to the wooden cross. Wisps of dirty golden hair are plaster to his cracked lips. Thick streams of blood run down either side of his face from the wicked thorn crown atop his head. His mouth hangs open as if unhinged from and his jaw. His eyes are rolled completely into the back of his skull, showcasing the white and agonized expression. The flesh of his chest is tattered and ripped open by whip marks. A gush of red sprays from the side of his exposed ribs where the Roman solider pierces him with a long spear. There is small crowd gathered around him at the very bottom of the cross. They are desperately reaching up towards the gory and wounded body that hangs lifelessly from the stake.
Swallowing what tastes like cardboard, I try containing how uneasy I feel right now. I wonder what caused her to put such a vividly repugnant painting that depicts the exact definition of suffering at place a where togetherness is encouraged and welcomed.
Is that panting how she really feels?
Is having a nutritious meal with her family truly torture to her?
Either way it’s weird to stare at something so alarming while trying to enjoy the company around you.
My gaze finally travels to Hero, who is intensely staring out into the corridor, a frown on his face. I glance at Mrs. Knight; a small and secretive smile curves her red-painted lips and then I look at Naya. She’s now bobbing her head to the song she’s humming, unaware as before.
Confused, I follow Hero’s gaze. My heart stutters when I see Hunter staring back at me. He’s dressed in his usual attire: plain grey hoodie, dark jeans, and black boots. His blond hair is tied down at the nape of his neck.
Hunter calmly saunters in the direction of the dining room, his inhospitable eyes never leaving mine. He stops before crossing the threshold and takes a quick look at Hero then Naya, and his mother after. His murky blue irises revert back to me, then he tilts his head towards the hall, gesturing for me to rise.
Dread surges throughout my entire body. I understand where Hero gets his mannerisms from. Pushing away from the table, I quickly stand and excuse myself. Hunter takes hold of my hand, leading me up the grand staircase, to his room at the end of the hall on the third level. I stumble in his wake, but that doesn’t slow his pace or keeps him from harshly tugging me. He shuts and locks the door behind us.
My back collides with the wall as Hunter advances towards me. The fury is spitting off him in lethal bolts. It’s suffocating me. He doesn’t stop until we’re nose to nose, or more like my nose to his chin. Standing my ground, I refuse to look away from the fierceness of his gaze. Though, the heat of it is enough to stop my heart. “What the fuck is your problem?”
My brows furrow. “What are you talking about?”
“You think this is a game, Isabel?” He leans forward to menacingly whisper into my ear, “It’s not.”
My anger overrides my bafflement. I shove against his rock hard chest, pushing to no avail. “Move. I don’t even know what you’re talking about or why you’re upset with me. Just get out of my way so Hero can take me home. I’ve had a long day.”
“Maybe I should show you rather than tell you,” he murmurs, ignoring what I said completely. His hands drop to my legs and his fingers stroke the sides of my bare thighs.
I continue to strain against his solid frame that defiantly refuses to yield. “Move, Hunter.”
His fingers curl into the backs of my thighs, the pressure isn’t enough to cause pain but it isn’t light or gentle, either. “Because if this is a game you’re playing at—” his fingers dig deeper into my flesh “—then you are going to lose. Shall I show you, Isabel?” His hands glide up my thighs and pause before his fingers come in contact with my unclothed crotch. My panties and bra are somewhere in Naya’s room with the rest of my soaking wet clothes. Hunter strokes the apex of my thighs. His touch is a simple one, but precise enough to demonstrate his immense strength over me, to illustrate that I am inferior to his masculine power and because of that, my concern or consent means nothing.
I mean nothing.
My eyes widen in awareness of how weak I really am. I never felt more vulnerable, more breakable, more…feminine in my life. My shoving has turned desperate. I franticly push and grunt against him. “Move, Hunter. Please just move. I promise to do whatever you want…just let me go.”
He leans further into me, caging me in with his muscular body. “Stop fighting me, then,” he whispers ever so softly.
I struggle against the weight of him as he presses into me, crushing me against the wall. “I’m not,” I half whine and half grunt, tears causing my vision to blur.
“But you are,” he soothes. Hunter continues to use that velvety soft voice that makes my heart clench tightly. He kisses me behind my ear and down the column of my neck, causing me to tremble.
“No. Stop.”
“But I don’t want to,” he whispers, gently kissing my cheek, his fingers resume their grazing at the tops of my thighs, threatening to move further up. “Your skin feels silky-soft in my hands. I bet being inside you is even better,” he murmurs throughout kisses.
The smell, the heat, the sight of him is too overwhelming for me to process. I squeeze my eyes shut. His mouth sucks on my neck, then his tongue flicks against the erratic pulse there.
I whimper, my body going lax against his chest. “Stop…please.” My first protest was real, but this one I’m not quite sure.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, nipping my earlobe.
My breath catches in my throat.
“You don’t want me to stop, do you?”
I squeeze my eyes tighter.
One of his fingers traces the wet source of my arousal. “If you mean what you say, then tell me to stop again, Isabel. I will this time,” Hunter taunts, as if daring me.
Swallowing loudly, I keep my eyes closed. But when I try to turn away, Hunter cups the back of my head, forcing me to him. His fingers grip the braid in my hair, winding it around his wrist. His other hand skillfully caresses me between my legs.
My body shakes and shivers around his wicked fingers. “Please,” I whisper, feeling the building sensation intensify between my thighs.
“You want me.” I don’t know whether it’s a question or statement.
I press my lips together.
He tugs my braid roughly. “Do you want me, Isabel?”
Grunting, I nod.
Hunter pulls my braid back, causing my chin to tilt up. He places his mouth on mine but he doesn’t kiss me. His lips move ever so softly over mine like whispering feathers as he talks. “Tell me you want me.” His fingers glide through the wet, purposely missing my clit.
I moan against his mouth.
He’s torturing me. “Tell me you love me,” Hunter urges.
I shake my head vigorously, tears pooling in my eyes.
“Tell me.”
Refusing, I shake my head again.
One thick finger enters me and strokes the wall of my sex causing my legs to buckle.
“Hunter,” I gasp.
“Baby, I am feeling really good right now. But I must admit I’m not appreciating this stubborn side of you. Tell me what I want to hear and I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll never know anyone before me. I know it’s what you want.”
“I don’t want this,” I say barely a whisper, keeping my eyes shut.
His finger plunges deeper. My legs quiver and give way. I sag helplessly against his chest, breathing harsh. “Is that so?” Hunter untangles his hand from my hair, undoing the button and zipper of his jeans. An unhealthy amount of anxiety and excitement floods me and settles in my stomach, making me feel queasy. The incredible heat from his large erection warms me in my most sacred of areas.
I place my hands between my thighs, shielding myself from him. This might not be much protection but it’s something.
He tsks, swatting my hands away with disregard. Hunter’s thumb circles my clit in a lazy motion, other fingers seeking access inside of me.
A throaty whimper slides out my throat. “Please. I don’t want this.” I can’t have sex with Hunter Knight. He is the main factor of most of my misery. It’s been years since we were best friends. Years. Then suddenly—when he feels the urge—he pops into my life again.
This is wrong.
He is wrong.
I don’t want to be friends with him.
I don’t want him concerned about me.
I don’t want him inside of me.
I don’t want him saving me…it makes loving and eventually losing him that much more painful.
Opening my eyes with determination, I shove at his shoulder. It doesn’t help my ego that he doesn’t budge one bit and that my body insists on more of what his talented fingers are doing between my legs. “I don’t want this. I don’t want you. I don’t want to love you. I want you to go away like I don’t exist, like I never existed. You’ve done it countless times before, I’m sure you can handle doing it again,” I say, staring into smoldering blue eyes that have a steely resolve of their own.
“You know,” he whispers as his fingers still move tenderly inside of me, “it’s hard to believe you when you’re drenched for me.”
Ashamed of myself and of his vulgar words that only make me wetter, I screw my eyes shut. “Fuck me if you’re going to fuck me. Conversing with your fingers inside of me is not my favorite pastime.”
He presses his full lips to the shell of my ear. “Could have fooled me. We have to work on that smart mouth of yours.”
I shudder and without warning his fingers are replaced with his massive erection that thrusts savagely in and out, threatening to split me in two. My eyelids spring open. Hunter clamps a heavy hand on my mouth, muffling my hysterical scream slash moan. “I’m big, but you can take me,” he whispers, kissing my tears away.
He places sweet salty kisses on the corner of my eyes and mouth and then finally my lips when he removes his hand. My breath comes in small spurts as I stare into Hunter’s eyes that are dilated beyond belief, so much so that the black of his pupils expands into the darkening blue. I vaguely wonder if mine are the same, if I look as wild and untamed as Hunter does.
We stare into one another’s eyes for infinite about of time. I don’t know or understand what we are both feeling…but it just seems like a monumental moment in our lives—a moment that neither of us will ever forget. I’ve waited for him for so long now, but I didn’t imagine our first time to be as brutal as this, not to mention on the wall in his bedroom in his parents’ house. My candy and flower fantasy of Hunter was ridiculous and laughable compared to this harsh reality. But nothing could have ever prepared me for Hunter.
My body loosens and accepts his. Moaning, I wrap my legs around his gyrating hips and my fingers find their way into his beautiful hair.
God, he has the softest hair.
He grunts, savagely cupping my ass and hitching my legs higher to ram into me in a different angle. Hunter briefly closes his eyes and rests his forehead on mine, relishing in my pain and pleasure. “I knew you’d feel like fucking velvet, so fucking tight and wet. Your pussy tasted like honey in my damn mouth. I’ve never had better, Isabel.” He dips his head down and looks where we meet. “Never ever had better.”
“Hunter,” I whisper, holding on to him with everything I have. My internal muscles tremble and clench around him.
He kisses me, his tongue plunges into my mouth, collecting my moans and whimpers. We both climax together, shaking and clinging to one another’s body. “I love you,” I breathe.
Hunter’s handsome face contorts as if he smells something foul. He swiftly pulls out of me, leaving me with an odd and empty sensation. He tucks himself back in his pants and gives me an once-over. My back is plastered to the wall and Naya’s pretty white dress is wrinkled and bunched at my hips. Everything from the waist down is exposed to him.
His fingers trace the wet source of our arousal between my legs. Hunter brings his forefinger and thumb to his face to inspect his fingers. “You’re bleeding. Did I hurt you that badly?”
“Yes,” I say below a whisper, my cheeks flaming red. “I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want this.”
His brows lift. “But you didn’t say ‘stop.’”
“I shouldn’t have to. Hunter, do you not understand that ‘no’ means ‘no’?” I counter.
We eye each other until his face softens. “What’s done is done.” To my absolute horror he licks the light red tinge of blood from his fingers, spreading the flavor of me on his lips. “I can clean you up if that would make you feel better.”
My stomach flutters but I fight against it. “I don’t want you wiping between my legs. Give me a damn washcloth. I can handle this just fine on my own.”
He smiles at me, only a tiny curve of his lips. It’s a small secretive smile, intended just for me. It’s just like the one his mother had when she saw him. “I don’t mean clean you up with a washcloth, my sweet.”
“What?”
“I wanna use my mouth.”
“No!” I shriek.
“But I think you’ll like it,” he urges, inching closer to me.
“No. Stop. Stop. Stop,” I frantically plead.
He halts from his stalking, grinning smugly. “Fine. Don’t wash me out just yet. You’re coming home with me tonight.” I watch Hunter turn and unlock the door. My eyes sweep around his room. Nothing has changed much: Football trophies and awards on shelves. Plain, black walls. A full-sized bed with tiny stars on the sheets and pillows. A wooden desk that appears untouched since high school, overflowing with old reports. But what really stands out is the pictures tacked on the ceiling above his bed—they’re all of me.