Chapter 21: BESTIE OF JUDGMENT

Arianna

The cool night air did little to soothe the heat still coursing through my veins as I pushed open the car door, my legs almost buckling. A tremor ran through me; part residual thrill, part pure exhaustion. My skirt, hastily pulled down, felt slightly out of place, and I smoothed it with a trembling hand, the faint scent of spent desire clinging to the fabric. Before I could even fully register my surroundings, Nicole materialized in front of me, her face a fiery mask of rage, dark eyes blazing.

"You little slut," she spat, her finger jabbing the air, aiming straight for my chest. "I heard everything. The whole damn parking lot heard you screaming his name."

“Shhh!” My panic flared, hot and sharp. I lunged, clamping my hand over her furious mouth, my whisper urgent. “Not so loud!” The words tasted like ashes on my tongue, my cheeks burning with a fresh wave of mortification.

Vincent emerged from the car then, his movements a stark, almost unnerving contrast to the chaos enveloping us. He closed the door with a soft click, a sound that resonated with finality, and walked towards us with an air of bored indifference, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He stopped behind me, his strong hand settling on my hip, a possessive anchor. “Is there a problem here?” he asked Nicole, his voice a low, cold rumble that promised retribution. His other hand reached up, gently but firmly removing mine from Nicole’s mouth, a silent assertion of control.

“No.” My voice was barely a breath. I shot Vincent a quick, dark look—a mix of warning and a strange, illicit thrill—before turning back to Nicole. “I’m okay. It happened suddenly.”

“Suddenly?” Nicole repeated, her voice now dangerously loud, a high-pitched shriek of disbelief. “You mean ‘suddenly’ he decided to destroy your virgin pussy in a public parking lot?” She glanced, wide-eyed and horrified, at Vincent over my shoulder. “No offense, Vincent, but Jesus Christ.”

The heat in my cheeks spread down my neck, and I instinctively clamped my hand over her mouth again, my fingers pressing hard against her lips. “I swear, you and your big mouth,” I mumbled, wishing the ground would swallow me whole. The echoes of my own cries felt like a brand on my skin, his name a raw whisper on the wind.

Vincent rolled his eyes, a flicker of irritation crossing his otherwise placid features. He pulled my hand away from Nicole’s mouth once more, his grip firm on my wrist. “Shut up, Nicole,” he said, his tone firm but unnervingly calm, a clear warning. He turned me to face him, his hands gripping my hips, pulling me flush against his hard body as he completely ignored Nicole’s sputtering outrage. His lips brushed my ear, a shiver running through me. “Get in the car.”

“Can you wait? She is my best friend. I need to talk to her.” It was a desperate plea for a semblance of normalcy, a sliver of independence.

“Fine,” he sighed dramatically, his breath a warm caress against my skin before he stepped back. The familiar click of his lighter echoed in the stillness, and he exhaled a plume of smoke, leaning against the car. He watched us, calm on the surface, but his eyes glowed with a possessive fire that promised swift retaliation if Nicole pushed him too far. Every time she hissed the word ‘slut,’ a muscle twitched in his jaw, and his gaze turned absolutely murderous.

I practically dragged Nicole away from the car, needing to put some distance between us and Vincent’s simmering presence. As soon as we were out of his earshot, Nicole’s whisper-scream started. “Are you out of your damn mind?!” she hissed, her voice vibrating with barely contained fury. “You let him take your virginity in a car? In a fucking parking lot?!”

My face burned, and I covered it with my hands, groaning, the memory of Vincent's raw passion, the public thrill, still vivid. “I know. It just happened.”

“It ‘just happened’?” Nicole mimicked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “You mean you let that psycho fuck you without protection, in public, where anyone could have seen?!” She grabbed my wrists, her grip surprisingly strong, forcing me to meet her frantic gaze. “Do you have any idea how stupid that was?”

I swallowed, the lingering soreness between my legs a stark reminder. “I’m okay. Don’t worry. He is not going to kill me or anything.” The words felt hollow, even to me.

Nicole rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Yeah, because that’s the only thing you should be worried about with that psycho,” she said, her voice laced with bitter sarcasm. She paused, her expression softening almost imperceptibly, her grip loosening. “Are you sure you’re okay? Like… really okay?”

I pulled her into a tight hug, burying my face in her shoulder, a strange mix of relief, shame, and a terrifying, secret exhilaration swirling inside me. “Yes, I’m okay,” I whispered, hoping I could convince myself of it too.

Nicole’s arms wrapped around me, a tight squeeze that felt both comforting and interrogating. When she pulled back, her eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, were serious, scanning my face as if searching for battle scars. “Your vagina is probably destroyed right now, isn’t it?” she asked, blunt as a sledgehammer, though her voice was just above a whisper. “I mean, he’s probably like… huge.”

A choked laugh escaped me, a nervous, almost hysterical sound. “Oh my god, Nicole! Shhh!” I glanced nervously over my shoulder at Vincent, who leaned against his sleek, dark car, a wisp of smoke curling from his lips. He was an enigma in human form, handsome in a way that screamed danger, his presence a dark, potent hum in the air. He hadn’t even looked our way, but I felt his awareness, a possessive anchor.

“I mean, seriously,” Nicole pressed, her voice dropping lower, riddled with a morbid curiosity I usually shared but now found excruciating. “How big is he? Like, on a scale of one to ‘holy shit my pussy is closed forever,’ how big is Vincent?” She waited, her gaze intense, as if the answer held the secret to the universe. God help her if she truly knew.

I leaned in, my voice barely a breath. “Like… above the scale.” The confession felt like a secret whispered into the abyss, a truth too raw for daylight. My body still throbbed, a dull ache that was also a strange, insistent thrum of awakening. He hadn’t just entered me; he’d claimed me.

Nicole’s eyes widened comically, her mouth falling open. “No fucking way,” she breathed out, louder than intended. “He’s like… giant?!” She clapped both hands over her mouth, muffling a shocked squeak. “Oh my god, your poor pussy.” Then, a pause, her brows furrowing. “Wait.”

She leaned in, her voice barely audible. “Did he at least use lube?” Her eyes darted to Vincent, still calm, still smoking, like a predator surveying his domain. “Because if he just stuck that monster in you dry… fuck, that had to hurt.”

I covered my face, a shaky laugh escaping again. The memory was vivid, the searing pain that had blurred into something else entirely – a primal sense of being overwhelmed, utterly consumed. “It hurt like hell. No lube.” It was more than pain; it was a brutal, beautiful conquest, a breaking that somehow felt like being made whole, irrevocably Vincent’s.

Nicole’s palm slapped dramatically against her forehead. “Jesus Christ,” she muttered, shaking her head in disbelief and disgust. “So he basically ravaged your poor little virgin hole with his huge dick without any preparation or care? What a fucking asshole.” Her words were sharp, accusatory, but a strange warmth bloomed in my chest. He wasn’t an asshole; he was… him. My asshole. She grabbed my arms urgently, her grip tightening.

“Listen, you need to be careful with that guy,” Nicole whispered, her voice laced with genuine fear. “He’s not just some ordinary dick. He’s dangerous. Like… psychopath dangerous.” She glanced at Vincent again, who was now casually blowing perfect smoke rings, an unsettlingly serene expression on his face.

“He is just… a crime investigator,” I said, shrugging off her words, a tremor running through me that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the man I was trying to dismiss. The lie tasted like ash, but I’d protect his secrets, even the ones I didn’t fully understand yet.

Nicole rolled her eyes, a hiss escaping her lips. “Exactly. A crime investigator who just broke into your life and fucked you senseless without even caring about your feelings or comfort. Red flag much?” She paused, then leaned in closer, her voice dropping to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “You know what else is a red flag? That he’s probably carrying at least three guns on him right now.” Her eyes flickered to Vincent, then back to mine. “And who knows what else he’s hiding under that suit? Like… a knife collection or something.” She shuddered exaggeratedly. “He’s basically a walking crime scene.”

I blinked, Nicole’s words echoing in my ears, before my gaze drifted back to Vincent. A walking crime scene. The phrase resonated, not with fear, but with a terrifying, undeniable thrill. And for the first time, I wondered if I was becoming his accomplice in whatever dark path he carved.