Trigger warnings: Non-consent, blackmail, revenge porn, dubious consent, high school bullying, humiliation, degradation, and a forced D/s dynamic.

Note: This story, including all names and people, is entirely fictional and not based on any real life experiences or events.

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Eight years ago

Cole, age 18

A week after breaking into Poppy’s home, I finally get to return to school. I was suspended once the news of what happened made its way to the school administration. It’s a miracle no one pressed charges, either, though that was probably because my mom and Poppy’s are friends.

Still, I dodged a fucking bullet. But it really doesn’t feel like that when every student I pass is shooting daggers into me as I walk down the hallway.

There were a lot of people at the party, but those who weren’t still know all about how I broke into Poppy’s house. I don’t know what they know, which is the worst part. They’ve had a week for whatever rumour began to develop into god knows what.

I make my way to my locker, barely glancing at Poppy where she’s idly chatting to Haley. “I don’t know, Haley,” Poppy’s saying, and I try to ignore her, but I can’t. My ears perk, trying to hear more of their conversation.

“Come ooooon,” Haley whines, and I roll my eyes. “My family’s annoying as shit, I can’t spend Christmas with them alone.”

“I know, but Brendan wanted me to be with his…” Poppy fades off, sounding unsure, but with her quick intake of breath, I realise she’s seen me.

“Have you talked to him?” I hear Haley mutter, like she doesn’t want me to overhear, but she’s doing a poor job at controlling her volume.

I don’t hear Poppy respond, so I assume she’s shaking her head, because Haley continues, “Maybe ask your teacher if you can sit somewhere else? It might be best.”

My eyes close, and I take a shaky breath, trying to block their words out. So, yes, I did sort-of break into Poppy’s house, but my intentions weren’t nefarious.

I…don’t know what my intentions were. Because I don’t really know what I’m doing with Poppy. Do I have a chance with her? Fuck no, but I’m willing to try anything to be close to her.

I decided a few days ago that I need to avoid Poppy for the rest of the year, as much as I can. Neither of us like being around each other, for different reasons, so I’m doing her a favour too.

I’ll keep my head down, like I should’ve from the start.

Now

Poppy, age 26

I didn’t think Cole was going to stay away from me for a whole week, and I was right.

On Monday afternoon, he came by for a visit while I was in my classroom, just like the first time he fucked me. On Wednesday evening, he knocked on the front door of my apartment. I still don’t know how he found my address, and I’m not interested in knowing. And on Friday, he made me send him a nude during recess.

And now it’s Saturday, and I’m getting ready for the work event Cole invited me to. Or rather, forced me to attend.

He didn’t give me many details, other than that it’s a formal event and I have to wear a black dress, which is what I’ve put on. It’s gorgeous, the long skirt flowing down to the floor, and with a slit along one leg all the way up until mid-thigh.

I’ve curled my blonde hair and put on a full face of makeup, and when I take a glance in the mirror before I head out, I smile, because I look gorgeous. I know I’m going into Hell right now, but at least I’ll look pretty doing it.

Cole is waiting in his car outside, and when I get a good look at him, I gulp. The muscles he’s spent eight years building fill out his fitted, white shirt so god damn well that I can’t help but stare. His sleeves are rolled up, and he looks so damn casual with one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on his chin, his fingers idly tapping his full mouth.

When my ass lands on the passenger seat, he looks over, and his eyes peruse up and down my body. They snag on my deep neckline, and my eyes narrow on his. “Eyes up here, bud,” I say, slightly humorously, but when he looks up at me, there’s no humour in his expression. He looks like he wants to devour me.

“You wear that for me?” he asks, gesturing down to the leg that’s poked out of the slit in my dress.

I scoff. “Well, you didn’t give me a choice in what to wear to the event you didn’t give me a choice to attend. So, yes, in fact I did.”

He nods, like he’s pleased with my answer, then begins driving.

We don’t talk on the drive over. I’m nervously wringing my hands in my lap the entire time, occasionally glancing over at him. I can’t deny it, he looks damn good behind the wheel. Not that I’d tell him.

It really strikes me, now that there’s nothing but silence between us in the small, confined space, how much he’s changed since I last saw him. I’ll be honest, back then I never thought of him as anything special. He intrigued me, sure, but never more than a brief fascination. Never the outright attraction I feel for him now.

Because even though I hate him, and even though I want nothing more than for him to leave me alone, I can’t deny how good he looks. His face was always handsome to a degree, but with the beard, the better haircut, and the new muscles covering his body, he looks drop dead gorgeous.

I never thought of him that way when we were in school, obviously. Even that day in the bathrooms at the end of the year, I still didn’t think of him as…anything.

God, I really was vain back then, I realise. He helped me, as much as I would let him, which wasn’t much. But he used to be kind to me, like he wanted to be my friend, and I spat in his face at every turn.

Fuck, I mean, he was in love with me. And I hurt him.

I’ve thought about it a lot, about the things I wish I could take back and do over.

But it doesn’t matter now.

The Cole I knew in high school is dead, replaced by the man who’s blackmailed me into becoming his whore. I know I didn’t make him like this, but I can’t help but feel a little responsible for creating the monster that sits behind the wheel right now.

I know I didn’t owe him friendship, or kindness. But I owed him decency.

Now, though? I’m eight years too late, and all that remains between us is hatred. Maybe I deserve it. Maybe I don’t. But it’s clear he doesn’t give a shit what I think anymore.

I don’t realise a tear has rolled down my cheek until it drips onto my chest. I gasp, quickly wiping my face as carefully as possible to not mess up my makeup.

“You’re crying?” Cole asks in disbelief. He sounds like he thinks I’m pathetic, and I can’t even blame him for it.

“No.” I don’t offer another explanation; too afraid my voice will quiver if I do. I don’t want to cry in front of Cole. He won’t believe me if I say it’s tears of remorse for how I treated him in school. He’ll just think I’m breaking down over the role he’s forced me into, and he’ll get off on that fact.

I instead just stare out at the large building we’ve parked outside of. It looks like a conference hall of some kind, with several floors and huge, floor to ceiling windows. I can see dozens of round tables in the bottom floor, all surrounded by chairs, some occupied, but most not.

I try to study the people inside to get an idea of what I’m walking into, but I don’t get to do so for long before Cole rounds the car and opens my door for me. He grabs my hand, helping me out of the car with surprising gentleness.

I eye him suspiciously, almost expecting him to push me down into a puddle. But he doesn’t, instead placing a hand on my lower back and gently guiding me towards the entrance.

His touch seers my skin. His thumb plays with the fabric where it dips low on my back, a motion that would feel soothing if it were anyone but him. I hate it that it’s him.

As we enter the doorway, Cole is immediately approached by a short brunette. The top of her head doesn’t even reach Cole’s chin, so when she smiles and wraps her arms around his waist, they fit almost perfectly together.

“Cole!” she greets when she pulls back. When she puts a few feet of distance between them, I let out a breath I only now realise I’d been holding since she hugged him.

I don’t dare think about that.

“Hey, Sarah,” Cole greets with a smile. His demeanour has instantly brightened at the sight of her, and I can’t tell if he’s wearing a mask for her or if this is how he is normally.

Cole gives me a small push at my back, and I realise I should probably say hi. “Hi, I’m Poppy,” I greet, extending my hand.

Sarah takes it with a bright grin. “Poppy, huh? Cole told me all about you.” My heart stops with all that that could imply.

“Oh, uh…” I hesitate. “All good, I hope?” I cringe at the hesitation and insecurity in my voice.

As though he can feel the questions stirring in my mind, Cole jumps in. “Yeah, I told her how we went to school together, babe.”

Babe?

I whirr to him, and I can’t help the wide-eyed look I give him. He just gives me a small smirk back, just as Sarah speaks up. “Yeah! High school sweethearts, right?” Her head tilts, and her face gets a wistful expression. “That’s just so damn sweet,” she says with all sincerity.

We make some more small talk, and I learn that Sarah is one of Cole’s coworkers, as well as a close friend. He met her in New York, and she moved to Seattle a year ago, so they reconnected again when Cole moved here almost two months ago. But I couldn’t care less about the two of them when Sarah leaves, and I turn to face Cole and grab his arm, forcing his gaze to mine.

“High school sweethearts? What the actual fuck, Cole?” He smiles when I glare at him, my mouth slightly agape.

“Relax, will you? You’d rather I tell them the truth?”

“No…” I mutter, glancing to the floor. I’d rather die than have an entire room of people know I bullied one of their coworkers. But that doesn’t mean I have to like the false reality Cole’s painted.

Cole lets out a small sigh, then smiles down at me. “Just play your role well, Poppy. You’ll be fine.”

After a few seconds of thinking, I relent. “Fine,” I sigh. “But at least tell me what role I’m supposed to play.”

“I told them we were high school sweethearts, but that we broke up since we went to university in different states. But now that we both live in Seattle, we reconnected.” He places a hand on my upper arm, his warm thumb stroking comforting circles onto my skin. “The rest should come naturally. Just act like you’re in love with me. That shouldn’t be too hard, yeah?”

I barely keep from snarling at him.

For the next few hours, Cole and I make idle conversation with his colleagues, as well as people working for other companies. We eat dinner at one of the tables, surrounded by people who act like they’ve known Cole for years.

But no, only Sarah has known him for any length of time. Everyone else only met him for the first time when he moved here and started working with them.

I’m nearly awestruck by how naturally Cole seems to fit in with everyone. It’s the same realisation that I had in the car, of just how different Cole is now than how he was in school. Gone is the socially awkward, lanky kid, instead replaced with a charming, handsome man.

Everyone else notices too. Whenever he speaks, he commands such authority and confidence that idle conversation at the table dies down. It’s like everyone orbits around him, wanting his attention and affection.

But he only gives it to me.

He makes everyone feel like his best friend, but only I get his full attention when I speak. He has a hand on my thigh, squeezing and rubbing it, and he smiles at me. His eyes wrinkle, and he shows both rows of teeth, full of love and affection. When I look at him, I can almost forget that he has my future in his cruel hands. Almost.

The laughter at one of Cole’s jokes dies down, and I take another bite of my dessert just as one of the men at the table says, “So, Poppy.” My gaze snaps to the man’s eyes, and I have to remind myself not to be afraid of a simple question. “Cole mentioned you’re a schoolteacher?”

I shouldn’t feel so offended by a question like that, I know, but I can’t help it. I feel so out of place at this table, and being reminded of that fact makes my defences go up.

“Yes, I am,” I say with more bite in my tone than I intend. I try to smile to soften the blow, but I’m sure I just look manic.

“Right,” he nods. “And that’s…what you’re going to do…forever?”

I hate his tone, like I should want to do something else. “Yes,” I say, no longer hiding the bite. “I like it.”

“She’s good at it, too,” Cole speaks up, surprising me. “Academia was always going to be her thing. I knew that when we went to school together.”

The man nods, then takes a bite of his own dessert. An awkward silence fills the table, like no one knows what to say.

“Nothing wrong with that,” the man finally says. “We need more teachers, I suppose. Especially ones like you.” I frown in confusion, and he points to my face. “All I’m saying is if my high school teacher was a pretty little thing like you, I might’ve paid attention.” My heart stops, and I drop my spoon to the plate as an awkward silence grips the table.

“Excuse me,” I mutter to a scowling Cole before scooting backwards. I can’t handle the scrutinising glares of these damn people. It feels like they’re only interested in me as a pretty attachment to Cole, and that they don’t know how the fuck to treat me otherwise. And I’m damn sick of seeing Cole being kind to them, when he treats me like shit behind closed doors. The worst part is having to pretend I fucking love him.

I charge into the bathroom and breathe a sigh of relief, thankful that it’s empty. I go to the sink, bracing my hands on it and taking a few, deep breaths.

It’s not that I’m not used to comments like that as a teacher. I can normally keep my composure and counter them, but not in these circumstances.

Cole is just so fucking nice. He’s so different around these people than he is with me, and I can’t stand it. I don’t think I deserve to be treated with the same camaraderie and respect, but I also can’t handle the whiplash.

For fuck sakes, he fucking defended me out there. How am I supposed to react to that, when he’ll fuck me raw the next chance he gets?

That chance might be now, I realise, when I hear the door open. My heart drops when I turn to face Cole, since I can only think of one reason that he followed me in here.

But the two words that fall out of his mouth surprises me. “You okay?” he asks, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounds concerned for me.

But I do know better.

And that’s why I reply with, “Please just leave me alone, Cole. For once, just go away.” I turn back to face the mirror, again bracing my hands on the sink.

I know it’s stupid of me to tell him that. I know it’ll just provoke him into taking his rage out on me, but I don’t care. He’ll do whatever he likes to me, anyway.

That’s why it surprises me when I see his face crinkle with concern in the mirror. He masks it quickly, but I notice.

I glance away, not wanting him to know I saw that little flicker. But his next words are still achingly affectionate, it muddles my brain. “I don’t know why Trevor won’t just shut his mouth sometimes. He’s always such a dick, but to say that to your face…” His fists clench at his sides, and I frown at how he seems genuinely angry someone would be rude to me.

“It’s fine,” I say, trying to not sound too affected by either man’s words.

Cole comes up behind me, and I stiffen, expecting the worst. But the hands he places on my waist aren’t possessive, or demanding, but comforting. “I can tell you’re lying, princess.” He shakes his head, then one of his hands snakes to the slit of my dress.

“No, Cole,” I try, knowing it’s futile.

He shushes me. “This isn’t for me,” he explains, and I frown. He damn well knows I don’t want him to touch me, so why the fuck would this be for anyone but him?

Still, I keep quiet, knowing there’s no point in fighting him. His hand slips beneath the slit, then he pushes his hand up to the waistband of my panties. He groans at the feel of me when he shoves his fingers beneath the material.

Crimson shades my cheeks when I feel myself getting wet at his touch. I can feel his own arousal pressing into me from behind, but he makes no move to unzip his slacks.

No, all he does is rub my clit in lazy, careful strokes. “What are you doing, Cole?” I ask, unable to help myself.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he pushes himself against my ass a little harder, making my hips collide with the sink in front of me. “Touching what’s mine,” he growls into my ear, then nips the lobe between his teeth.

I gasp, shivers racking my entire body at his deep voice. I hate this feeling. I shouldn’t enjoy the way his voice vibrates through me, but I can’t help it. All I feel is his hard body pressing into me, and his fingers rubbing circles over my clit.

Everything else falls away. My worries about what will happen if I refuse him. My worries about what will happen once we head back to the table. All I feel is him, his fingers, his mouth, and his possessive grip on my waist.

“Fuck, Poppy,” he groans, and I give an answering gasp when I feel him push two fingers inside me. The hand he had around my waist moves up to wrap around my throat in a firm grip, and I whimper.

“Please,” I beg, but I don’t know for what. I hate him for touching me whenever he wants to. I fucking despise him for hurting me, and for treating me like his property. Yet what I beg for isn’t for him to stop, no matter how much I wish it was the case.

“You wanna come?” he asks with a mocking lilt in his voice.

“No,” I lie, even though I can feel the orgasm slowly building. It’s barely there, yet I feel it gathering low in my abdomen, begging to be set free.

He chuckles at my lie, still fingering me. His calloused palm rubs against my clit, and before I catch myself, I’m grinding on his hand, desperately chasing release.

There’s not a rational thought left in my head, except that if Cole thinks he can own and use me, then I should be allowed to get some pleasure out of it. That’s what I tell myself, anyway.

A moan rips itself free from my throat, and Cole moves the hand from my throat up to my mouth, stifling my cries. I’m truly at his mercy, no longer able to beg for release nor for him to go away.

He can do whatever the fuck he wants to my body, and that realisation floods me with more arousal.

When the orgasm finally hits me, it comes together with a thought of how much I hate myself for getting off on this. I grind on his hand, whimpering into his other, all while shame racks my entire body at how fucking good this feels.

When I come back down, we’re both breathing heavily. I expect Cole to unzip his slacks and sheathe himself inside me, but he does no such thing.

He pulls back, giving me space to recover. Still, I catch him in the mirror sucking my arousal off his fingers with a groan. Once satisfied, he gives me a wicked grin, and I turn to face him.

“Feel better, now?” he asks, but there’s no sympathy in his voice.

Is that what this was about? Just giving me an orgasm so I’ll shut up and pretend that I’m a happy girlfriend?

He must catch my scowl, because he laughs and says, “Never had a woman look at me like that after I make her come on my hand.”

I don’t know why my stomach twists at the thought of him with other women.

I go to charge out of the bathroom, but he places a firm grip around my upper arm. I gasp at the sharp pain, then look at him. He leans down to my ear, muttering, “Polite girls say, ‘thank you’, Poppy. I know you still think you’re the invincible queen you were in school, but surely you know how to say, ‘thank you’?”

I glare at him, but offer a muttered, “Thank you,” just to get him to let me go. He smirks at my reluctance, but still releases my arm.

I make my way back to the table, and whatever conversation they were having instantly dies down when they see me. I sit in my seat awkwardly, not wanting to be the one to break the silence.

But I notice Trevor is no longer sitting at the table. I frown, and glance around a bit to see if he’s wandered off, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Sarah, who sits on the other side of Cole’s seat, leans over. She explains, under her breath so no one else hears, “Cole tore Trevor a new one for what he said. He went home, pretty pissed off, and Cole is going to speak to his supervisor on Monday.”

I can’t help but gape at her, at what Cole did. But I don’t get to think on it for too long before Cole sits in the seat between us, placing an arm around my shoulders and a kiss to my forehead.

Once Cole returns, conversation, naturally, returns to its easy-going and comfortable level. But I don’t participate or pay attention.

My mind is going crazy, thinking of everything that happened tonight. Cole defended me, and even made Trevor leave for what he said. But even though I’m happy he did, I know he just did it to look good in front of his colleagues. He doesn’t need to pretend in front of me, though, so his comment in the bathroom about Trevor being a dick still confuses me.

Is this just a game to him? To confuse me and make me fear which of his comments and actions are real or false? If so, he’s doing a good job at it, since it’s all I can think of now.

And that orgasm he gave me in the bathroom. I can still feel it between my thighs, a light buzz and drenched cotton. I shouldn’t feel ashamed for taking whatever pleasure I can out of this, yet I do. What he did was fucked up, just short of assaulting me, and I shouldn’t get off on it.

But what he did seemed to be just for me, still. Sure, he was hard as a rock, groaning and grinding against me. But he didn’t get himself off. At least, I don’t think so, unless he got himself off in the minute it took for him to get back to the table.

I can’t take the way my mind races anymore, so I shoot Cole a pleading look, silently asking to go home. He nods, for some reason, and helps me stand.

“Well, we’ve gotta get home,” he says, and that triggers about half the table to do the same.

Cole spends several minutes saying goodbye to each person at the table, making sure to shake each of their hands and promise to see them soon. It’s still uncanny, how easily sociable he is to everyone but me.

Once he gets to Sarah, he gives her a hug, and then she surprises me by giving me a bone crushing hug too. She pulls back, then asks, “Can I have your number? We’ve gotta get lunch sometime!”

She’s so enthusiastic I can’t help but say yes, and we exchange numbers. But as I do, I notice another two missed calls from that same anonymous number.

I sigh when I drop my phone into my purse again. Whoever they are, they sure want my attention.

Cole drives me home but doesn’t follow me up. We don’t say anything except a quick and awkward, “Bye,” and I head up to my apartment.

Once I make my way inside, I fall to the floor, my back to the door. I’m exhausted, playing Cole’s mind games and pretending that I enjoy it.

I still need to get the fuck out of this. My original plan remains unchanged, but without being invited to his place, I just don’t know how to get in. I could ask, but then he’d get suspicious.

But it’s not like I have any other choice, other than waiting around for him to invite me or grow bored of me. I don’t want to risk him growing bored of me, obviously, so asking is my only real option.

My thoughts are interrupted by a text message from that same number.

Unknown number: Call me.

Call me?

I sigh, then start dialling the number. Whoever they are, they sure as fuck aren’t leaving me alone, and I’m sick of it. This better be important.

The phone just rings once before someone picks up on the other end. “Well, well,” a masculine voice says. “Look who finally decided to answer me.”

“Who is this?” I ask. I’ve had enough of stupid games for the day.

“You know,” he begins. “After what happened with you and Beckett, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’d end up fucking him.”

I frown. “What? Who the fuck is this?”

“Once a whore, always a whore. I should’ve fucking guessed.” He sounds so bitter, and I rack my brain for who this guy is.

But there’s only so many people this even could be. And after a moment, I finally realise who that angry, cruel voice belongs to.

“Brendan?”

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