Song: Earned It by The Weeknd

The resounding cries of children's cheerful voices, pulling their fathers into the classroom, saturate the air, filling me with an overwhelming sense of sadness. Amidst the sea of students and parents, I stand alone without a dad to call my own.

A fellow classmate with beautiful brown hair walks up to me and asks, "Asatira, where's your dad?"

A blush rises to my cheeks, "I do-do-don't know," I stammer, my words faltering under the weight of uncertainty.

Her small face contorts with incredulity, her voice laced with disbelief. "What do you mean? You don't know?"

I offer a shrug in a feeble attempt to answer her question. But in an instant, the girl's tone transforms into a piercing declaration, her voice echoing throughout the classroom. "Asatira doesn't have a dad. Asatira doesn't have a dad," she taunts, relishing in her newfound power.

The once-friendly faces of my classmates, their parents, and even my teacher Mrs. Glampher, morph into cruel spectacles of mockery, their laughter blending into a symphony of ridicule.

I find myself standing there, exposed and defenseless, swallowed by their jeering gazes, unable to summon the words to defend myself. "S-s-stop!" But their laughter comes out harder.

I wake up with a start and wipe away the unbidden tears that trickle down my cheeks. tears

"Mo-mom," is the only thing I can say, a fragile plea to the woman that's no longer with me. I would like to wish away the nightmare, but I can't. It was a vivid memory when I was in elementary school.

As a child, my mother was my sole anchor, encompassing my world. I knew nothing of my father, never crossed paths with his existence, and the absence of his figure had never left a void in my heart, not until that day.

That day my mother, Rhonda Bonnet, made it pretty clear that my father was nothing but a phantom, a man who chose not to exist with us. She made it her life's goal to drill in my head that all I had was her and all she had was me, that we were a team. I never questioned her because every time I looked around to see who was in my corner, she was there. She was a single mother doing all she could for her only child, stressing to make ends meet, providing food, shelter, and love while battling her illness.

With every breath, she emphasized, "We can only count on ourselves. Why should we yearn for someone who chose not to be part of our lives, my precious Asatira," my mother's voice echoes in my ears. Those words were etched into my soul until the day she died and left me all alone.

"There's no one here, Momma," I whisper, clutching the old iPhone tightly in my trembling hand. A dilemma has been swirling for days in my head, like a tempest threatening to engulf my every thought. Should I reach out to Rachel for help or call the authorities? Both would bring the only people in my life into unimaginable trouble.

God only knows what the Hell-Night Riders would do to Rachel. They would probably sell her to Pablo or worse. And if I call the authorities, that would mean dragging Sherrell into a labyrinth of trouble. The police would throw the book at her when they looked at her repeat offender status. Not to mention, there's Nolan. He saved me from Jimmy; how would it feel if I repaid him by bringing the cops to his doorstep and taking his sick grandmother away along with him? The very thought tugs at my heart.

Restless, I twist and turn on Nolan's bed as the gentle ticking of the bedside clock mocks my futile attempt to fall back asleep. Even though the mattress is more comfortable than the spring-riddled sofa in the living room, my mind refuses to settle. The weight of conflicting emotions bears on me like a teetering tightrope threatening to crumble beneath my unsteady feet as I tightly grip the phone.

Loud noises coming from the bathroom across the hall grab my attention. "Sherrell, do you need help with anything?" I call out from Nolan's bedroom. There's no answer, but the sound of things getting moved around persists. Sherrell can sometimes be a bit stubborn, and I often leave her be. But what if she really needs my help? I hide the phone under the bed. And make my way toward the bathroom.

But as I step inside, my heart skips a beat. It's not Sherrell who greets me, but Nolan rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

Caution seizes me, its chilling grip tightening around my senses, but as Sherrell taught me, I refuse to let fear consume me. With a deep inhale, I steel myself and step closer to Nolan, drawn to him like a moth to a flame. The closer I get to him, the more the bathroom's dim light reveals his battered face. "Oh my, what happened?" I can't help but voice my alarm, my eyes tracing swollen eyes and swollen cheek.

Our gazes lock, his face revealing the pain etched upon his features. After a few seconds, he responds. "Looking for something to fix my face."

"Here, let me help you." I move him out of the way and immediately find the first aid kit. Perhaps Nolan missed it due to his swollen eye. He stares at me, looming over me. His imposing presence doesn't frighten me, he's hurt, and I need to help him.

My hand gently rests upon his chest, lingering a bit too long than necessary. "Please sit down."

He complies, settling upon the closed lit of the toilet. A storm of emotions swirls within me as I stand before him.

With hands that betray my inner turmoil, I approach him, my touch delicate yet determined, tracing the path of dried blood upon his swollen face. "What happened?" I implore, my voice laced with a mix of concern and curiosity.

His response sends a shockwave through me, instantly freezing my movements. "You don't have to worry about me selling you," Nolan asserts, his words cutting through the air like a double-edged sword. I stumble, my heart pounding in my chest, as his words sink in. "The debt is paid," Nolan continues.

"Th-thank you," I stutter, my voice coming out in disbelief and gratitude.

Nolan's legs part, making space for me as he seizes my hips, drawing me closer to him. His touch, so deliberate yet seemingly accidental, traces the contours of my waist, setting my skin ablaze. The rhythmic motion of his thumb, swirling and pressing against my flesh, sends electric tremors down my spine. Involuntarily, my breath catches in my throat.

His other hand ventures lower, gripping my bottom possessively, erasing any trace of distance between us. It's an intimate act that defies the boundaries I thought existed between us, especially after the awkward hug. The intensity of his hold fans the flames within me, stoking an inferno at the core of my being, spreading an exquisite heat that dances beneath my skin. It doesn't compare to the nip he gave me the day before.

Lost in the intoxicating haze of sensations, I clean up spots already free of blood and dirt. My movements are erratic as my mind struggles to keep pace with my body's responses. Amidst the flurry, my hand unintentionally brushes against Nolan's nose, its slight crookedness catching my attention.

"Watch it. I think it's broken," Nolan hisses with a touch of discomfort.

"Sorry, I'll be more careful," I assure him.

An unexplainable attraction replaces the fear that his words usually implement. It gives me the courage to really look at him, to look deep into his bloodshot, blue-jay eyes. In one swift motion, he reaches up and firmly grips the back of my neck and pulls me forward and down, closer to him.

Before I can utter a single word, Nolan covers my mouth, stealing my breath and igniting a conflagration of desire. It's a collision of uncontrolled lust and raw passion, devoid of gentleness. His insistent tug on my lips commands a response, and I find myself pressing back with equal enthusiasm. My mind says to stop and moves my hand against Nolan's chest with every intention of pushing him away, but instead, I hold tight to his shirt with a fist. Eagerly, my lips part to welcome the seductive intrusion of his tongue, inviting it to explore the depths of my being.

With the kiss unbroken, Nolan rises, his eyes brimming with unquenchable desire. Despite his weakened state, a surge of strength propels him forward. His hands glide beneath my thighs, lifting me effortlessly, and he gently places me on the bathroom sink. Our bodies align perfectly, his presence towering between my spread legs. The sheer intimacy of the moment engulfs me, and I can't say I dislike it.

My fingers weave into the strands of Nolan's thick, blonde hair, tangling with a mixture of tenderness and unrestrained passion, mindful of the injuries adorning his face.

"Doesn't seem you're scared of me anymore, Little Mouse," he playfully taunts, his lips tracing a tantalizing path between each kiss.

With a bravery I didn't know I possess, I boldly declare, "I'm not scared of you," my voice emerging as a husky whisper.

Nolan shifts his hand from my bottom to my throat, his thumb pressing against my windpipe, exerting a firm yet intoxicating pressure. With an insatiable hunger burning in his eyes, he gazes at me, his voice dripping with desire as he murmurs, "We'll see about that." The delicious shiver that courses down my spine fuels my surrender, and once again, his lips claim mine, this time with a fire that speaks of dominance rather than romance. His other hand plays with the elastic band of my black boxer shorts.

The air crackles with electricity with a very tuck of his hand. The world around us fades away, leaving only an intoxicating heat threatening to consume me.

But the magnetic moment crumbles into pieces with a jarring cough that slices through the air, jolting us back to reality. A rosy hue spreads across Nolan's cheeks, his gaze darting toward the source of the interruption. I hastily slide down from the bathroom sink, my skin heating up with embarrassment and desire.

"Don't let me interrupt you," Sherrell's mischievous voice rings out as she stands at the door with her walker.

Nolan meets Sherrell's gaze, his lips curling into a sheepish grin. "Hey, grandma. Did we wake you?"

Over time, I've noticed that Nolan resorts to calling Sherrell "grandma" when he's been caught red-handed doing something mischievous. Sherrell chuckles, a knowing grin spreading across her face. "Oh, you definitely did. Come and get me when you're done, Nolan. You look like shit," she teases, her tone light and affectionate.

Nolan's embarrassment intensifies as he runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Sorry about that, Grandma. I'll be right out."

With a wink directed at me, Sherrell shuffles her way to the living room, leaving Nolan and me alone.

Nolan turns toward me, his lips crashing against mine with an ardent collision of passion and longing. "This isn't over," he murmurs against my mouth, claiming my lips once more.

As I trace my swollen lips, an intoxicating revelation washes over me — never before has anyone kissed me with such hunger. Nolan's dominating presence electrifies me, drawing me into a world of indescribable desire that I can't wait to explore. I follow him to the living room with a skip in my step.

After ten chapters, romance finally blooms, enchanting our very dark story. And Asatira has shed her 'Little Mouse' persona 😊😊😊.

Share your thoughts about the chapter and the steamy scene. Was it too soon, unexpected, or did you love it as much as I did?