Lamar loomed over me. His hands and knees held me down, but I struggled. I’d never stop struggling.
“That’s it, baby,” Lamar said. “Let me teach you what real pleasure is.”
This wasn’t pleasure. This was a violation. If he cared about me at all, if he respected me, he would stop at my first sign of discomfort. But he only seemed encouraged by my adverse reaction.
“Get off me! I won’t do this!” I shouted.
He smiled at me, his typically boyish grin darkening into something fiendish.
He was stronger than me, but I wouldn’t give up. Despite the fear tearing at my chest, I would never stop fighting.
“Let me go!”
“Cynthia.”
That wasn’t Lamar’s voice.
No, that was a voice I recognized and trusted.
“Cynthia, wake up. Please. Wake up!”
I blinked, and was suddenly transported from Lamar’s
