Punk 57

Sitting in an empty Ferris wheel car, I tip my head back and close my eyes, letting the night wind blow across my face.

The ocean waves in the distance curl and crash ashore, filling the darkness with a steady presence at my back as a car above me creaks in the wind, the rest having been rusted silent a long time ago.

The camping lamp I’ve been using in the room sits under my propped-up legs, and I hold a pen in my hand and a notepad on my lap.

Fifty-seven times I didn’t call

Fifty-seven letters I didn’t send,

Fifty-seven stitches to breathe again, and then I fucking pretend.

I open my eyes and jot down the last two lines, barely able to see what I’m writing in the near darkness. Doesn’t matter, I guess. I can write it tonight and read it tomorrow.

I’ve been writing this song for two years, ever since Ryen started talking about “the cheerleader” in some of her letters. I got stuck half-way through, because I wasn’t sure where the story was going, just that I needed to tell it. I had Ryen’s impression through her words, but I couldn’t get further than that.

But leaving school two days ago, after finally having her in my arms in the lab, I needed to write. I was feeling things.

She knows how to work me. How to drive me insane, acting like I’m dirt under her shoe in public but like she can’t get enough of me in private. Her tongue and mouth, the little obsession she has with my lip ring, the way she grinded into me, and if it weren’t for a couple layers of clothes, I would’ve been inside her…

Yeah, that prissy little act drops like a bad habit, and she can get so hot, I want to take off everything except that lame-ass skirt and see how every inch of her feels.

If her whole stuck-up crew knew how their little princess melts for me…

But I look up, staring out at the theme park and realizing.

No. Not for me.

For Masen.

Damn, I can’t keep this up. I have to leave, or I have to tell her. She’ll never forgive me for betraying her like this. For being right under her nose and damn-near seducing her.

“I’m ashamed I didn’t guess you were here a long time ago!” a voice calls out, and I jerk, looking down at the ground.

Dane stands below with a flashlight in his hand.

I watch him start climbing the beams up to where I sit about five cars off the ground, and let out a sigh. I’m working. For the first time in months, I’m writing. Just my luck.

“You and your cousin loved this place as kids,” he yells up. “I should’ve known you’d be hiding here.”

He crawls up, past the empty cars, and heaves himself over the beam where my car sits. The wheel creaks with the extra weight, but it doesn’t budge. Years of rain and moist sea air have taken care of that.

He takes a seat, and I notice he’s wearing our band’s black T-shirt. Our name, Cipher Core, with some artwork Dane designed, is on the left side of the chest. I have a few at home. Even Annie has some, which she used to sleep in.

I see Dane’s eyes fall to my notepad, and then he raises them to me, the wheels in his head probably turning.

“You got something there for me?” he prods, meaning lyrics.

I laugh to myself, tossing him the book. What the hell? Let him tell me it sucks, so I can give up, and we can go to Sticks and get drunk instead.

He barely looks at the pad, though. He eyes me hesitantly, as if he’s searching for words.

“Your dad isn’t looking too good, man,” he says, keeping his tone even. “The stores are closed, and no one sees him anymore. He misses you.”

“He misses Annie.”

“He still went to work after Annie,” he points out. “It was when you left that he retreated.”

I prop my arm up on the back of the seat and rub my forehead. He’s not going to the shops? To open up or anything?

Dane’s right. My father was in pain after Annie’s death, but he didn’t abandon his responsibilities. Other than me, of course. No, he gave me all the space I told him I wanted.

But he still took care of the house, ran the shops, did the paperwork, and went on his morning runs.

He hasn’t called me, though.

If he’s hurting—if he needs me—would he tell me?

I stopped being able to talk to you. I stopped looking for a way to talk to you.

Guilt chips away at some of my anger. Annie loved him. She wouldn’t want him alone.

I look over at Dane and see him holding up the flashlight and reading the lyrics I wrote. His eyes move intently but slowly over the paper, and I can tell he’s reading every word.

He looks up and meets my eyes, nodding. “We’re ready to get back to work. You coming home?”

I don’t know. There were reasons I left, but now I worry that I have reasons to stay. And they’re not the reasons I came for. That’s the problem.

I should never have gotten this close to Ryen. It’s complicated now. Either leave and keep my friend or stay and lose her forever.

“I still need to get one more thing,” I tell him. “And then I’ll be home.”

Coming up on the house, I slow to a stop and check the clock on my dash. It’s after midnight, and the street is silent, all of the houses dark.

Except one.

I gaze out at the two-story brick home, a single light coming from the den and a figure moving inside. All the cars are in the driveway, Trey’s Camaro sitting in the middle.

What I need is in that house.

Something of mine—something of my family’s—and I’m getting it back. Fuckface has a baseball game Friday night, and the whole family will be there. I can do it then, and then I can get out of here.

The shadow passes in front of the large den window again, and I follow it with my eyes, the warm light from inside so inviting, making my chest ache. How nice to think your children are safe under your roof, warm and sleeping peacefully, surrounded with love in their perfect world.

That’s about to change.

I put the truck in gear and speed off, heading around the corner toward the school. Ryen’s house is on the way, and I want to see her all of a sudden.

I’ve wanted to talk to her for the past two days, but yeah… I’d just dig myself into a bigger hole, because that’s all I know how to do it seems. I want to crawl in through her window and just touch her and talk to her and see if she can make me see the end of this. Make me figure out how to rewind and start over, before I abandoned her all those months ago when I should’ve clung to her and let her know how much I need her.

But if I could go back—to before I met her in person—would I really want to?

No. I wouldn’t trade those minutes in the lab for anything. Or the ones in the back of my truck.

Eventually we all have to weigh what we want more: wanting back what we had or wanting what could be. To stay or to risk everything to move forward.

I pass her house. She has a temper, and I’m tired tonight.

Besides, I need a shower before I try to crawl into bed with her.

Parking on the other side of the street, in front of the school, I grab my duffel with a change of clean clothes and jog across the road, keeping an eye out for passersby. Not that it’s not dead as doornails at this hour, but you never know.

I run across the school parking lot, not seeing any cars, but I look around just in case. I heard they were going to start hiring security to do sweeps every so often, trying to catch the little vandal who’s decorating the walls, but I don’t see any security vehicles. And they’re still in the process of getting the cameras working, so for now, it’s safe.

Jumping the fence to the practice field, I hike up onto some old football equipment and lift up the loose screen leading into the men’s locker room. Raising the window, I hop up and plant my ass on the sill and swing my legs over. I throw my duffel on the floor and jump down, turning around to close the window again.

I’ve only risked this a few times in the past couple of weeks, but I’m tired of mooching off Dane for his shower, too. And plus, I could take all night here if I wanted. Even the couches in the library are more comfortable than the Cove.

I grab a towel and strip, stepping into a stall and turning on the water. The hot spray spreads chills down my body, and I damn near groan at the pleasure. This is definitely a perk of not living at the Cove. I miss my shower at home with my dry-erase marker I used to write on the wall and all the time alone I want.

I wash my hair and body, savoring the soothing temperature of the water probably longer than I should. As soon as I’m done, I dry off and dress in a clean pair of jeans and a black thermal, packing my dirty clothes back in my bag.

But suddenly I hear a beeping and then quick stutters of white noise. I freeze, training my ears.

“Yeah,” a male voice says. “I’ll sweep down here and meet you upstairs.”

“Shit!” I whisper. I stuff the rest of my clothes in the bag and jump behind a row of lockers just as the door opens.

Fuck. Okay, my car’s not in the school parking lot, I closed the window on the way in, I picked up all my shit, and … My eyes fall on the steam from my shower still floating around the ceiling.

Son of a bitch.

I peer around the corner, seeing the security guard flash his light into the shower. My fucking heart pounds in my chest, and I shoot a glance to the window, knowing there’s no way I’m getting out that way. Darting my eyes to him once again, I see him check out the steam hovering high and then immediately shoot his light around, looking for me. He knows someone’s here.

I bolt. Twisting on my heel, I dart down the row of lockers and swing open the door, a huge creak filling the quiet.

“Hey!” he shouts. And then I hear him getting on his radio, alerting the other one.

I bypass the nearest stairwell and race for the next one, skipping steps as I charge up to the main level, carrying my bag. I enter the hallway and glance in both directions, taking off left and jogging down the next hallway, keeping my eyes and ears peeled.

I pass exits chained shut, and I keep running, searching for a way out.

But then I pass the cafeteria and see something written on the windows looking in. I slow down, glancing around me to make sure the guards aren’t coming.

I read the message.

I see you, like pictures in a frame,

But I can’t touch, and I can’t be the same.

-Punk

I smile to myself. Looks like the little punk struck again.

The message is spray-painted in dark blue in two lines across all four of the large windows. Is he getting in the same way I have been? And even better, how is he getting out through the chains and without setting off the alarms?

I look around, trying to figure out which window I should try to slip out of, but then I hear another door swing open, and I take off. I run down the hallway from one door to another, twisting knobs to check for open classrooms.

The Physics lab Ryen and I were in two days ago opens, and I dart inside just as I see the glow of a flashlight bobbing up and down the floor from the other hallway.

Closing the door gently, I scan the room, seeing the supply closet. Heading over, I open it and dart inside.

I hear a small gasp.

From right behind me.

Every hair on my arms stand on end, and I turn around, my mouth suddenly dry.

I’m not alone in here.

Reaching up, I grab the chain for the light, but a soft hand takes mine and pulls it down.

“No,” a female voice whispers. “They’ll see the light.”

Ryen?

I blink, trying to get my eyes to adjust to the darkness, but she pulls me back, leading me around the partition of shelves to the other side, by the window. Moonlight streams through, and I see she’s wearing some black shorts and her rash guard. She must’ve been teaching lessons tonight. Her hair hangs loose and kinky from air drying, and she clutches the loop of a black backpack in her hand.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

She stands close, her breathing shaky and nervous. “Nothing.”

“Ryen—”

“Shh!” She grabs my wrists and pulls me down, both of us squatting low as I notice the muffled sound of talking coming from the lab.

“No, I heard a door shut,” one of the guards says.

“This was the only door open,” another says. “You check it out. I’m going to search the cafeteria.”

I hear her shallow breathing as both of us look to the crack under the door, seeing the glow of a flashlight. Shit.

I look back to Ryen and suddenly drop my eyes, stopping. There’s something on her hands.

I shoot my eyes back up to her and then back down, taking one of her hands and turning it over.

Blue paint.

Or blue…spray paint.

I survey the smudges all over her fingers and palm as realization starts to hit.

Holy shit.

I look up again, locking eyes with her. Well, well, well…

“You just got a whole lot more interesting.”

Fear flashes in her eyes, and she pulls her hand away, her breaths sounding like she’s about to cry.

I smirk, and she shoots a glance to the door and then back to me. “Please don’t say anything,” she begs in a whisper.

Why would I say anything? This is hilarious. Ryen Trevarrow, Queen Good Girl, sneaks into the school at night, breaking more than one law, to anonymously leave messages and air dirty secrets for the student body right under their noses.

Excellent.

I hear the guard’s radio beep and more muffled chatter, and I listen, hearing him talk, his voice moving away from the door.

I take my bag and inch toward the door, listening again.

His voice is farther away now, and I crack the door just a sliver and peek out. If we stay here, we’ll get caught. This isn’t the first time I’ve run from cops, and you don’t choose a hiding place without an out.

“What are you doing?” Ryen asks.

I look out, seeing the beam of his flashlight outside the classroom door as he talks on the radio. I glance across the lab, behind the teacher’s desk, and see the door to another classroom, connected to the lab. Grabbing her hand in mine, I pull her quickly across the room, hearing her suck in a breath as we tread softly and hurry into the next room.

Pulling her through the doorway, I whip around a tall set of file cabinets and back her into the dark corner, squatting down and hiding.

We hear him enter the other room again, a door creaks open and then shuts, and a grumbled “little shit” before he talks to the other guy on the radio again.

I stare at Ryen.

She’s Punk.

Oh, my God. She’s been sneaking around right under everyone’s noses, carrying on this secret life at night. And then watching everyone’s reactions in the morning as they scurry about, trying to find out which of their own it is. Never suspecting her.

Why would they, I guess? She’s never given the impression she’s any deeper than a teaspoon. The perfect cover.

How long has she been doing this?

“Stop looking at me,” she whispers, her tone finally finding its fight again.

“I’m going to head downstairs,” I hear the guy on the radio say.

“I’ll finish checking here and meet you down there,” replies the other one.

I keep still, our bodies close as I look down at her. “Why do you do this?”

She shoots her eyes up, her parted lips inches from mine. “You can’t tell anyone. No one will understand.”

“Who cares?” I shoot back. “Your friends are losers.”

“So are yours.”

“At least I don’t have to fake anything around them,” I grit out. But then I realize that’s not true. The guys I’ve been hanging out with don’t even know my real name, do they?

I push forward. “Why are you two different people, Ryen?”

“What do you care? You don’t know me.”

“Hey, who’s there?” one of the guards shouts.

Shit! I grab Ryen’s hand and we bolt for the classroom door.

“Hey!” he yells.

Ryen cries out as she struggles to keep up, and we rush into the hallway, turning left.

“Stop!” I hear him say, and I see the glow of his flashlight shining on us.

His radio crackles, and I hear him talking, but we’re already around the corner. Passing one of the exits, I notice it doesn’t have a chain, and I push it open, hearing the alarm go off. But we don’t leave. I pull Ryen the other direction and bolt up the stairs.

“Masen,” she gasps, breathing hard.

We could’ve just run, I guess, but my truck is on the other side of the school, and I don’t know where her Jeep is. We might not make it without being recognized. Hopefully, with the alarm going off, they’ll think we bolted, though.

I pull her into the library and let the door close softly before rushing up the stairs, hearing her struggle behind me. We hurry to the back, hidden behind stacks and rows of books, near the couches and chairs. The library is dark, only the faint moonlight coming in from the windows high above. Our steps are soft, thanks to the carpeting, and I drag her behind a shelf, far, far above and away from the doors in the front.

We’re secluded.

The alarm still goes off, but it’s faint.

She collapses into me. “Masen…”

She breathes fast and hard, only able to take in shallow breaths, and I wrap my arms around her, feeling her go limp.

What the fuck?

Worry floods through me, and I cup her face as she fights for air. Her lids are hooded and she looks like she’s in pain.

“My bag,” she breathes out.

What? And then I widen my eyes, remembering. Oh, fuck. She has asthma. That’s right.

I shoot down to her backpack on the floor and dig in the front pocket, pulling out a red inhaler.

I stand back up, wrapping her in my arms and holding her up. “Here.”

She leans into me, her head resting on my chest as she takes a puff and waits a moment before inhaling another one.

Her chest rises and falls fast, and I lower one arm, wrapping it around her waist as I hold her to me.

Her weak body sinks into me as her breathing starts to slow down and she’s taking in deeper breaths.

Dammit. She tried to tell me as we raced through the school, and I didn’t listen to her.

What would I have done if she’d dropped her bag somewhere, and I couldn’t find her medicine?

I hug her close, feeling, for the first time, how small she is in my arms. Ryen is always so large around me. Never backing down, her confidence always appearing larger than life.

I hold her head to my chest with the other hand and bury my nose in her hair.

“You’re okay,” I say gently. “I got you.”

“My heart won’t stop pounding,” she says, her fragile voice starting to come around.

“I know.” I smile. “I can feel it.”

The beat of her heart is hitting my chest, and I can feel her body slowly get stable as her breathing calms.

What am I going to do with this girl? Just when I think I have her figured out, she pulls at me a little more.

Just when I think I can’t stand her, and I can leave, never looking back, I turn right around and want to make sure nothing hurts her.

Her arms, hugged close to her body as I hold her, start to drop as she pulls away from me.

She raises her eyes, looking a little embarrassed and not saying anything as she kneels down, grabbing her backpack.

Standing up, she purses her lips and looks around.

The alarm stops, and I have no idea what’s happening out there—if they think we left out the door or what—but she’s not leaving yet.

“You don’t tell anyone about tonight, and I won’t tell anyone you were here, either,” she says. “Got it?”

She turns to leave, but I grab her hand. “I think people would enjoy this version of you.”

“My friends would hate me.”

“They already hate you. Everyone does.”

For a split-second, I see a frown cross her face, but it quickly disappears. She faces me, a light brown eyebrow arched in defiance.

“Why fake it?” I charge. “Why compete with people and play the games?”

She takes a step, trying to leave, but I pull her back. “Don’t walk away from me.”

“This is none of your business!” she whisper-yells, yanking her hand free and scowling at me. “You don’t know me.”

“Does anyone?”

She looks away, her eyes suddenly glistening. After a moment, she speaks, her voice low. “I don’t want to be alone,” she admits. “They may hate me, but they respect me. I can’t be invisible or laughed at or….” She trails off and then continues. “I don’t know why. I just never had the courage to stand apart. I always wanted to fit in.”

“Everyone wants to be accepted, Ryen.” Does she think no one’s ever had those same feelings? “Why do you write on the walls?”

She stands there, staring off and looking like she’s struggling to find words.

“Misha…” she says, trailing off again.

I tense, my heart picking up pace.

But then she shakes her head, letting the thought go. “It doesn’t matter. I just had ways to vent before, a way to be heard, and now I don’t. I just started doing it a couple of months ago.”

A couple of months ago. Shortly after I stopped writing her.

I blink long and hard.

The fake friends, the hovering parent, the worry and stress of wanting to fit in just like most any other person out there… I was her bouncing board.

I was so caught up in my own loss and anger, I never stopped to think how suddenly abandoning her after seven years would hurt her. Not that I’m responsible for her actions, but I am responsible for mine. She relied on me.

“Why are you here?” she asks, turning it around on me.

I look at the duffel bag in my hand, unashamed I needed a shower, but then that answer would lead to more questions. Why am I living at the Cove? Where are my parents?

“Mmmm,” she gloats, a fake smile on her pretty face. “So others have to own up to you, but not the other way around, huh?” She backs away toward the stairs. “My mom is only a phone call away. I’ll get taken straight home with a slap on the wrist. Hope you enjoy your long, hard night in a cold cell,” she taunts and then calls over her shoulder. “Oh, Mr. Security Guard? Help!”

She spins around, and I reach out and grab her, pulling her back into me. “Shut up!” I growl, clamping a hand over her mouth.

But she immediately slams her elbow into my stomach, trying to get away, and I stumble backward, pulling her with me. She loses her footing, falls into me, and we both tumble to the floor.

I grunt, my back hitting the ground and my arms still around her struggling body. She lies on top of me, her back against my chest.

She squirms, trying to get away, the friction of her ass pressing into my groin. I tense, heat blanketing me.

Fuck.

She pulls my hand away, gritting under her breath. “Let me go.”

“Stop moving then.”

“You don’t get to judge me,” she goes on, turning her face to me, her breath falling on my cheek. “Or jerk me around or make demands. I’m none of your business.”

Her body struggles in my arm, and her ass rubs against me again, making me groan.

But then I hear something.

I take her jaw, forcing her still as I whisper against her ear. “Shhh.”

She suddenly stills, and we both stop breathing as the guards enter the library.

I catch a flash of light through the stacks and hear keys jingle. They’re talking, but I can’t hear what they’re saying.

Ryen casts a worried look up to me, and I stare back, holding her gaze.

“What are you going to do?” I whisper low, for only us to hear as I search her eyes. “You gonna turn me in?”

She lies there, breathing in and out but not making a move. My arm around her waist tightens, and I can’t stop myself from moving my thumb over the skin of her jaw.

Her eyes—those blue eyes—have a dozen different emotions going on in them when she looks at me. She can say the nastiest things, but if I see fear or sadness in her eyes, I’m done for.

Her rash guard has ridden up in the struggle, and a few inches of skin is exposed. I slowly slide my fingers over her stomach, watching as her eyelids flutter closed.

“Yeah, I told you, man,” one of the guards calls out. “They bolted out the door. Let’s search the grounds.”

I graze my lips across her cheek, her neck arching up more and more until her lips are millimeters away from mine. I can taste her fucking breath.

“Pull up your shirt.”

She opens her eyes and shakes her head, looking scared.

I lean in, whispering against her mouth. “Come on. I think you like danger.”

My finger is sitting over the pulse in her neck, and I can feel it speed up as I grab her bottom lip between my teeth and drag it out gently.

Her ass slowly grinds into me and I keep my moan silent as I see the flashlights retreat and finally leave the library.

As soon as I see the two sets of boots disappear and the doors close behind them, I slide my hand down the front of her shorts and cover her mouth with mine, letting out the groan I’d been holding back.

Her pussy is soft and smooth, and I shudder at the heat as I dip my fingers inside of her, feeling how tight she is.

“You’re not my business, huh?” I challenge. “You’re so wet around my fingers. That is my business.” I slide in a second one.

“Oh, my God,” she whimpers. “Masen, no.”

“Why not?” I hold her jaw, trailing kisses across her cheek as I pump my fingers inside her. “You think your friends will hate you when they find out you’re a slut who loves getting finger-fucked on a floor.”

I slide my fingers all the way in and back out a few times in long, full strokes, before bringing them up and rubbing her clit.

She moans, arching her back, and my cock strains against my jeans, begging to grow.

“Yes.” She licks my lip ring, rubbing her ass into my dick. “I’m afraid they’ll find out I like it.”

Yes. I kiss her fast, moving over her mouth hard and strong, because I feel like eating, and she’s the only food I want.

“Your secret’s safe with me,” I tell her. “I’ve waited too long for this.”

“Huh?”

But I dive back inside her, ignoring her and kissing her neck and jaw and pulling her ear lobe in between my teeth. I taste any bit of skin I can reach, never slowing my fingers down. Of course she doesn’t understand my comment, and I won’t explain. She has no idea that she’s been in my head and body for years instead of just days.

My fingers keep going, deep and steady, coming out to swirl around her clit every so often and feeling her shiver against me. She spreads her legs wider, and I bring my fingers out, covering her whole damn pussy in my hand, because I just want to savor the feel of her. All of her in my hands.

“Masen.” Her pant is wanton and filled with lust.

Masen. I want her to say my name. Not someone else’s.

“I can feel how hard I’m making you,” she whispers up at me, kissing my jaw. “What the hell’s happening?”

I don’t know, but I can’t stop it any more than you can.

“Pull up your shirt,” I demand again.

But she shakes her head.

“Now,” I growl, leaning into her cheek. “I want to look at you.”

Her whisper tickles my jaw. “But you won’t just look. You’ll touch.”

Hell, yes, I will. “You got a problem with that?” I ask. “Because your pussy is kind of in my hand already.”

She kisses me light and soft, biting and teasing. “But if I take off my top,” she teases “you’re going to want me to take off my bottoms, too.”

I groan, my cock swelling painfully. The thought of her naked has the room starting to tip on its side.

Please.

She covers my hand on her pussy with her hand and presses it into herself, grinding against it. “And then your hands won’t be enough, and you’ll want to fuck.” She moans, her body grinding against mine. “And my prom date won’t like that.”

I squeeze her waist, baring my teeth. God, she knows how to fuck with me.

“He doesn’t have to know,” I tell her “As long as you do what you’re told.”

I bring my hand slowly up to her neck, and an excited smile flashes across her face as she reaches down and lifts up her rash guard. I briefly let go as she pulls it over her head, revealing a peach-colored bikini top underneath. Her breasts rise well off her chest, the curves of her smooth, olive skin looking like hills in front of me, and her hard nipples poke through the fabric. My mouth is so dry. I want to taste her everywhere.

“Good girl,” I whisper. “Now take off the other top.”

She sucks in a quick breath, and she looks up, holding my eyes as she timidly reaches behind her neck and pulls the string in one long, fluid motion.

The straps fall loose at her side, and I come up, slowly peeling off one triangle of fabric, exposing her pretty flesh.

Christ. More than a solid handful.

She pulls away the other triangle, and I stare in awe at her. So stunning. And not even her body so much as the way she plays me, saying just the right thing to drive me insane and make me angry, turned on, possessive…

She suddenly brings up her arms, covering herself.

“Did I tell you to do that?”

She slowly lowers her arms, exposing her skin for me again.

“How long do you want to look at them?” she asks shyly.

I slip my hand back into her bottoms and slide my two fingers deep inside her again.

“Until you come,” I answer, pumping her and watching her tits bounce as her body sways back and forth.

She squeezes her eyes shut, moaning.

“You like it?” I taunt.

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“I like it!” she cries out.

Her nipple stands up like a point, and I can’t take my eyes off her as I fuck her and kiss her lips.

“Come on, Rocks. Buy my silence,” I growl as she rolls her ass against me, dry-fucking my dick as I finger her. “Spread those legs and come on my fingers, and I won’t tell everyone you’re the little shit writing on the walls.”

She rests her head on my shoulder and reaches back with one hand, holding the back of my neck as she fucks my hand. Something builds low in my stomach, and the friction of her rubbing against my cock sends need rolling through me as we go harder and harder. Her tits are bouncing rough and fast, and I watch them, imagining my dick inside of her, fucking her.

“Don’t tell anyone. Please?” she begs, thrusting against me.

The blood rushes to my cock, and I feel cum drip out of my tip. Fuck, I need to be inside of her.

“Just a little more, baby,” I urge. “How good are you willing to give it to me to keep me quiet? Huh?”

“Ah,” she whimpers. “Yeah, whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want?”

She nods frantically, crying out. “Yes!” She moves faster and faster, chasing her orgasm, and then finally throws her head back and stills, moaning and shivering as she comes. “Oh, God!”

I push my fingers deep inside her, rubbing her spot and feeling her body’s little convulsions as the orgasm works through her.

She breathes hard and fast, her body tense, and my cock is hard and ready to go, aching in my jeans. I wouldn’t want to screw her for the first time in a library, but I didn’t expect to get myself this worked up, either.

Her orgasm ebbs away, and she calms, her chest rising and falling slower and slower. I look down at her body and her beautiful face, a wave of shit I don’t know what to do with washing over me.

Guilt, because she still doesn’t know who I am, and I’ve just dug myself in deeper.

Longing, because I miss her. I miss talking to her as me.

Lust greater than I’ve ever known, because when we’re like this, it’s the only time she softens and changes and gives me an inch, and it’s a need that’s in my head just as much as my body. It keeps me on my toes.

And something else growing that I don’t want to be there. Something that might make it very hard to leave her.

And impossible to forget her.

I watch her face, her body still and her eyes downcast, and a bad feeling creeps through me. She’s not looking at me.

After a few moments, she sits up and crawls off me, standing up and grabbing her clothes. I hesitate only a moment before I sit up, as well, watching her warily. She dresses and pushes her hair behind her ear, looking anywhere but at me.

The moment is gone.

But I stare at her anyway, not letting her off the hook.

She picks up her backpack and finally looks at me. “You started it,” she snips, her guard back up, “so if you’re expecting a blow job, then—”

“Then I know where to get one,” I reply, cutting her off. “You’re not my first rodeo.”

A chill settles under my skin, and now I’m pissed. Her jaw flexes, and she arches an eyebrow.

How quickly she can go from hot to cold.

She puts on her backpack and twists around, heading down the stairs. I stand up and walk over to the railing, watching her leave the library.

Fine. She wants her jock prom date in order to live some lie for everyone else’s approval? I can understand that.

But it doesn’t mean she’s going to own every round we play.

Trey’s game is on Saturday, so I have a couple days to kill until then. If she wants to play, I can play.