Chapter 19
Sam
Istill can’t believe I said yes. That was close to a week ago.
Seven days of sneaking around, lying to my friends, faking smiles while my pussy aches for another round.
We’ve mostly been hiding out at his place. Reece’s room has become some kind of secret fuck room—four walls, one bed, and seemingly endless ways to make me forget my own damn name.
Right now, my orgasms are clocking more hours than I am. If they had a loyalty card, I’d be earning a free one by now. Probably two. Hell, maybe a commemorative plaque nailed to his headboard.
No one knows. At least I hope they don’t.
We keep it low. Real low.
Tossing glances across crowded hallways. Brushing fingers when no one’s watching. That kind of slow-burn tease that makes me want to straddle him on the cafeteria bench and ride him right there in front of the salad bar.
He’ll brush past me in the hallway and mutter something filthy under his breath, some shit about my skirt, or what he’d do to me if we were alone, and I swear my legs go weak every time.
And when we’re alone, that’s a whole different story.
My body has been wrecked in the best fucking way. That boy touches me as if it’s a skill he’s mastered. He knows every switch to flip, every sound that leaves my throat before I even make it.
His filthy mouth whispers in my ear, telling me all the ways he’s going to fuck me, stretch me, break me open until I’m begging. And I do. Every single time. He makes it feel safe to fall apart under his hands.
He’s possessive in ways that should frighten me.
He tells me my pussy is his like it’s a fact, not up for debate. That I was made for him, and he’s just claiming what was always his.
And when he touches me... damn.
Every thought vanishes.
Every rule I ever followed, every line I said I wouldn’t cross, all of it burns away in his hands.
Every time he pushes inside me, he rewrites how I understand pleasure. I become a full-body, mind-blanking, toe-curling wreck.
I forget how to think. I forget my name. All I know is his voice in my ear, his cock filling me, and the way my body responds to him before my brain can catch up.
I should be terrified of how deep this goes, but I only crave more because there’s nothing soft about the way he moans my name when he’s buried inside me.
Nothing gentle about how his hands shake when I fall apart in them.
Nothing superficial about the way he kisses me afterward, as if he’s starving and I’m the only thing keeping him alive.
And there’s definitely nothing simple about how I keep going back for more, even when I understand this whole thing could blow up in our faces.
I keep reminding myself that this is temporary. It’s controlled and contained.
That it’s something I can step away from before it drags me under.
Because, let’s face it, Reece is a fuckboy.
A true one. The kind girls whisper warnings about while reapplying lip gloss in bathroom mirrors.
The kind you drop in group chats with red flag emojis and a quick “don’t go there.
” He takes what he wants, gets you hooked, then leaves you empty and aching, wondering if any of it was real.
And yet, last night, he stood in front of me with soft eyes and said he’d never hurt me.
And I wanted to believe him.
Damn, I still want to believe him. The ache is so intense, it hits spots I didn’t know could be sore.
That’s the problem with wanting.
I’m not stupid. I know what happens when girls hand their hearts to boys who’ve never been taught how to hold anything gently.
I’ve seen the pain. Heard the stories through bathroom walls, seen the smeared mascara and shaky hands clutching phones that never light up again.
I know what happens when someone prettier shows up—when they’re easier, louder. When some girl with perfect timing and no hesitation offers herself on a silver platter and asks for nothing but a fuck in return.
I know what happens when Maya bats her lashes and smiles up at Reece. When she intentionally forgets her bra. When her laugh becomes high and flirty, and she stands a little too close.
I know what happens when temptation walks right up and doesn’t ask for anything but his cock.
And I can feel it approaching.
I’m just waiting for the moment he pulls away mid-kiss.
An excuse for when his eyes shift, stopping to scan the room for someone shinier. When I’m waiting for a text and he doesn’t respond. The night he sleeps with someone else and calls it a mistake.
Every day, I dodge Lola, Liz, and Aubrey like it’s my full-time job. I run through every excuse in the book—homework, family stuff I don’t even bother to make convincing. They’re still falling for it... for now, anyway.
And yeah, I regret doing that to my best friends.
Liz is leaving in a few days. I should be soaking up every second with her. Laughing too loud. Taking photos, we’ll forget to print. Being the kind of friend who actually shows the fuck up.
Instead, I’m hiding out in Reece’s bedroom with sore thighs and a pussy that can’t stop craving him, chasing this high I swore I’d never want.
Every time I try to pull away, he touches me or says something dirty against my skin, and it’s over. I forget the guilt, that the clock is ticking on Liz’s goodbye. I forget everything but him.
Today, as I walk into school, I can still feel it.
The aftershocks, the soreness. The memory of everything he did to me yesterday in that room of his.
My thighs ache. My lower back’s tight. My pussy…
well, it’s still throbbing if I shift the wrong way.
Because Reece didn’t simply just fuck me, he wrecked me.
Bent me over his mattress, mouth filthy against my ear, fingers digging into my hips like he couldn’t get close enough no matter how deep he was.
Every thrust was a promise and a punishment.
I loved every second of it.
After he wrecked me, he ordered pizza and sprawled on his bed, half-naked and cocky as hell, ready to study. Except he didn’t put on a shirt. Just those abs and that goddamn smirk.
So there I was, with my textbook open and my brain fried, trying to focus on the assignment while his chest flexed each time he moved.
I was supposed to be summarizing the Industrial Revolution.
Instead, I ended up having another orgasm.
That’s why I’m sore today and can barely sit down without clenching.
If my dad knew where I was going every afternoon, he’d lose his shit. He thinks I’m staying back for tutoring. That I am being my usual responsible self.
If he knew I was getting completely railed by the boy he doesn't approve of, he’d threaten to castrate him on sight, and he’d probably burn the school down himself.
I’m honestly surprised no one has figured it out yet.
The way Reece and I look at each other across classrooms and hallways, as if we’re the only two people in the entire building. One glance and my body already remembers what his hands feel like. One smirk from him and I’m completely screwed all over again.
It’s a constant live wire between us.
Every second we’re apart, we’re still touching, just with our eyes.
I’ll catch him staring while the teacher’s mid-sentence, that lazy grin tugging at his mouth as he remembers what he did to me yesterday and exactly how sore I am from it.
And damn, I stare right back.
A blink too long. A look too loaded and somehow, no one notices.
It’s become this quiet game. Us, buzzing with our own little secret, invisible to everyone else. And God, that might be the best part. Knowing it’s ours. Simply ours.
By lunchtime, I already know I can’t do it.
There’s no way I can sit across from Reece and pretend I’m not thinking about how he had me gasping while he fucked me against his bedroom wall yesterday. I can’t watch his fingers tap against the table without remembering how those same fingers were inside me less than twenty-four hours ago.
I walk into the cafeteria, and the noise hits me hard. Laughter. Tray clatter. That awful hum of everyone knowing something I don’t.
Lola and Jace are at our usual table, fully in flirt mode—if you can even call it that.
Lola doesn’t flirt in a typical way. She insults Jace with a straight face and no remorse. She drops savage one-liners that make Jace blink twice before he grins as if he’s been given a challenge. That’s their thing — verbal bloodsport with a hint of sexual tension.
I’m pretty sure that’s the only reason Lola hasn’t figured me and Reece out yet.
Because if she weren’t busy sharpening her tongue on Jace, she would have sniffed us out by now.
Girl’s a bloodhound for secrets. You so much as glance at someone for half a second longer than usual, and she’s crafting a full conspiracy board in her head.
Aubrey’s not far behind either. She plays sweet, but she’s got eyes. She picks up on vibes fast. I’m sure she would’ve picked up on mine already if Noah weren’t permanently attached to her like some giant, possessive limb.
So I eat fast with my head down, barely tasting anything, going through the motions while conversation buzzes around me and my pulse thuds way too loud in my ears.
I don’t look at Reece.
I avoid his gaze like it’s fucking radioactive... which, let’s be honest, it kind of is.
The moment our eyes meet, it’s over. My body begins flashing through every dirty memory it shouldn’t revisit in the middle of a crowded school cafeteria. His hands. His mouth. The way he growled my name right before he made me come so hard I saw stars.
And yeah, I’m not doing that here.
I stand when I’m done, mumble something about needing to study for an exam. It’s total bullshit. The kind of flimsy excuse that would fall apart in Lola’s hands in under five seconds if she were actually paying attention.
It’s weak, I know it. They probably know it too. But no one calls me out on it.
Reece understands what this signifies. It’s a code. If he wants me, he’ll track me down. He’s done it every other time.