Chapter 38
James
What gives you the right to smoke in here?
The princess’s words became overwhelming in my head, like a fucking chant, as the punching bag creaked heavily in front of me.
Yes, unfortunately before smoking, I would’ve taken your clothes off right in front of that mirror. But something wasn’t adding up.
And the frightened, guilty look she gave me when I asked her if she used that thing for her hair, well, that said a lot. She never wore her hair curly, so why the fuck did she have that thing on the sink, like she used it?
What the hell was I saying? It was still hot, so obviously she’d just used it. The bag trembled with every punch, and the hits became increasingly clenched and faster, as if they were about to destroy the bag from one moment to the next.
Hitting the bag until exhaustion was my way of blowing off steam.
I kept going until my muscles ached, my shoulders were worn out, and I started wheezing.
It was my favorite pastime. It took away every thought; emptied the mass of negative emotions that were clashing inside of me.
But the moment of relief never lasted long.
I grabbed the plastic bottle and took a few sips of cold water. But I couldn’t help it. I kept thinking about it. I didn’t see any marks on her. I’d looked at all of her except down there, obviously.
I beat my bare chest, glistening with sweat in the full-length mirror. My red cheeks were throbbing, and my brown hair was curling at my temples, while my veins coursed along my sore biceps. The image of her wearing Tiffany’s tight dress came to mind. Tiffany, of course.
When they were in my room, Tiff had loaned her that dress.
She must’ve seen June half naked. Just the thought of it made my lower stomach tense up as a devastating heat spread inside my shorts.
I attacked the punching bag with an abrupt hook, as if I wanted to punch the thought that had wormed its way into my head onto the bag.
She didn’t want to take her shorts off at the party where I painted her legs, and when we were in Will’s pool, she only wore the bikini top. Was it possible that she never took off those damn shorts?
According to William, she’d never been touched, so it might all be a silly coincidence, or maybe there was a reason why she was so reluctant to take them off.
She definitely couldn’t be embarrassed about that perfect body she had. Or maybe she could be? Of course, it was none of my business, but now I had to know. I undid the boxing gloves with my teeth, pulled my phone from my shorts pocket, and texted Tiffany.
Hunter: Wanna come over for a little while?
She could’ve stopped me. It wouldn’t have cost her anything. All it would have needed was one gesture like pulling her legs away, shaking her head at me, or not looking at me in that way that was so sexy.
For a moment I got distracted by the excited screams coming from my MacBook. I stared at the screen apathetically, like my eyes were glazed over. I would’ve been inconsolable.
Why didn’t she stop me? Maybe she was curious about how far I was willing to take it. But she didn’t know it was better not to put me to the test.
She couldn’t imagine how low I could go just to get what I wanted. But, in this case, Will’s trust was the most important. But right then she looked at me.
“Oh, yeah, yeah, again.”
The voices became more agitated. I took off the other glove and got rid of them, then took one last round of hits. My hands were starting to burn. I felt my knuckles breaking so I stopped and looked at the screen. How classy to watch people bone while I worked out.
I stopped to read Tiffany’s text, then sighed.
Tiffany: Let me finish helping my mom and I’ll be there
I was exhausted, out of breath, and my arms were wrecked, but it still wasn’t enough.
My body still needed to let off steam. I’d been tense since the morning. Or maybe the night before when that princess had brushed up against my dick in a way that was even sexier than strippers.
My brain was clouded by too many twisted thoughts. Will, June White, Tom Austin, Taylor’s dad . . .
And when my issues got the best of me, sex wasn’t even fun.
It didn’t do anything. I could go for hours without finding any peace, that was why taking it out on my punching bag was my only outlet.
Another punch with my bare hands. I felt the bruises on my knuckles burn, like salt in a wound.
And then another. The anger that intoxicated me until it made me my own prisoner disguised itself in each hit.
And no matter how much I tried to release it, it always came back.
It seemed like a vicious cycle. Beads of sweat lined my face and then tickled my neck.
Her little know-it-all voice burrowed into my brain, but the look on her face when I found that tool, I couldn’t forget that.
I was still ruminating and drowning myself in my thoughts when someone flung my bedroom door wide open unexpectedly.
I saw Taylor standing in the doorway, staring at me bewildered.
I texted Tiffany to come, so what the fuck was Taylor doing here?
“James?!”
“Eh.”
She looked around, first confused then scandalized.
I took off my now-drenched undershirt to wipe my face and neck.
But Taylor seemed disgusted by the background noise.
“What is that?”
And no, I didn’t give a shit if it bothered her.
“I brought you breakfast.”
I watched her walk into my room. Her slender body was hugged by a tight tank top over leggings that wrapped around her sinuous legs. She looked like a damn piece of candy wearing all pink.
“Scrambled eggs. No carbs because you have the game at the weekend.”
I shrugged, expressing my total apathy. My stomach was in unbearable knots, but right then dieting was the least of my problems.
“James, could you—” Taylor started talking to me, but was distracted by the piercing screams coming from the girl in the video who was having—or more likely faking—an orgasm.
Taylor on the other hand was about to have a nervous breakdown. I sensed it from how her chin was trembling. I smiled, pleased, while she banged the take-out coffee on my desk. She was about to make a scene.
“What did you come here to do?” I asked, holding back a smug smile.
“To talk.”
“Maybe let me know beforehand,” I said, grabbing the still-hot coffee.
“Look, turn that crap off, take a shower, and let’s talk.”
“Um, I don’t know.” I took a sip of the coffee while staring at her, knowing this would piss her off even more.
“Please, turn it off.”
Taylor was particularly serious. I, on the other hand, was distracted by the blond in the video, who seemed determined to make her throat hurt, given the dimensions of what she was about to swallow.
But it was Taylor’s horrified smirk that I should’ve framed.
“James!”
I turned to watch her thin mouth say my name.
Taylor wouldn’t subject herself to something like that easily, not like the girl in the video.
Luckily. It always seemed like I could throw her against a wall, but it ended up that she was really great at sensing my fear and weaknesses when I took my clothes off, so my vulnerable body became her amusement park.
It was no different than what I did. She used me.
And I used her. Isn’t that what people do when they spend the night having sex?
And despite her being smart enough to understand that, Taylor insisted on that couples bullshit that I hated so much.
Dancing together, going to school holding hands, going to dinner, and all that other stuff that made me feel like a caged animal.
I closed the MacBook, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Was that so hard?” she snapped, coming closer to me.
“I’m gonna take a shower.”
But she attacked my lips before I could even move. “Give me a kiss first.”
I jumped. She wasn’t wearing a trace of makeup, and her eyes seemed even sharper than usual.
“Weren’t you here to talk?”
Taylor wasn’t the type to beg for sex; she dominated, and that was it.
Her hand traced my chest until it glided down to the edge of my shorts.
“I changed my mind. What, you don’t want to be with me?” she whispered against my neck.
She said it smugly, almost reluctant to even ask, like I didn’t have a say in the matter. Like I was always ready and at her disposal.
“Well, it seems to me like you do, Jamie,” she taunted, gripping the thick figure hidden in my workout pants firmly. Bang you? After the shitstorm you caused at Poppy’s house, I think you can go fuck yourself.
I tried to take a breather, and meanwhile I pulled back to separate myself from her demanding lips, but I couldn’t deny that her warm hand around my erection was causing a pleasant shiver.
“Where’s Tiff?” I asked cynically.
After all, as inappropriate as my question was, it was legitimate. Taylor and I hadn’t been together since that night when her best friend was there too.
“Why do you always have to do this?” screamed Taylor.
“What did I do to you?” I asked innocently. Other than remind you of the arrogant dick I was. Suddenly, she seemed to not be in the mood anymore. She took her hands off me and put them on her hips.
“Do you really want to know where Tiff is? She’s running around with that loser White!” I heard her explode.
I was still thinking of the titillating memory of that night with Taylor and Tiffany, when she said that last sentence.
Adrenaline rushed through my veins. It was a fucking trick my mind played on me, a quick substitution, June instead of Taylor.
I closed my eyes and could imagine myself defenseless under her shapely body, my abs tight under her solid thighs and my dick fully inside her.
A warm quiver swept over my soul too. I had to get her out of my head; she was William’s girlfriend.