Chapter 11
Declan, Present
Landon and Grant are so funny, and also, so fucking annoying. In the most loving way possible. For Landon. Grant can go fuck himself.
He’s currently across the cafeteria from where Landon and I are, sitting with his usual gaggle of the other dumbass football players. Except today, Grant has a guy grinding in his lap as he shoves his tongue down his throat.
It’s so incredibly transparent. Or I think so, anyway. He’s trying to make Landon jealous. By a crazy-ass twist of fate, they’re now roommates on campus. When Landon told me that, I was pretty sure this obsession they both have for each other would explode in some way.
This is obviously a sign that something has transpired between them, because Grant fucks around but not with such an open display like this one.
And it’s definitely working. Landon is failing to convince me that it’s not. He’s stumbling over his words—glancing over there every two seconds.
I just yelled at them to stop. I’m heckling a bit. Some guy yelled back and I called him a pencil dick. Then he called me Dick-lan. Which is a fun nickname everyone came up with last year.
It’s all a bit of a clusterfuck if I’m being honest.
Landon finally decides to spill the beans. Yes, they did hook up—which, I already knew without being told—and this is the result.
I sat here and listened to the whole saga. They’re messy.
But I guess I’m not too far off, so who am I to judge?
The whole cafeteria starts to rise and move toward the exit, heading for our next class.
I blow out a breath and ask, “What’s the plan then?”
He thinks, his brow turned down. “I’m not sure. If he ever comes back to our room, I’ll just say it was a freak occurrence and should never happen again—just forget it ever happened.”
I smile and grab my backpack, starting to walk away. “Forget about it. Yeah. Always a solid plan.”
I can hear him groan as I weave through the crowd, eager to get to my next class and away from people.
I’m almost there, turning down the hall where the classroom is, when some football player dipshit steps in front of me.
I sigh and act unbothered, but this guy is pretty big. And I think it’s the one I called pencil dick in the cafeteria. His face doesn’t look happy.
“Why do you think you get to call me pencil dick?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. You just give pencil-dick energy.”
He scrunches his face in confusion.
“Something about your face. And your personality. And your—”
He cuts me off. “What would you know Dick-lan? You take so much cock they put it in your fucking name.”
Here we go again with the damn nickname.
I don’t owe any of these people shit—which is why when all these rumors started circulating, including the nickname, I let them flourish.
They can make me whoever they want me to be. It doesn’t matter. I only cared about what one of them thought. And look how that turned out.
I nod slowly. “Your logic is flawed. I would argue that all the cock you say I take would make me an expert. So, yes. You definitely have a pencil dick.”
He steps closer to me, red-faced and snarling. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, you fucking—”
“Back the fuck off.”
It’s growled behind me.
I don’t have to turn around. I know who it is. I’d know the cadence of his voice in a sea of others, as pathetic as that sounds.
The asshole in front of me flicks his eyes above my head. “Morales, did you hear what he called—”
“I said back off.”
Another growl. God, I hate how my body lights up at the sound.
The guy whose name I don’t know, grumbles under his breath but walks away.
I wait a few seconds and then keep walking. I hear a scoff and then angry footsteps following after me. “Aren’t you going to say thank you?”
I rear my head and scowl but still don’t look back at him. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“I just made him leave you alone.”
I turn around, making him stop short while I flap my arms in the air and let them slap back down to my legs. “And I didn’t ask for your help. In fact, I don’t want it. Keep it. I told you that I knew what I wanted. Do you remember that?”
At the thought of that night, where he watched me masturbate, his cheeks flush a tinge of pink under his bronze skin.
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t know he was there. I mean, I didn’t know the whole time, but I did know a lot of the time. So why did I let him keep watching? Why did it turn me on so much to know he was out on the balcony like a crazy stalker giving himself a pathetic wank? Fuck if I know.
Maybe, despite what I told him, I actually don’t know what I want either.
The bell rings, and I look around the hall, noticing that it’s empty. “Fantastic! Now I’m fucking late. And I’m not a football player like you, so I will actually get marked.”
His brow slams down, and he opens his mouth to retort what can only be some bullshit, but I keep going. I’m on a roll now. “Did you consider that? Do you even care? Have you ever fucking cared about me? You’ve always been fucking fake and—”
He grabs me by the throat and drags me into a little alcove off of the hallway, pressing me against a door. There’s no light here. Only what spills in from the hallway. A sliver that splashes across the snarl on his face.
Even so, it’s not completely hidden from the main hall. Anyone could walk by and see him trying to choke me out.
Well, he’s not really choking. His hand is resting there. Skin warm and rough against mine.
I crane my neck to look into his eyes. They’re dark. Angry. Somehow deep and unending. They could easily swallow me up if I stared too long.
“I. Cared.” His voice is sharp. It stabs me in the chest. “You’re the one who threw it all away.”
I laugh sarcastically, attempting to twist out of his grip, but he only tightens it. So I stand still, my anger simmering behind my smile. “Me? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
“I’m not.”
Then his eyes do this thing. A softening. Just a tiny bit. It shows me something I don’t want to see. What I used to see.
Suddenly, none of this is even sarcastically funny anymore. My face is stony. “Let me go, Javi.”
His hand squeezes softly before letting his fingers slip away.
But neither of us moves. We stay still. I don’t know why.
My breath starts to quicken, and then unbidden to me, the thought that he’s seen me come also enters my brain. Fuck. I like that.
Wait. No. No. He’s an asshole. We’re not getting turned on right now.
I will not do something dumb again.
His eyes flick down to my lips. A millisecond, if that. And then back up to my eyes.
It makes me run my tongue over them, tasting the strawberry lip balm I often wear and drawing his attention back. His eyes widen as they devour the image, tracing the same path my tongue takes.
“Aren’t you going to go now?” he asks quietly.
I don’t answer. I’m afraid of what will come out of my mouth.
He groans and grabs onto my face, fingers digging into my cheeks to the point of pain. “Fuck it.”
His lips slam down on mine. I’m so stunned that I kind of stand there. But he isn’t having any of that. He uses his hand to squeeze my cheeks harder, forcing my mouth open.
He drives his tongue inside, sweeping around my mouth. And it’s over for me. I can’t pretend I don’t feel it. I can’t pretend I don’t want him even though he’s turned into the biggest asshole I know.
I jump a little to throw my hands around his neck as I kiss him back, moaning as he fucks his tongue into my mouth.
He dominates everything about the kiss. And I don’t care. I love it. I want more.
I press my body tightly against his, shamelessly grinding against his thigh.
“I hate you. This-this doesn’t change anything,” I say against his lips—not wanting to take them off of him for even a second.
He runs his hand up into my hair, harshly yanking it. I gasp and crane my neck back, following the pull of his hand.
He smiles cruelly then drags his tongue across my lips. “You still taste like strawberry. How many other people know that?”
I growl and try to pull away, but he pulls my hair harder. I should hate that. But I don’t. It’s feeding some disgusting part of me.
“Don’t worry, munequito. I hate you too.”
Ugh. Why does that nickname shoot straight to my dick?
The accent. The way it rolls right off of his tongue.
I still act upset, because I kind of am, and also not. “Don’t fucking call me that.”
He lets go of my hair, sliding his hands down my back to grab onto my ass, hoisting me up in his arms and pinning me to the door. My legs wrap around him instantly—knowing exactly what to do, while my hips roll, rubbing my aching cock against the hard planes of his stomach.
It shuts off any logical parts of my brain. I’m just a grunting, moaning slut, chasing the friction against a guy I should want nothing to do with.
“But you’re my little doll.” He kisses sloppily down my neck, making my eyes roll to the back of my head. “So soft.” He opens his mouth and latches onto the crook of my neck, sucking gently before letting go. “So pretty for me. You love it. I can feel it.”
I should argue with him. Tell him I’m not his anything. That he can go fuck himself. Tell him I hate him just one more time. Because all of that is true.
But it feels too good. His mouth on me. His scent surrounding me. Masculine. Macho. Toxic.
I’m so lost. He can have whatever he wants from me. My mouth. My ass. Fuck it, my ear. I know some people are into that shit.
Footsteps start echoing down the hallway.
It bursts our little bubble of insanity. He quickly sets me down, then starts smoothing out his clothes and hair as I do the same.
There’s a panicked look on his face as he steps closer, covering me with his body to try and hide me from whoever is coming.
I don’t think this will work, but he is pretty fucking huge, so I try to make myself even smaller and wait while the footsteps get louder.
They don’t stop, passing us and then fading.
The moment is gone. Reality is setting in.
I slip out of his shelter and run the fuck down the hall.
How the fuck could I do that? After what he did to me. After how he fucking left me.
Fuck him. I’m going to avoid him as much as possible now, because I can never let my guard down in front of him again.